| abstract
| - Field work. Not something Danik Kreldin has done in quite a long time. It's quite refreshing, really, to once again be back in the heat of things; office work can get boring. But, adventure and excitement is not the reason Danik decided to join this operation. It's a personal matter for him; this is something he absolutely must do. His objective is simple; retrieve a datacard from a vault within the upper levels of the Imperial Palace. A datacard containing the location to a Sith planet. The actual operation is not so simple. This is the Republic's Coruscant, after all, and this is the Imperial Palace. Fortunately, the Empire is good at record keeping, and floor plans, hidden passages and other goodies for the Palace were all in great abundance in Imperial archives; they at least have that on their side, not to mention the element of surprise. And, if Kreldin is right, the will of the Force - which is what this mission is really all about, after all. He just wishes Malign, or even Jarek, were with him. Where the hell were they? It's going to be tough without them, but Kreldin is confident he can pull it off with the team he has assembled. They're in the sewers now, in the lower levels of the Imperial Palace; soon they'll be on their way up, utilizing passages hopefully the Republic haven't secured as much. Either way, it's not going to be easy, especially if the Jedi decide to pop in and derail his plan. But these are risks Kreldin is willing to take. Casting a glance over to Cantrell and the others, he nods his head. "You boys ready for this? Let's make this quick and painless as possible. Let's not try to make a mess, Cantrell..." It's the more macabre side of herself that has compelled Johanna to visit the liberated Imperial Palace, for if logic has its way it won't be liberated much longer. It will simply revert to being the Imperial Palace and installed there, no doubt, will be the new Emperor. She ambles through the vast building and makes a point of it to stop in the commanding Throne Room with its dazzling prismatic skylight, though the object's purpose is lost in the Coruscanti night. How such a beautiful light-catcher could have been crafted by those who serve evil is almost a little beyond her; she turns her face towards the massive ceiling and squints in thought. Vadim does not deserve such a Throne Room. No, he would be better served by a subterranean installation that reeks of rotting bodies or some similar pleasantry. Who knows, maybe that's what he'll turn this place into! Something about him, however, tells Johanna that he'll sit on the throne easily enough and fancy himself the rightful ruler, ensconced in a brilliant palace from which he can issue whichever decree he chooses. He is, after all, supremely intelligent by his own estimation, and deserving of such illustrious surroundings. Her expression darkens for a moment and she kicks her heels against the smooth row of seating that the amphitheater provides. Field work is exactly Cantrell's expertise. His days back into the mess of things certainly has revitalized Cantrell's will to fight in the last few days, especially in the earlier escapades on Coruscant. Following alongside his old friend, Danik, Cantrell nods slightly, his eyes narrowing a bit at the site of the Palace. "My boys are -always- ready." Cantrell growls towards Danik, his teeth grinding with hatred at the thought of the Republic littering the Imperial Palace with propaganda races his mind. "Hopefully things will go quieter than the last operation." He says to Danik, reminding him of the last encounter with Jedi. "It sure is great to be battling alongside you again, Danik." He lets out a light-hearted chuckle, trudging through the muck and grime in the sewers. Looking back at the rest of the group, he sets his ST-II to semi-auto. "You heard the Admiral, men. Let's make this as quiet as possible." "Status report, Woden," a voice clicks into life from Sandor's headset, prompting the man out of a near-daze. It's already been more than an hour since his shift began, and while several more remain before he can be done with his patrols within the halls of the emancipated Imperial Palace, the soldier is more than ready to call it quits already. Even knowing that there's a prodigious shortage on people with clearance to enforce the laws of the New Republic, and protect various facilities that have been reduced to mere husks of their former security crews in the wake of the rioting, Sandor Woden knows just one thing. Whatever information stored in the vaults of the Palace is not his problem. "Nothing here, Six, most everyone's gone home already." As with the last time that he'd replied in such a manner, there's no reply over the radio, but it does illicit a bit of a smirk from one of the Marines nearby, also equipped with basic light armor and a 36T carbine. In such tight quarters, there's just no room for the heavier weapons to come into play, and more importantly, they're needed to carry on the fight against the Empire. Or so Sandor tells himself, at any rate, admittedly a little uncomfortable to be indoors with a weapon that he's largely unfamiliar with. But then, in so prestigious a structure, just who would be foolhardy enough to try anything out of the ordinary? Walking through the former Imperial palace on Coruscant was like a trip through the past for Tanbris. It was ironic to think that fifteen years ago Palpatine stood on these very floors and ruled with an iron fist, using his Security Bureau to enforce loyalty among even his closest ranks and the megalomania of men like Tarkin to keep the galaxy in check; now that had been replaced by a regime that that had been on a defensive that showed no signs of letting up. But taking the drastic gains with the drastic losses came with the territory. He stopped, leaning against a wall on the entrance level to collect his thoughts. They said that he would be shipped out soon, probably aboard the Mon Mothma, and there was talk that he might even receive his first command in short order. Someone in the Academy had told him once that it was a good idea to get a look at everything a port has to offer, because there were no guarantees you would be ever coming back, and he thought that Palpatine's lasting legacy was an appropriate, if ironic, choice. Naval officers like himself rarely got these kinds of chances. Night cast an eerie shadow over the complex, generating lingering reminders of its former residents. Having had enough of his private reverie, and deciding it might be best if he at least check in, Tanbris started down another corridor, one he figured that would take him back toward the entrance. At the same time, the thought of being able to lose himself here for hours was not that unattractive, either. Away from all of the problems on Republic Avenue and whatever was playing out on the stage among the stars above them. Dareus moves behind his Admiral, a confident look on his face, "Absolutely Admiral; we'll be out of here in no time." He lifts the left side of his hip-length leather coat, and double checks that the blaster is still securely in it's holster; if anything, just for the comfort of knowing that it was still there. After a few steps, he figures they must be quite well below the Imperial Palace by now, and a somewhat solemn look comes over his face; they should be walking proudly in dress uniforms through the gate, instead of slugging through these nasty sewers, oh well. Times change, and he knew, they would be back soon enough. As he steps in something rather disgusting sounding, with a half grin he smiles towards Cantrell, "Thanks for the invitation; by the way Admiral; it's been a long time since I've been able to have fun like this." Given the operation, he knows that Danik would have known what he meant; chances are the others wouldn't have; but oh well; it's amusing in Dareus' own mind. After another moment's thought, he decides to add, "Don't worry, sir, it hasn't been too long though; I still remember the important things" Fine time to be joking, but the serious parts are undoubtedly on their way; might as well enjoy the silence while it lasts. Hiking up the path with a few Rebel Troopers, he glances up at the palace, a scoff echoes down the rock slide "How gaudy. Not much of anything anymore. More of a museum. A storage facility for the memories of the old regime - the Empire", it was a mighty power, a power that once dominated this very planet and the very galaxy itself. It casted an eerie feeling all over Malika as he looked at the palace set before him. "Such a concentrated force of absolute corruption. How could one stand it, Hobbs?" The young officer nervously clutched his hand around his blaster. "Maybe a good pay bonus, sir?" he managed a slight laugh before making his inquiry "Sir, why are we here, anyway?" Malika rubbed his chin, as he continued down the path. "Well, I've got little to do right now while the Reprisal is being fixed and the Mon Mothma is undergoing maintenance. I got some marching orders for some milk-runs on Coruscant. Tomorrow, I have to appear before the Senate for supplemental hearings regarding the rogue Captain, Olimar Tains. For now, I'm taking you guys to the palace, so you can relieve the other watch that guards this area. The NR Security Bureau doesn't want looters running through this place and trying to rip off the artwork and components that are still in here. Our teams haven't finished stripping it anyway. You're going to babysit, basically." Malika tapped a few buttons onto his datapad, "Damnedest thing, though. Sending me in the middle of the night. I'm supposed to be asleep." As he makes his way within closing distance of the grand palace, his neck arches back, staring up at it's immensity. Shrouded with figures of lords and laborers of the Empire. His previous expression of mockery transformed into almost an awe, with a reverence, yet disdain for the engineers who crafted this symbol of absolute supremacy and dominance. "Hobbs, take the rest of the security team and find your stations. I'm going to signal the local New Republic Security Post informing of them of our progress." He watched Hobbs not and hurry off with the rest of the security team. "Malika to base, Malika to base. New security team is being installed. Old security team is being relieved and sent back to base, copy?" While still staring at the information on his datapad, his hand drops down to his Norcor XiX Reciprocator. Tried and true, he unclipped the top of the holster, his left hand wrapped around the butt of the gun. Always have an escape plan -- a motto he lived by. Though it was getting near closing time for the 'museum' that had become the former Imperial Palace, Viktor Faust had chosen this time to visit the once majestic building. He walks with his hands clasped in front of him, his cloak pulled around him to fight off the somewhat chilled Coruscanti night. He looks down at the chrono on his wrist after a few moments. She was running late it would appear, but time was not so important at this moment. He was assured she would arrive. The recent strife in this sector of the massive city had been particularly difficult and the increased vigilance from the Republic Marines were a welcome sight. Especially for an unarmed citizen such as himself. He reaches out and brushes his fingers across one of the stone walls, "How much trouble have you seen? How much is yet to come?" he pulls a small datapad from his cloak, opening up the guided tour program, projecting a small map of the palace along with a droid translating the features and historical facts behind the buildings construction. For what ever reason her boss had decided it was a good idea to take a walk at this hour, Phair Kreiss find herself in front of the single largest structure on this planet. To say it was impressive would be an understatement, but to pull the look off it set about an oppressive shadow as well, much like the man that had it built. It was all the woman could do not to slip her right hand under her left arm and feel the reassuring grip of her sidearm. She did not however because it was frowned upon in the polite society of Coruscant despite the riots and chaos that had washed over the planet of late. No matter the trend Phair had a job to do, her position as first aide and bodyguard for Viktor Faust was the best paying she had in a long time, and so if the blue blood wanted to go for a walk, she would put on her best suit and follow him dutifully all over his home world. He had only given her a few moments to be ready, and for that very reason, she always kept a well press suit ready, for his whims. He required his staff to look impeccable, something the former spacer found most difficult. Keeping just a step away from her charge, her red eyes scanned the area, a nightmare for security, there were hide holes, sharp peaks and long shadows. As if the planet had read the dangerous thoughts, a gust of wind pushes from between the buildings, lifting the loose stands of her dark hair. Indeed it does depress Danik to have to walk through the -Imperial Palace- via the sewers. It's insulting, really. But like any Imperial, Danik knows that would soon change. His eyes dart from Cantrell to Dareus to Krieg, nodding his head slowly as each of them chime in with their confirmations. While he does miss the presence of Malign, the presence of his old buddy Cantrell does soothe his old nerves somewhat; if anyone is going to fight his way through the Imperial Palace, it's Wescal. Smirking, Danik points towards a maintenance elevator down the corridor. He has no time for small talk with the men; he's on a rather tight schedule here. "That maintenance elevator will take us to the main hall, behind the main entrance. We'll have to transfer over to a turbolift several banks down, which will take us directly to the throne room." Oh yes, the throne room. The seat of Imperial power for nearly two decades. The thought of stepping into it, whether it be under Republic control or not, causes goosebumps on Kreldin's skin. He steps into the maintenance elevator, and as he waits for the others to file in, he taps his headset. He knew the person on the other line would be listening, hopefully. "We're making our way up the lower levels now. We'll be in the main hall in a few minutes..." It isn't going to be pretty, either. Hopefully Republic security wouldn't be too tight; but at least they have the advantage of surprise on their side. And some gas grenades. He looks down to his belt and nods. "Hope you know how to use those grenades, Cantrell... it's gonna get ugly real soon." The elevator doors slide close and it begins its journey upwards. Something is afoot. She starts as if someone had just shouted at her and slips lightly from the amphitheater seating, glancing about to scan for any visual confirmation of her uneasy suspicions. There's nobody here save for the lone guard at the far entrance, and he's half asleep. It just doesn't seem to fit. Johanna moves up and out of the rows of seats with caution, taking care to keep her gaze roving should anything suddenly jump out of the shadows. Heck, bad things have a habit of doing that, but nothing out of the ordinary seems to be going on here. Several paces more and she's begun her walk around the perimeter of the room, the terminus of her journey meant to bring her to the exit once she's satisfied that nobody is hiding out within this cavernous area. "Oh, Cricket," Johanna sighs, suddenly wishing the heap of evil and metal in the form of her R2 astromech were here to keep her company, "You'd probably tell me I was being paranoid." Is she being paranoid? There have been a few instances in the past when her hyper-alertness has fooled her. Is this one of them? Her steps finally grow silent as she pauses to listen to any whispered warnings the Force might bring her. "Yeah yeah..." Cantrell scoffs, brushing off Dareus' thanks. This wasn't a Sunday walk in the park. The seasoned veteran knew when to focus on business and now's the time. "Alright everyone...weapons and ammo check." With that order, he examines his well-worn and modified ST-II, patting his utility belt. "Last thing we need is someone having a fried battery unit on their piece." Cantrell follows the Admiral through the tunnels, gesturing everyone forward. "This is it, gentlemen. Do not do anything until the Admiral says so. Otherwise, I'll shoot you myself." He growls, watching the door open with a slide. Spotting the old man lecturing him about grenades, he can't help but to let out a dry snort. "You forget who you're talking to, old man?" He chuckles, grabbing hold of the grenade. "By the way...that target practice was a fluke." Only the two would know what that meant. "After you, boss." "Why do we gotta do this?", the formerly-smirking Marine PFC asks, as Sandor's jaw nearly drops in awe at the question. Immediately, the traitor tries to rationalize the question in a way that won't discount the top-notch training that the soldier doubtlessly received. "We're under civilian jurisdiction - you don't gotta be a cop and a soldier at once, do you?," PFC Stasio hastily adds, apparently noticing Sandor's alarm, if not understanding it completely. But then, Sandor had been trained to exist in both roles seamlessly, even if he never actually had the opportunity to do so, given his unique position in both the Imperial Army, and now the Republic's Second Division Marines. Sandor waves a hand around him, at various pieces of art and nostalgia that would have been considered all but sacred only a few years prior. Even by himself, at the time. "Because we have our orders, and if someone loots this place, it'll be our heads." Somehow, though, the response loses much of it's power due to the fact that it really won't be anyone's head, even that of the looter if he's caught. Silently, Sandor makes a mental note to check up on that fact later, wondering if there have been any executions at all in the new judicial system, either for war criminals or for heinous crimes against Humanity - against life, he realizes. As in this world he's come to accept, if not outright love, Humanity is only one single part of a vast picture. Krieg finds himself pounding the ground once again, this time hopefully it will work out better than the last. Here with the group though, he was brought in for his assistance with air cover on their way in or out, should it be needed on this planet. Of course, at any turn there is more than likely to be a lot of danger, but that was what went along with the territory. He's in his trenchcoat outfit and a bit more armor than he is used to, but goes along with the group, remaining in the center and not sticking out too much, as this was not something he was needed at right away. Following Danik into the service elevator he gets in and moves to one side and out of the way for the rest of the commandos to come in and do what they do best. Tanbris' awkward pattern takes him closer to the throne room, the one area that has always been considered sacred ground for all, Republic or New Order. He has no intentions of entering; satisfying his natural curiosity was enough. Ideally, he'd have come on this escapade during daytime, but then he'd have no privacy for his own thoughts, having to deal with men and women bustling inconsiderately in and out, being given scathing looks for his grim, downtrodden appearance. Making out the silhouette of the guard near the entrance even in this near pitch black state, he realized that the man looked to be almost asleep. What an assignment to have, he thought; no rewards, no recognition. Just routine. Who would take that duty assignment? Obviously, he realized, someone radically dedicated to the Republic's cause. Maybe giving the man a little rapport wouldn't be a bad idea; it's unlikely they'll have anything drastic happen here of all places. Dareus enters the elevator, and stands tall inside it. Silently, he slips a hand into his coat, putting a few fingers onto the butt of the pistol in the shoulder holster concealed beneath both the jacket, and the shirt; "I'm assuming when these doors open, we should be ready?" He looks over to the Admiral with a raised eyebrow; waiting for the orders he's wanted to hear since landing on this insult of an occupation. He double checks the battery pack on the blaster quickly, and returns it to the holster, awaiting for the Admiral's confirmation of his question; but quickly nods to Cantrell as he maintains his disciplinary stance in the elevator, "Ready to rock". A quick, but deep breath goes into his lungs; not necessarily nervous; but one of anxiety; waiting for what he's been trained for, and waiting for another chance to join the more...well thought of ranks of the Imperial Navy. Malika finally makes his way inside the palace. The main audience room was a grand as he imagined, but, still, he was largely unimpressed. He had hardened himself that although this place was strikingly beautiful in design, it's construction was for a largely sinister purpose. He continues to stare down at his datapad, it was scanning the area and mapping out weaknesses in the infrastructure. He tapped a button on his comlink. "Troopers, report to the Audience chamber, it is advisable that we sweep the interior." He stood in the center of the room, rubble and shattered glass under his feet. He reached out to touch the broken statue of Emperor Palpatine, some of the rock-construction broke of in his hand. "So much for that" he thought to himself. His datpad beeped, more life signs were detected in the area. "Aha, I know that one anywhere!" He punches a button on his comlink again. "What are YOU doing here, Severin? I thought they were only sending me to babysit relics." He was happy to be serving with Tanbris. They had become solid friends very quickly. Probably through the battles they have been involved in a very short amount of time. "Small galaxy", he mumbled, as he walked toward the back of the room, toward the interior. He could hear the bootsteps of his group of officers joining him up. She had been behind him the whole time, Viktor was truly a master of his surroundings on this evening it would appear. Looking over his shoulder, "Well since you are here already. Have you been to the former palace yet, Miss Kreiss?" He offers her the data pad, " I worked here a long time ago." He resumes his walk into the building, " Lots of Coruscanti have been faceless bureaucrats in whatever administration rules the planet. The only thing really changing are the letterheads of the thousands of forms and books of statue and law that govern the Republic. It was that way when Palpatine came to power, of course I was only a child when the Clone Wars began. My father used to tell me tales of Republic rule. Things were not always as golden as some would have you believe." "This staircase will take us to the Throne Room, Emperor Palpatine used to hold his court here. I never met him but my brother Jacob was in the SAG and said he met the Emperor. I don't know if that is true, he liked to lie a lot, but he is gone now. He died on Hoth when his AT-AT was blown apart." The man's generally cheerful expression fades for a moment as he remembers his brother. He motions Phair forward, " But the view is one unique in this galaxy. The City seems to almost be beautiful from this altitude. " He comments again as he begins to make his way up the marble staircase. Marines or not, her boss had a strange idea of when the best time to be out and about was. But then again, the raining he required from her was equally. Heat lighting flashes high in the night sky, not giving enough light to illuminate the grounds, but it does cast more shadows and contrasting light over the tops of the palace. The New Republic to some, rebels to others, what ever you'd call them had done much to scrub the stains of evil from the planet. Everywhere the old touches had been removed, or morphed into something the new government could be proud of. No matter how hard they tried, the taint of what came before lingers like a faint odor in the air. A tour? He brought her out for a tour? breathing in deeply, Phair reminds herself of the pay, and puts on a faint smile, "No My lord, I haven't been inside" The man was odd, she spend every waking moment in his sight, he must know she didn't get out...he didn't allow for it. Not knowing what to say about the sudden personal revelation, she doesn't respond right away. Pausing, she then adds "My Lord?" starting to follow the man up the stairs, "If you had that holo, why didn't you send it to me to review? It would help me with my other function besides paper work, you know keeping you safe?" The air was charged tonight a feeling like before a large storm, as the first gust dies down a second one replaces it from another direction. He may not like it, but Phair is comforted by the fact she is doing her job. The woman has known the man long enough to know, he will do what he want, but still "My Lord? I'm not sure this is a good night to be out. Why not return during the day?" Target practice. Danik lets out a little chuckle. "Shit happens, Sergeant. You don't give me enough credit... depresses me." Of course Danik beat Cantrell on the firing range, but that was luck more than anything. As the elevator starts to move upward, an uneasy feeling settles over the war horse - perhaps he's getting in a little too far over his head with this one. Closing his eyes, he seems to drift into a day dream, until he's brought out of it by Dareus and his questions. He blinks and gives the pilot a stare, before finally regaining his bearings. "Right. Alright, rather simple; the moment these elevator doors slide open, we'll lay down some cover with gas grenades. The smoke screen should provide us with some cover until the rebels realize what's going on and recover from their initial shock. Once the smoke screen is in place, we'll be making a dash for the turbolift bank down the corridor: we're taking it straight to the throne room. And from there..well..we'll see how it goes," he says with a smirk, taking his rifle in hand and leaning up against the elevator wall. "Almost there..." Something is out of place. And he's not just worried about the operation failing, either - it's something... elusive. In fact, he's quite certain it's the same feeling he felt just a day ago at Corellia, when he confronted Johanna. Well, if she is indeed here, bring it on. He has a surprise in store for that witch. But for now, he has to worry about the rebels. The elevator has just arrived. "Here we go, gentlemen..." And so the fun begins. The moment the elevator door opens up, the gas grenades are tossed out into the main hall, rolling along until they detonate, emitting their noxious gas throughout the main hall. There's no denying it now; the air is positively electric. Whether it's the Empire or local thugs is anybody's guess, but Johanna doesn't fancy the thought of another attack on a major Coruscanti installation, ex-Imperial palace or not. If they think they're going to get away with another subterranean detonation... "Have you received reports of anything suspicious going on?" the pilot demands of the dozing guard, his features flushing as he's shaken awake by Johanna, "Something isn't right out there." For a moment the guard looks as if he's about to say something very rude. Then he reconsiders, his mouth making an audible snap where his teeth hit one another and he exhales through them, a vague whistling noise preceding his words. "No," he mumbles, "Nothing out of the ordinary. Anything I should be looking out for in particular?" "Trouble," Johanna replies as she turns on her heel and begins one last look-over of the Throne Room just as the guards comm squawks to life. Trouble, it seems, has indeed arrived. Shit happens. Yeah it did happen that day...Cantrell had a case of the Corellian flu. Cantrell shrugs his shoulders at the Grand Admiral, the casualness between the NCO and Admiralty shocking. "And your lack faith with a device that I cherish as one of my own depresses me, Danik." He retorts in his quiet, grave voice, watching the floor lights blink as they get closer to their arrival point. Taking a glance at the rest of the group, his eyes narrow down to a sliver, his jade green eyes burning with fire. "Alright, this is the last weapons check. Wait for the Admiral and I to deliver our present. Anything in our way and doesn't have an Imperial emblem on it, dies." He states the last order with disgust. With the doors sliding open, Cantrell pulls down his sash for a moment, gently kissing the grenade. "Farewell, my friend." And with a gentle toss, the grenade rolls out and detonates. As the elevator moves, Stasio comes to a stop, a little confused as he reads the numbers to himself. "Hey, boss, aren't they going the wrong way?", the Marine asks, apparently not too certain that it's in fact a maintenance elevator. Inside what was one the Imperial Palace, everything looks about ten times more expensive than it might elsewhere on Coruscant, after all. "Yeah, weird, visiting hours are almost over," Sandor replies - judging by his tone, much less concerned with it than his compatriot is, in spite of the fact that the number is even now arriving upon the very floor that the pair is patrolling. But Sandor's complacency and the PFC's concern are both ill-placed, as when the elevator arrives, neither a hail of blasters nor a group of tardy tourists emerge. Instead, a collection of small, metallic objects that Sandor is all too familiar with do instead. "Grenade!", he shouts out of reflex, grabbing Stasio by the arm and pulling as hard as he can as he breaks into a run. With one arm pulling the private, and another reaching up to tap his headset comlink, Sandor's heart counts off the seconds until the frags explode, and nearly leaps as an unexpected hissing noise resounds instead. Perhaps it's poetic that Sandor, a man who had once been confined to his quarters for a misunderstanding involving a gas grenade being considered a frag onboard a Star Destroyer, now falls prey to the very same element himself. But all that matters is for him to run as fast as he possibly can, as he shouts. "Enemy! Enemy in the foyer!" Perhaps too little too late, but at least now the others can be aware of what's happening. Still staying out of the way, Krieg unslings his rifle that he had with him and points it towards the bottom of the elevator, prepping it and powering it up to fire. There was a very good chance that he would need to be using it, and he wanted to be the most ready for when that time came. Making sure everything was in order, he keeps to the back of the elevator, to exit after the other commandos and to help secure whatever area they were going to be taking. Speed was of the essence, of course. He didn't want to slow them, so he kept with what he knew and the limited training he received Still, he says nothing as this was best for everyone involved. Listening to the orders, he waits for the grenades go, and then in turn from the elevator makes his dash to the next bank of turbolifts. He had switched his comlink off, though - the only reason he carried it was per regulation. Too much ineffective chatter, not enough substance, he reasoned. Tanbris realized that this would be the closest he'd ever get to the throne room in his lifetime; he was a military man, not a force wielder, not a politician, and definitely not a megalomaniac, of which two out of the three seemed obligatory to ever gain entrance or a spot in this prestigious hall. Just standing at the doorway was an honor, a silent image that conveyed a thousand or more words. Before, however, he went any further, he decided to check in with the security team below; while stepping toward the guard and the silhouette of another person he had not seen before who had exited the room, however, he was treated to the fragment of a message from Sandor Woden. "Enemy in the foyer!" Trouble had seemed to follow Tanbris everywhere of late, and this had unfortunately been no exception. He turned toward his standard issue holster, but it was empty - he hated blaster weapons, and wasn't a good shot regardless. Turning around to stare back into the dimly lit corridor, he realized that heading back would only take them to the main foyer sooner or later, and that apparently had been overwhelmed. He looked back toward the guard, and then back again. He wasn't sure what to do. Dareus nods as the doors open, quickly pulling the blaster from out from it's concealed spot in his longer waistcoat. He looks over to Kreig, "Time to be Navy heroes, I guess?" With a grin, he awaits the first movements of the Admiral, and Cantrell, obviously who are in charge of the operation. He moves closer to the edge of the door, and takes a 1/2 knee position with the blaster covering the entrance, "Clear for the moment, we need to get moving now, though....." It would appear the smoke grenades did their job; but it wouldn't be long before the guards were able to regroup, and make their move on this now smoky; but obvious position. It's been a long time since he's been in combat like this; but still, the basics never leave you once you know your mission. He quickly motions with his right hand for the group in the elevator to exit, as he keeps his blaster ready for anything that may disrupt the exit from the lift. He glanced down the hallway watching a rush of fumes head toward him. His eyes widened and with some amount of breakneck speed he bolted off running toward the opposite end of the long corridor, diving into the turbolift. "Observation Deck!" he was breathing heavily, completely depleted because of that incredible sprint. He slammed his comm. on his wrist. "Malika to Security. I have had an encounter with gas grenades. Be advised and engage in tactical maneuvers for gassing procedures Set for heavy stun!" He switches to comlink over to the New Republic Security Depot "Malika to NR Security, gas grenade detonations in palace. Indeterminable amount of life-forms. Send re-enforcements!" As the lift accelerated to the observation tower, he glanced down at his datapad, attempting to trace the location of the assailants "Malika to Tanbris. Malika to Tanbris. Be advised there are hostile sentients near your location. I am en-route to the observation tower. Rendezvous there! I don't know what they are after. The only thing valuable here is data -- it has to be computer control." He emerges from the turbolift on the observation deck, jogging over to a monitoring panel. It flickers dimly, it has some juice left in it. Hopefully, it will serve some useful purpose. Something flashes in Faust's mind. Trouble was coming and he reaches out to grab Phair and pull her down behind the banister as the sound of grenade explosions go off, "Get down. Something is going on." he crouches down, "Just keep on guard, the Marines should be able to take care of this. Damned terrorists. Somebody really ought to do something about them." His gaze flicks towards the red-eyed woman, "Are you armed?" He asks, knowing the answer. "Keep it concealed, the last thing we need is to get shot by our protectors." He looks up over the encroaching attackers, one hand slipping into the pocket of his cloak to pull out a small comlink. However he doesn't activate it yet, or for what purpose he has it remains unknown. His voice drops back to a whisper, "However if anyone gets close, kill them." He reaches down to the top of his boot, unfastening the latch on a concealed holster, fingers tracing along the ridge of his hold-out blaster. Why did it seem lately that he was always in the wrong place at the wrong time. It seems her warning, which went unheeded was indeed on the mark. The soft hiss of the gas leaving it's makeshift home starts to fill the area behind the pair. Soon the sound is joined by the pounding of fast steps, and shouts of alarm and panic. Phair reaches for her blaster, but finds herself being dragged down my Faust, something he seems to do when ever there is danger about. Who exactly is protecting who. Not saying a word, the raven haired woman nods yes, and points to the blaster under her arm. It is a stun style weapon, but again the polite world that Coruscant is supposed to be demands such. As Phair up buckles the holster, she draws the pistol with her left hand, her right undoing the button on her coat, revealing a hidden hold out weapon. handing off the hold out, so is Faust. pointing to her eyes, she then signals ups and gestures for a number, talking might give out the position, that that is something the civilians can't afford. "Cover me!" Danik shouts, deciding to not wait for his men and rushing out into the hall. He doesn't take any time to shoot at the rebels, or even pay much mind to the rebel security officers and the tourists and what not. His goal is set on one thing and one thing alone: the turbolift bank. Hopefully his men will play it right; they'll cover him while he makes his way up to the throne room, holding off the rebel troops long enough for him to securely escape. That's what they're here for, after all; to save his ass. Rank has its privileges. "Cantrell, if it gets too rough, lay down some fragmentation grenades," he says over his headset, still on his dash to the turbolifts. "Do whatever it takes to hold them off, then get your sorry ass up the turbolifts!" Danik himself finally arrives at the lift, his mind shut off to anything else going on; he shouldn't have to worry about it, anyway, if his men do their job right... and now begins his journey up to the throne room. He enters the lift and is on his way. That damn old fool, Cantrell thinks to himself, watching Danik cry out the charge. A faint smirk crosses the Master Sergeant's face behind his sash, offering the Grand Admiral a nod. "With pleasure." He throws the rest of the group a quick glance before gesturing out of the lift. "Covering fire!" The trooper roars, his ST-II coming to life in a succession of single shots, the distinct whine of the rifle echoing through the hall. "Give the Admiral cover, then get your asses out." He points to Dareus and Krieg. "On the Admirals mark, I'll cover, and you two follow." He returns his attention to the hallway, his eyes sinking further behind the pressed eyelids. "Death to the New Republic!" If the prominent military base that had been bombed struck Sandor as an unlikely place to fear an attack on Coruscant - and once he'd recovered, it most certainly did - then an attack in what used to be the most heavily fortified building in the entire Galaxy is simply all but impossible for him to believe. After a few seconds, PFC Stasio recovers, and struggles his way out of Sandor's iron grip, taking hold of his under slung 36T carbine and popping off a few shots in the direction of the attacking group as he drops to a kneeling position. It's unlikely that any of them will actually hit, but at the very least it may serve as a reason for them to not stop at fight it out - at least, not out in the open. Sandor, however, is a bit less prepared, and finds that he must first grab hold of his 36T, which had been rather painfully slapping against him during the run, then pull it up, turn around, and drop onto his knee to reduce his profile as well. Although normally he'd spend a lot of time on each shot, given that the weapon he's been issued is hardly larger than a pistol, and lacks the sights that he's come to rely on - which would be all but useless at the relatively close range still present anyway - Sandor fires off a shot in the general direction of Dareus almost before he even realizes that he's there, as a person, rather than a formless blob that wants to see the traitor, and all his comrades, dead. Finding that running out to the next bank of turbolifts behind everyone else and that the NR was coming to life, Krieg wields his rifle and begins to aim at the closest NR soldiers in the area. He hears the command from Danik and drops to a kneeling stance behind a large pot of a tree that is in the main lobby, using it as some cover as he raises his rifle to the level of his shoulders, now taking aim for real upon the targets that may intercept the grand admiral. He looks like a real commando now, and something that would probably be in many scenes of movies. Thoughts of aiming and what needed to be done flood through his mind as he picks up a target and depresses the trigger to engage the firing mechanism on the rifle. A bolt of high energy streaks out to the target, as the rifle is definitely set on kill. A blaster bolt catches the shoulder of Dareus, burning his jacket and armor even though he's partially in the elevator. Left a little stunned, he calls out quickly; "MOVE MOVE MOVE" to the remaining people in the elevator Still a little rattled as other members of the strike team leave; he takes a standing posture in the elevator, and looks to Cantrell, "Master Sergeant, we need to start falling back to the lifts now, the reinforcements are on their way..." A couple of more blaster shots go past the entrance to the lift; and he looks back to both Krieg and Cantrell, "I'll head to the lift, and open up suppressing fire from there, cover me on my mark...." He gets into a semi-sprinting position, and leaps out of the door as he yells, "Now!" Running as fast as possible towards the limited cover of the lift area. Despite Faust's warnings or maybe because of them, Phair holds up both weapons. She isn't going to go unarmed, as she doubts that the people attacking the palace are all the concerned about her non-military status. She stays lodged behind the banister with him, and does her job protection. She isn't about to enter into a gun fight, not yet anyway as she couldn't care less about what the criminals were after. But should a shot stray too close, she will return fire. The sole reason for Phair following her boss here was to serve as protection, his life was far more important than her's in the grand scheme, but that doesn't mean she is willing to give up her life that easily. Peeking around the banister she gets a good look at one of the attackers, the others are obscured by the cloud of gas between them. She does however have the advantage of height, and can make out the lone protector as her boss pointed out. Phair doesn't believe that she is in danger for Marine, as she is more worried about stray shots. With any other weapon, she could pick the sprinting form of the attacker off, but with only her two small weapons, she slinks back behind the post elbows bent, holding the two pistols upright. Better to not be seen or heard at this point. Checking on Faust, she can tell his is upset she disobeyed him....he'll just have to get over it. He manages to regain his composure. After all, he's about to step foot in Palpatine's old throne room - the seat of Imperial power. As a grand admiral he has to look his best. Taking in a deep breath, the lift stops and the door opens - letting Danik out into the throne room. Smiling, Kreldin exits the lift, extending his arms outward as if he's taking in the entire room for himself, basking in its glory. "I have waited two decades to come here..." he says to himself, his eyes darting around the room and taking all the sights in. Until they fall upon Johanna. This causes him to abruptly stop and nearly trip over his foot. What is she doing here...? This isn't good... not good at all. His team is still not up here. His heart begins to pound as he stares at the Jedi, and for a few moments he's speechless. Finally, however, with his mind flashing to his insurance policy, he works up the courage to stand the witch down. "Johanna... what a pleasant surprise, so soon after our little run-in yesterday... I must say this is rather unexpected." It is almost too bold to be believed possible, even for one such as Grand Admiral Danik Kreldin, who hates her and her offspring with every fiber of his being. To have mounted an attack on the Palace while Coruscant is still under Republic control is the stuff of cheap holovids; surely such a thing is too bold to be realized! Johanna's jaw tenses and she feels the slow gnashing of her teeth before her lips draw back into a snarl and she brandishes her prized weapon by way of greeting. "Just couldn't leave well enough alone, my dear Mister Kreldin? You Imperial scum are all the same." Recovered Jedi though she may be, she makes no bones about her dislike of the Galactic Empire. "Come to treat the planet like a foregone conclusion?" The hiss of restless air wends its way about the Admiral; the molecules grow hotter. "Isn't it a mistake to meet the enemy in the open like this?" The blaster bolt that hits Dareus strays a little too close to the Master Sergeant, causing him to duck into the lift for a moment. Taking a look back, his face seems to scrunch up in a grin, "Feels good doesn't it?" He looks up at Dareus, letting out a stiff chuckle before returning back into the fire fight. That face looks familiar, Cantrell thinks to himself, spotting where the bolt came from that hit Dareus. Squinting, he recognizes the man. It can't be. A growl grinds from beneath his sash. "You.." He utters flatly, tightening the grip on his rifle. "Everyone...let's get out of this damn coffin." He grunts, gesturing out the door. "I got this." "I definitely got this." He grunts once more before returning a barrage of fire towards Sandor, his eyes burning with hate at the traitor. "Get your asses out of here now!" A hit! And Sandor's very first against someone since his defection to the New Republic - which is almost a bit sad, given not only how long he's served at this point, but the fact that he's seen combat, or at least been near it, more than once. Stasio, prudently, fires off another trio of wild shots to try to force the advancing, armored forms to cover, before returning to his feet and making his way towards cover as quickly as possible. "They're headed for the throne room!", he shouts, surmises even, before taking a hit in a weak area of the rear section of his light armor. It doesn't seem to be a fatal hit, but PFC Stasio is reduced to all fours as he crawls for the nearest cover. Sandor, however, is now a bit more into his element than he had been before. He's still too far off to hear what Cantrell says above the blaster fire, but the relatively near miss coming from him is enough to mark the Master Sergeant as a critical target. Perhaps it was simply luck, but more importantly, it's about to be vengeance for something that could have happened. Breathing in and out, Sandor squeezes off a reply, knowing that if he panics, then he'll most certainly be dead. A single bolt arcs toward Cantrell, as Sandor's eyes scan the area around him, to see if the group is going to stay and fight, or if they have a specific objective in mind. As cover fire is just that, Krieg follows the next set of orders and gets up from his firing position, keeping the rifle up and aimed at shoulder level, and bolts for the turbolift. There isn't anything that needs to be said or done besides just running, and that is exactly what he had in mind to do. Much more fighting was to come, and he needed to get up to the throne room where the real expertise he had to offer could come into play. Far from it right now though, he darts through the smoke as the next one to head to the turbolift bank and make his way up to the destination and goal for this mission. Once near the lift doors, Dareus quickly takes a one knee stance, and begins to open up with unaimed, covering fire for the remaining group in the lift. He keys his comlink to the whole group, "Grand we're making our way to the throne room now, Dareus out." The comlink quickly switches off as some of the members begin to take their covered firing positions near the lift doors. He moves into the lift arrives, and keys the comlink, "Get your asses here now to help the Grand Admiral...we gotta move gentlemen!" As Krieg comes running, he fires a few, unaimed cover shots to help his run, and continues the barrage of pointless fire until the whole crew has arrived at the lift; to help finish off their goal. "Sargent, get up here on the double, we gotta move!" he calls out from the lift; his blaster still firing covering shots, not necessarily aimed at anyone, but just a general direction. As the blaster bolts pass harmlessly below the pair of civilians, Phair slips the hold out blaster back in her jacket and buttons it back up. The fighting that rages below is on the move up to the Thrown room, the exact site that Faust had been so keen on going to. He is just going to have to wait for now. Maybe after the mess is cleaned up, they can return, in the mean time she can only hope he will listen to her instincts next time she says something is out of place. The way is clear for them to slip back out, she can watch the story about this in the IG news tomorrow. For tonight, it's best the Marines and local law handle this matter. "Damn it..." The anger in Cantrell's voice spits venom onto the metal plating on the floor when Cantrell misses. He underestimated the traitor's abilities. And then...it happens. In the blink of an eye, he spots a blaster bolt heading straight towards him, but not fast enough. "Aaaaaargh!" The Trooper bellows, the shot connecting onto his chest plate. His eyes close for a moment, before opening up, his eyes engulfed in a sea of green flame. "Is that all you got?" He roars with demand, standing back up, gesturing tauntingly towards Sandor. The world around him disconnects for a brief moment, the fury of being shot by a miserable traitor swirling in the seasoned troopers mind. And then reality strikes in the form of Dareus' voice. Hearing the man speak, Cantrell snaps his head towards him, spotting the rest of the team making a break for the turbolift. "Right move!" Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small frag grenade. Revenge is bittersweet. "Catch!" And with the pull of the pin and a heavy heave, he sends it towards the marines, racing towards the lift. As he had with the smoke grenades, Sandor fears the worst, and immediately springs to his feet. Awkwardly, he turns in the opposite direction, toward the cover that PFC Stasio has finally found, and breaks into a run as his heartbeat counts off the seconds once more. Only this time, he hears the proper sound, and is met by shrapnel as he doesn't make it away in time. Nothing lethal, fortunately, but enough to make Sandor realize that he'll have to tend to his own wounds and to those of the unfortunate Private First Class before considering any kind of a response against the attackers himself. Throne Room -- Emancipated Imperial Palace: Coruscant The former Emperor's Throne Room is a sunken auditorium like a great crater dug into the bedrock. The spectator seats are flat, stone benches, arranged semi-circle in front of the stage-like area where a majestic throne sits. Under the Empire's rule, this was where visitors could come to hear the Imperial pronouncements directly from the Emperor himself. The amphitheater-style seating has been made more comfortable with the addition of soft, padded cushions. Acoustics are perfect, allowing the audience to hear the barest whisper from a person on stage or sitting on the throne. The reverse is also true and the council area is so audible that one near the throne would be able to hear any question spoken to him from the highest row of benches; even whispered comments from one council member to another could have been discerned. At the pinnacle of the room is an angled, prismatic skylight, which pours rainbows of color onto the throne. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Holoterm Unit -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Krieger => Cantrell => Krieg => Tanbris => Malika => Danik => Johanna => Dareus Malika checks the computer terminal again, displaying a map of the area. He cross-references it with the schematics on his datapad, uploading security codes and pertinent data about the palac into his device. He checks a further scan, identifying that on the main-level, the throne-room, holds two occupants. He dashes into his turbolift, two New Republic Marines following close by. They have their blasters drawn, as does Malika. A frown, bordering on a scowl is across his face. It is a permanent mark of anger, he knows the source of his problems and the source of those grenades earlier would be in this room. The doors to the lift part and he emerges, his blaster pointing directly ahead. He charges into the room, stopping about 15 meters from the two individuals already occupying the space. "New Republic Security! Halt and turn, I have a blaster aimed", barked Malika. The marines flanking him also leveled their blaster rifles at the two forms. "Malika to NR Security, I have two hostiles in my sights. One of them is Danik Kreldin." He was poised, waiting for a response from either N.R.S. or the individuals trained in his site. All Tanbris could do was play the worst game of all - wait. Hope that through some fluke whoever was heading toward the throne room would spare him from becoming a permanent fixture on the walls of the palace. He hoped it wasn't the New Order - they were known to be justifiably brutal to their prisoners. The ones they took. For a naval officer, explosive decompressions, reactor failures, space collisions; they were the fears that haunted them. He never imagined he'd be in a situation quite like this. Malika's message came through loud and clear, but a reply would only serve as a reminder of the disparaging situation he found himself in. Looking down at his holster wielded the same. Woden had been on him for weeks to start carrying a sidearm - little did he know how important that decision to ignore those warnings might be now. With his left leg, he knew he could not go very far. He ducked in behind the throne room door, sitting in the shadow it created, out of sight. He had come to Palpatine's palace looking for a respite from what was going on outside; instead, he had found more danger in it. Tense situation. Danik's heart continues to beat faster and faster, adrenaline coursing through his system. So far so good, though - she hasn't ignited her lightsaber, nor has she brought the ceiling down on him. The air becomes nearly electric, and Kreldin can certainly feel it - perhaps it's the ghost of Palpatine, watching over them. Or maybe the energy between Danik and Johanna is really so great - he does hate her with a fiery passion, after all. "I don't think I make mistakes, Johanna; just calculated risks," he says, holding his ground against her. "You know me better than that," he says, his eyes glancing behind her as the NR security officers - four it looked like - began approaching. He does not flinch though. Instead, he simply reaches into his pocket and pulls out a rather small object, a holoprojector to those familiar. "Tell them to fall back, Johanna. I don't think you want anything happening to your son, now do you?" he says, flicking the projector on. An image of Etiel appears from the projector, locked in a cell and flanked by two Royal Guardsmen. "That would be most unfortunate, now wouldn't it? Unfortunately, those Guardsmen have been told that should anything happen to me, poor Etiel will have to suffer the consequences." A grin forms on his face, his eyes staring directly at the Jedi. As the air resonates ominously again, her white-bladed weapon ignites and she starts forward, wanting to part the Admiral's head from his neck. The warnings of the Republic forces behind her fade into the background. A moment before she would have gloated, would have made Danik even more painfully aware of the fact that he is outnumbered here. The arrival of Malika and his comrades had come at such an opportune time... ... Or not. "You're lying," Johanna snaps at Danik, even as her fear-blanched visage betrays a thought or two to the contrary, "You don't have him." Her senses stretch out through the Force to lance into the heart of the Imperial, testing the veracity of his seemingly outrageous claim. How can he possibly have Etiel? Etiel is safe on Gaena, watched over by Jessalyn Valios and her husband's kin. He is nowhere near Coruscant, nowhere near the Empire, surely! When her silent inquiries find no duplicity in the Imperial's words, the Jedi's shoulders sag ever so slightly. "He has nothing to do with this. Let him go." Much to her dismay the order sounds more like a request. Malika had beads of sweat dripping off his brw. With a hiss and a click, the doors of the turbolift parted, four more marines emerged taking up protectionary flanking positions around Malika. They also trained their weapons on the Admiral. Outside the palace were New Republic Marines gathering on his call for assistance after the gas-grenades and the mention that the Admiral was here himself. He looked to his marines that had joined him and mouthed the words "Stun only", hoping that was ample instruction. He watched the Jedi stand angled from Danik, she looked uneasy, from his perception of her expression. It was time to set that uneasiness to rest. He drew his blaster up to an appropriate aim, closing his left eye. His finger ripped back the trigger, firing off several stun shots. "What the devil?" was Tanbris' first thought; he saw the turbolift doors parting from his vantage point, and then saw Malika exit with a group of heavily armed New Republic security guards. Backup - just what they needed. He wished he had brought his own guards along on his private excursion, but he doubted that a New Republic security checkpoint would've given him the jurisdiction too. He knew that more Imperial troops were probably on the way; he keyed his comlink, but there was no reply anywhere. He rose from his hiding spot in the doorway, only to watch as Kreldin - he could recognize that man anywhere - unfurled a hologram of obviously some meaning. He didn't catch it; only the idle threats from the Grand Admiral. The tension in the air could've been broken with a knife; it was as Malika opened fire. So much for that, he figured - things were fixing to get pretty violent from here on out. Exiting the turbolift, Krieg is greeted with a new scene, and quickly aligns himself with what is going on in here to support the grand admiral. Of course, there are worse things for the admiral to be getting into, but this one was looking pretty bad so far. And by the sound of it, the firefight down below was taking a lot longer than the mission had anticipated. Seeing the admiral with some, what was that, Jedi? Krieg decides his best course of action is to take out the guards that are now entering into the room. Dropping to a knee for a better firing position, he brings his rifle to bear on Malika. With the setting still on kill he makes sure it is good, and even if he does miss it will give the other man something other to think about than Danik. Seeing that Danik was outnumbered here, Krieg was going to make one big ruckus to protect him, and that was at whatever price that needed to be paid. Of course the flight support would be on the way, he was prepared to contact the pilot for a firing solution from the inside here as a sort of heavy artillery. Over the wide channel of the comlink to everyone in the raiding party, "Admiral, we're on our way up...." Inside the lift, somewhat scratched, Dareus is ready for whatever will happen when that door opens. When the lift slows, and the doors open with a gentle hiss, Dareus, as the senior naval officer, takes a second to survey the situation, and looks around for only a brief moment before barking out commands, "Everyone, on the Admiral's defense....NOW". He bolts out of the turbolift, without regard for his own safety, and heads to a small covered point from the lift to help with the exit of the rest of the group from the turbolift, and opens up an unaimed barrage of fire towards anyone who is not the Grand Admiral; it's not directed, but it will hopefully be enough to distract the threat long enough to get the strike force in. "I can't believe I just got shot by a traitor..." Cantrell fumes, his eyes growing darker and darker as the scene that just unfolded rewinds in his mind. Shrugging it off, he checks his rifle's ammo count. Still good, he thought. Watching the doors part open and seeing the mass of NR troopers, he tugs down his sash. He wants the enemy know who they are dealing with. "Protect the Admiral at all costs!" His rifle lights up with a chaotic rumble of blaster fire, directed at the mass of troops. "Show no mercy to the Republic pig-dogs!" Danik watches as the lightsaber is ignited, but he still does not fall back. Would she be stupid enough to kill him and risk her son? Perhaps... she is insane, after all. Maybe he is in a bit too far over his head... "Come on, Johanna... you read my mind before. You know I'm telling the truth. Dispatch with these goons and let's deal with this in a civil..." Unfortunately not everything goes according to his plan, and a stun shot rings out and hits Kreldin - and he stumbles back, nearly dropping the holoprojector from his hand. "Bastard..." Danik is happy he decided to wear ESPO armor, or else he'd probably be a heap on the deck now. Still, he feels the effects of the stun blast, and Kreldin leans against the wall for support. "Call them off!" Fortunately for him, however, Cantrell & Co arrive from their fight downstairs, and then everything seems to turn around for him - perhaps he's going to make it out of here after all. Hoping the rebels will be too distracted to focus on him at this point, Kreldin looks back at Johanna. "Surrender, Johanna, or else Etiel will suffer.. you don't have much choice!" he says, breathing more heavily now as he tries to recover from the stun blast. Unfortunately he doesn't have time to play these games, with the NR or Johanna. He has to get to the vault. "Sergeant, take care of these rebels and seal off the turbolifts! We must hurry!" Malika switches his pistol to standard, kill. A little brutal, but so were the tactics of the Imperials. The air was thick with blaster bolts, he ducked behind a column, watching a group of New Republic Marines seek similar cover, attacking their aggressors. He peered out from behind the column, watching the Admiral noticably feeling the effects of his stun shots. He wondered what he was doing. Hopefully, it was the right thing. A life for a life seemed like an illogical course of reason for solving the problems of the galaxy, but their was little room for philosophical second-thoughts at this point. He motioned for two of the marines who were crouched next to him to aim and fire. They're Batavit BMC-150's trained on the Admiral, in a slightly weakened state released a series of shots from each of their rifles. Hopefully these will do a bit more justice. "Keep both eyes open", he said to himself, as he leveled his own blaster pistol and ripped off a volley of shots again. After firing off his round, he rolled behind the column again, seeking some cover from the hailstorm of blaster fire still flooding the air. His marines did the same, thank heavens, because a couple of blaster bolts struck the ground where they were crouched. Not because of direct fire, but the likeliness of ricochet was high in such a thick environment. The turbolift doors once again slid open, and more Imperial troops exited, out for blood; Tanbris watched as Malika went flying to deck to avoid one blaster bolt, and another spray took down two or three of his guards. Preferably, he'd propose some diplomatic solution right now - Kreldin and that Jedi can take their problems elsewhere, and everyone can leave without causing more casualties. But Imperial officers were seldom restrained and rarely reasonable, and he doubted that there was any love lost between either side. To his left, he watched as a standard blaster pistol from one of the downed guards went scattering to the floor and he grabbed it. It was the Republic's sidearm of choice, manufactured Draerian Defense; blaster pistols never fit right in his hand, never felt comfortable. He loathed them. He was a naval officer, not a combat soldier. There was a difference. As the female Jedi he didn't even know began to crumble and fall into a pit of her own despair, he finally left the shadows that the Throne's doorway created and emerged; the situation was thrown upside down. In front of him was Kreldin, facing Malika and his security guards, with Johanna off to the side, and behind Malika the Imperial soldiers who had just emerged from the turbolift who had their rifles trained on him. He thought about taking aim at Kreldin, but he might miss; he couldn't guarantee his accuracy even in such close quarters. If only he had had a flash grenade, or a thermal charge, or something. Malika then opened fire, and he himself hit the deck, fearing a ricochet or return and crossfire; what a terrible position he had been put into. Pinned down. His first shot overly failing to hit anything, Krieg makes aim for the rebels from his position still. Yes, he could run out to the admiral and get all shot up, but that would not help anything as there were other commandos that could do that and fire too. No, he needed to stay in the position he was at and fire again. He picks up another NR soldier and locks on. Of course, whatever he is aiming out there he is uncertain of the lines per se, but knows the general area of where everyone is so far. Getting a good aim and making sure to hit this time after seeing which way his previous shot went, he slowly pulls the trigger and releases the full charge of energy on the enemy. (at Tanbris) Once the firefight commences inside the throne room, all bets are off. This once hallowed ground for the Imperial Forces has now been desecrated; so Dareus moves to a lower cover position, somewhat closer to the Admiral, and keys the com to be voice activated, 'All units, converge to protect the Admiral at once!" Once he reaches his cover position, he looks to the Admiral, "Are you alright, Admiral?" As he waits for a response he opens up blaster fire towards the New Republic Soldiers, particularly towards Malika, who seems, or seemed to be an utter threat towards the very person he is here to protect. Tal'sin rushes into the throne room of the palace with the large gaggle of other New Republic marines, his rifle already drawn and ready. Unlike most of the other troopers, the green Twi'lek doesn't rush forward with his gun blazing. Instead, he moves quietly off to the side, huddled near an overturned stone bench, taking as much cover as possible without obstructing his aim. In the initial storming of the throne room, it hadn't occurred to Tal'sin what had potentially gone on in this room in passed years. As he scans the room for targets, however, the sight of the throne across and down the small expanse of empty chairs piques his curiosity. The Twi'lek has little knowledge of the history of the Empire, but he can't help but wonder if the idea for the betrayal of the Jedi of the past wasn't contrived and issued from here. Possibly. Possibly not. He shakes his head to himself and picks out a target. This isn't the time to let personal issues spring up and take control. Breathing calmly, Tal'sin aims the Farsight rifle at the man holding the holoprojector. He looks like he may be an important factor to events inside the large room, and as such makes a prime target. The (literally) green soldier takes another deep breath, tuning out potential distracts for only a split second as he pulls the trigger and fires. "Damn..." Cantrell is a bit overwhelmed of the now gigantic firefight in the throne room. So much history, and it's being blasted away by a bunch of backwater yokels. Excellent. Spotting his old friend and watching him take hit after hit but to the old man's good fortune and is unphased, Cantrell's face grows darker. "Hey...you bastards!" Cantrell taunts the enemy, leveling up his rifle towards Tal'sin. "My regards to your maker." He lets a wide, toothy grin as he lets out a horrible sounding blaster bolt towards the rather obvious green Twi'lek. So, the Imperials had finally arrived. That was fine with Krieger, it just meant that this Marine had to travel less of a distance to get his fair share of them. The general alarm had been sounded, and as the Second Combat Officer kicks open a hallway door, A280 wielded, he instinctively takes cover with his comrades as he surveys the situation. A noncommissioned officer lays upright behind a table. The man has a large scorch mark on his armor, which appears to have gone down right to the flesh. "Gunnery Sergeant, what's going on in here? How many of them are there?" "I'll tell you how many, sir, too damn many. We're being overrun." "Well, perhaps that might change now that he was he was here. Wilhelm peaks his head out from under the table, taking in the battle. As the Gunnery Sergeant had said, there were black and whites all over. The Imperial Storm Troopers were not the kind of men to take prisoners, as he knew from experience. After his first skirmish with them, he had learned quickly to return the favor. The concept of using the stun setting never entered his mind. He brings the A280 to his shoulder over the table, looking for a target. He pauses for a moment as he finds himself staring down his crosshairs at Danik Kreldin. So, the galaxy is a small place after all. Memories of times past surge through his mind. However, that lasts for a moment and no more. OCS quickly taught would-be Marine officers that hesitation can often prove fatal. Besides, the fewer people who could recant tales of those days, the better. Even as Danik is hit by a bolt from somewhere else on the line, Wilhelm adjusts his aim to compensate. However, just as he is about to fire, he watches a Twi'lek take a hit from yet another all-too familiar Imperial face. Once again adjusting his aim, he instinctively places his finger inside the trigger guard, and lets lose a bolt aimed at Cantrell. Danik should have expected that half the rebel troops here were opening fire on him. His face is too well known. But he's not about to give up now; oh no. As another blast shot impacts against his armor, absorbing into it, Kreldin winces and urges Johanna towards him. "There isn't much time, Johanna. Your son's life is at stake," he says, and he starts walking towards the left, remembering the schematics of the throne room from the Imperial archives. "You're coming with me!" Hoping to slide away under the cover of his troops, who were now doing a lot better against the rebel troops. "This way, this way..." He presses his hand against a slot in the wall, causing the wall to slide open and grant him access to the vault. He nudges Johanna forth, and the two enter into the room, the door closing behind them. He looked to a marine, nodding, grabbing his rifle. He leaned around the corner again, training his Batavit BMC-150 Carbine at Cantrell. He had watched a cadence of blaster-fire rush in every direction imaginable. He was worried about the possibility of too many people dying, but why continue to second-guess yourself in combat, it was dangerous. It could get your killed. Who cared about death at this point, he always believed it was best to turn life into a fighting chance to live. He watched Danik escape with Johanna. He wondered how likely it was that she had been corrupted. He was willing to ignore that for a moment. He opened fired with the rifle, a flurry of bolts exited and he whirled behind his cover once again. Tanbris' eyes widened as he saw the blaster bolt heading for his chest as he hit the deck, and he rolled to the right; he saw, out of the corner of his eye, it explode into the wall next to him, and he exhaled, realizing just how lucky he was to still be standing. They weren't firing on stun, that was for sure. He stood up from the floor, leaning against the wall, now fully exposed and in plain sight. He was like a fish out of water, flailing about. He saw two fresh faces enter the fray, Republic soldiers; Kreldin was absorbing blaster bolts left and right, or in some cases dodging them, and the Jedi had disappeared completely. His breathing heavy, arm shaking wildly, sweat dripping down his cheek, he brought his 'borrowed' DD6 pistol to bear at the back of Kreldin; only to see his Twi'lek comrade from the relief efforts on Republic Avenue go crashing to the floor, knocked unconscious and quite probably mortally wounded. His face contorted, he lowered his blaster pistol, his eyes staring lifelessly, almost shell shocked, as Tal'sin fell to the floor. What the hell was he doing? This moment of overt emotionalism left him exposed. "Kreldin!" He shouted as the reputed Grand Admiral once again managed to cheat death, escaping through a hidden catacomb in the wall of the throne room. He was gone Seeing again that his shot fired missed, he didn't anticipate that his opponent would hit the deck like he did. Seeing the blaster match ensue, he makes ready a better position to shoot at the targets assailing Danik, and diligently takes aim at the next villain. He's still got his sights on (tanbris) the same man and watches him move, anticipating the man's movements and slowly pulling the trigger back once more. This time he releases the energy on a dead on path, observing around him after the shot to make sure that he isn't being preyed upon by others sneaking up behind him. The blaster fire towards Danik distracts Dareus for a moment, but only enough before he realizes that one of the group is in fairly grave danger. Briefly, his leadership fails him, but after a few seconds of watching other people fall in this vicious combat, Dareus is heard clearly over the comm "Sergeant, we're backing you up, take a clear cover position near the left flanking column. His voice is clear, and very commanding as he looks to Krieg, his own senior officer, "Let's get the hell out of here as quick as possible." As he finishes his words he takes a quick moment to fire a few shots towards Tanbris, who has been making somewhat of a duck shoot of this imperial force. As he does so, the VOX of his comm opens up, "Hold all positions until the Grand Admiral returns....that's a goddamn order...!" His blaster opens up quite wildly, either with rage, or simply euphoric pleasure in the whole circumstance. Success. Seeing his bolt connect with the very large and very green Twi'lek, Cantrell help but grin in satisfaction. "Success." He whispers to himself, congratulation himself for the 'kill'. But then, out of nowhere, a stray bolt connects on his left shoulder. "Arrrgh..." Cantrell grunts, the force sending him backwards on his feet. "Is that all you can do?!" Lifting up his rifle towards Krieger's general direction, he paces back, snapping off a shot as he pulls back to regroup with the rest. A curse can be heard muttered under Tal'sin's breath as his shot seems to hit the figure quite solidly, but have no effect on the Imperial officer. Eyes glance down at the Farsight quickly, a look of disappointment about them. The feeling of irritation soon passes and the Twi'lek begins targeting again, only to notice a nasty looking blaster bolt flying straight and true towards him. The cover he's only slightly behind doesn't do any good - the Twilek hadn't noticed the shot in time. He attempts to dive out of the way, but to no avail. The shot impacts with Tal'sin's chest, the light armor doing little to soften the blow. As the Twi'lek goes down, rapidly fading into consciousness, a small string of curses floats through his mind as he can't help thinking that the Republic Military /really/ needs to invest in some quality armor. By the time Wilhelm readjusts his sights on Kreldin, he has already disappeared from view. Perhaps today was Krieger's lucky day and some unseen hero had transformed him into a steaming cloud of vapor. He knew the odds were strongly against that, though. As he shifts back to take aim at Cantrell again, he is greeted by a nice glowing beam of energy headed his way. It impacts him directly in the shoulder, causing a nice zap sound followed by the smell of burning flesh. After a few seconds of shock, however, he returns to his former position and pats himself down. He appears to be relatively unscathed. "Is that the best the Empire can produce these days? You'd have been better off throwing rocks!", Wilhelm shouts back. However, rather than shooting back at Cantrell, he takes aim at Krieg, and cracks off a bolt. When the maelstrom-level noise of blaster fire in the previous room dies down as they advance through the corridors, Johanna finds the voice to speak. "What could you possibly want from me? From my son? I am SORRY that I humiliated you, ok? I'm sorry! Vadim held me under his sway... but you... you... you KNOW that, don't you?" Her dark eyes grow suddenly wide with realization. "I can smell it about you; you're one of us." Indeed, now she knows why there has been more tension than ever before between the two of them. She can sense Danik through the Force quite strongly, and he can likely feel her to some degree as well. "What do you want, Danik? For me to apologize via IGN? For me to denounce the Republic? I'll do it, I'll denounce them. Only free my son." The "vault," as Danik likes to call it, is rather impressive: Palpatine's own hide-out within the Imperial Palace. As if his throne room wasn't secluded enough. It's a shame he had to trash the room, though... but he'll get over it. As he leads Johanna through the corridor towards where he believes the datacard to be, he turns to look at the woman. He notices something distinctly different about her: gone is her rage. What remains is desperation. What had happened to her? He swears he feels it, her desperation, fear, anger rushing through him. It's enough to make his stomach turn - her love for her child nearly invoking some level of sympathy in Kreldin. Perhaps it's because he knows he'll never experience that sort of love, that sort of compassion; that'll he have no offspring to pass any legacy onto. But Kreldin locks down. He can't allow his emotions to get the better of him. Instead, he grabs Johanna by the arm and stops walking, turning to look straight into her eyes. "We are beyong apologies, dear. You can denounce the Republic all you want; it's dead, anyway. What I want from you is simple: I want you to come with me. As my prisoner. We are going on a little trip, you see. And I can use someone like you on this trip." "Your prisoner?" Johanna echoes, though it's clear she knows who holds all the cards... her tone is subdued. "Why? Where are we going? What could you possibly need me for? You have the best navigators and pilots in the galaxy at your disposal, you have armies of millions and fleets enough to glass the universe as we know it. What do you need one Jedi for?" She battles with herself to remain calm, the idea of being taken back to Vadim enough to nearly make her gag. A range of emotions plays out over her remarkably expressive features. "Danik Kreldin, if you can feel the Force... if you can touch it as I can, you must know that what you are doing is wrong. My son is innocent. You and I are far from it, expend your rage on me." "All the fleets in the galaxy wouldn't matter much for where we're going, dear," Danik quickly replies, letting go of her arm. He begins searching through the room for the datacard, looking through drawers and other areas for any sign of it. "We're going to Ord Trasi. I'm sure someone like you have heard of it before. I can use your..expertise there." Danik would much rather use Johanna as a sacrifice; someone he can use to weather the dangers of Ord Trasi without risking anything to himself. And if she did survive, she would be quite the present to present to Vadim on a successful voyage home. "Whatever it is I feel, Johanna, it has empowered me to do what is necessary; to crush the likes of you, and your so-called Republic. Your son is not innocent; he was guilty of treason the moment he was born. The legacy you passed on to him. However, should you cooperate in a civil matter... you may just see him again..." He's careful to choose his words, though. She may seem again, but not necessarily in a non-Imperial enviornment. He continues to dig through datacards, humming a little tune from his childhood on Corellia as he searches. For a moment she feels herself in very real danger of bursting into sobs. Then it overpowers her and she cries. "Ord Trasi, a dark planet," she says through her tears, "I can feel your curiosity. You think your destiny lies there? Had Vadim made you promises?" Johanna can't quite believe what she does next, but then again she'd never imagined that her eldest child, a boy already gifted in the Force, would fall into Imperial hands when his safety had seemed so certain. "Whatever Vadim has promised you is a lie. He can bring you only pain. Or has my brother tried to seduce you with promises of greater powers, Dark things to speed your machinations for the galaxy? My brother is Vadim's puppet, and Vadim is a something that was never human. We are nothing to him. We are garbage." Danik is taken back by Johanna's outburst. What is this? This isn't the psycho who kidnapped, tortured and humiliated him. This is.. a very concerned mother. No. No no no. She's a Jedi. She's vile. She's corrupt. It's a trick, that's what it is. Nothing but a trick. Don't let her fool you, Kreldin. Shaking his head, Danik pulls out a datacard and reads the label on it. "This is it..." he says under his breath, sliding the datacard into his pocket. He turns back to face the crying Johanna, shaking his head some more. "I have not yet had the privelege to meet with Vadim on this matter, dear; and I'm afraid I do not know of this brother you speak of. I'm afraid your words mean little, however; whatever Vadim may think of me is irrelevant. Let him use me. It works to my advantage. My time will come. For now, though, you need to regain your composure; this is very unbecoming of you," he says, stepping up to the woman and placing his hands on her shoulders. "Your son will be returned to you after the completion of the mission. Then you may go with him, wherever you choose. Are we at an understanding?" The pilot blinks a few times against her tears and shakes her head once, miserable. "You are wrong on one point at least, Danik. You must know my brother quite well. Surely you have served with Warlorld Malign? Or at least met him? His real name is Tyler Damion... though it doesn't matter now, he has shed that skin forever. I've tried to bring him back. Some beings just..." But she doesn't finish, finding it difficult work as it is to cut off another sob. "I'll go to Ord Trasi with you, I'll get you whatever it is you want. Just don't let anything happen to Etiel. If I find out that you or those under your command have even..." That vague glow that Danik had seen around her when she'd been beating him to a pulp on Tatooine now incandesces into a white-hot light and the Jedi's skin pains her with the intensity of it. The tiny little hairs on Johanna's arms are singed before the light fades into nothingness, willed back by a woman struggling to remain in control of her unnatural abilities. Dareus moves towards the doors which Danik had entered and promptly shut. "All units converge on my position." As the other commando's assigned to this raid move into certain covered areas, Dareus runs back towards Cantrell's area, "Sergeant, establish a perimeter around that door, and prepare for our extraction." He was not a ground combat hardened soldier, but he damn sure was an officer. As the bolts of random fire ensue, Dareus sets his sighs on Tal'sin; and opens up a full volley with his ST-I rifle; not relenting until enough time has passed before he can take cover again behind one of the areas of the throne room, "Dareus to Danik, we're prepared to move out, Grand Admiral, awaiting your instructions." Over the comm, it's easy to hear the blaster fire, and screaming of all the combatants involved in the terrible battle ensuing in the throne room. "What?" Cantrell looks back towards Dareus, having a bit of trouble hearing over all the blaster fire. Finally comprehending, he nods, gesturing the commandos to do what he's told. He's having a bit too much fun chewing up New Republic soldiers. "Sir...all due respect...you can't hit sand if you fell off a freaking bantha!" Cantrell turns to spit out a glob of spit, aiming his rifle towards Krieger. "Allow me!" And PEW PEW PEW! LASER BEAMS! With PFC Stasio bandaged up and treated with some burn ointment, the best that Sandor can offer in the present situation, Sandor has since parted ways with his squad mate, who limped away to get further treatment. Although wounded himself, he seems to have handled it about the same way that Cantrell did when hit by Sandor's blaster shot, and has managed to make his way to the makeshift armory and barracks used by the Marine platoon that had been assigned to watch over the emancipated palace on this particular night. In particular, Sandor knew that one weapon calls to him more than any of the others, and traded his slung 36T carbine for his own Farsight laser sniper rifle. Although he's still an active proponent against the use of laser sniper rifles, which instantaneously reveal one's position to the world around them, Sandor carries it nonetheless, having heard the stories of how large and majestic the Imperial throne room really is. Emerging from one of the turbolifts, Sandor immediately rushes to the side, trying to conceal himself in the shadows for the time being, and get a better awareness of the situation before adding in his shots. Notably, he does not sit, having quite a good idea of how that would feel. Dareus looks to the sergeant, "Stow your smartass crap, Sergeant and get the job done." He crouches up, and fires a few blaster shots towards the marines, then moves to a lower cover position, "We're running out of men, we need to get this crap done quickly...." Checking the power left in his laster, Dareus rolls to the right a bit and opens up a volley towards the newly approaching sniper, hoping to get a few shots in on the general direction before he, himself has to take cover, "Covering fire on alpha, my mark...." with that being said over the comm, he opens up his own volley of fire, before moving to another covered position, strike and fade is his own momentum now, at least until they are able to leave this foray.... "With all due respect, sir..." Cantrell loads up a fresh ammo clip, keeping himself low for the meantime. "You have no idea who you are messing with." He issues the statement, a menacing scowl planted firmly on his face. "Take a look at the Republic Pig-dogs...I -am- getting the job done." He scans around the room, the hail of blaster fire and dead bodies distracting, but he searches for any new threats. Adjusting the scope to the shortest range possible, so as to target effectively in such a small area, Sandor's gun trains it's way silently toward Cantrell, the man who had hit him with several bits of shrapnel that still sting quite a bit. 'Just breathe, you can do this, you hit him once already,' Sandor reassures himself, as he lines up the shot. The thought enters his mind that he might want to consider trying to shoot Cantrell in a frag grenade, but whether or not the familiar face has any left is a moot point, as Sandor can't see any visible. With so much death and destruction in such a short time, the sniper does not have to think twice as he squeezes down upon the trigger. Danik taps a button on his collar, which activates his homing signal. The escape ship, a YT-2400, will pick it up and be on its way in no time. It's time to blow this party. Johanna's words, however, ring loudly within Kreldin. "Malign.. is your brother?" he says, his throat suddenly feeling very dry. Oh boy. What would Tyler do if he discovered that Kreldin kidnapped his nephew and sister? This was not in the plan. He would just have to work his way around it.... and ensure no real harm does come to Etiel, as per her wishes. He doesn't need her light show to convince him otherwise, but it does scare him a little, as it reminds him all too much of Tatooine. But he maintains his composure, and he motions for the exit. "This way..." he says, pressing a button to slide open the wall door again, and he returns to the now far more calm throne room... His shock is another thing that she can sense, and for the first time in this encounter, she suppresses a smirk. "Yes, my older brother," Johanna replies, "Too Corellian for his own good sometimes. You're not Corellian, are you, Danik? You don't seem to fit that easy stereotype so many of them like to play up." That's probably enough though, she doesn't want to push him and follows along as he moves back towards the throne room with his prize safely tucked away. "If you really intend to take me to Ord Trasi, you might want to tell me what it is you're looking for there. The Dark Side can confound the weak-minded quite easily." Then she adds rather hastily, "I'm not saying you're weak-minded, but if you're taking any others with you, they will be ill-used to various tricks commonly employed. For all I know Vadim's pulling the strings again. At least he's... familiar to me in some ways and I can be on my guard for all of our sakes." As Danik comes back out of the room, clearly over the comm, Dareus can be heard, "All units fall back to protect the Grand Admiral, Immediately." As the units begin to converge, Dareus stands up, and begins to walk towards the Admiral; aware of the standard laser blasts from the regular marine units, ; and then crouches down to maintain a covering posture to ensure his commanding officer is safe, "When the dropship is in place; everyone on board, I'll be the last to join you"....It's no longer a request, but an order, since aside from Danik, he's the only other high ranking naval officer on this mission. As he sees the strike force begin to make their escape, he makes the mistake of standing up, and beginning his walk to the drop point; only avoiding the regular marines fire, and somewhat ignoring the rest of his surroundings, except for his own soldiers' well-being; giving them a safe push on the back to head home. Watching Dareus intently, a faint smirk crosses the Master Sergeants face. He hears the orders to fall back, letting out a sigh of relief. Finally out of this hell hole. But he wasn't expecting the blaster bolt from out of nowhere. The round deceives the Master Sergeant, sinking past his armor and into his abdomen. "Son of..." He lets out a grunt, falling down on a knee, clutching the wound on the side. "Wha...what..." He gazes over towards Danik and the rest, gesturing everyone ahead. "We have a sniper! Go go go!" Could it be that all of the rumors were lies after all, of Cantrell's supposedly legendary exploits? When Colonel Halwinder had informed Sandor that he would be assisting Cantrell in his return to the Imperial Army fold, the then-Master Sergeant Woden had no idea that his sudden promotion to Sergeant Major after the meeting would be so quickly diminished by being shown up by the natural abilities of Cantrell's gunnery. But then, time has proven in Sandor's mind that relying solely upon natural abilities can be a rather dangerous thing, and choosing the scope, even set to so little magnification as per the short distances involved in the throne room, had proven to be a rather sound idea. With the world around him swirling, and one target on his mind, Sandor doesn't even notice the approach of Danik Kreldin, an even more important target in Sandor's mind than a man who could have easily grown into a friendly rival if he'd stayed as part of the Imperial Army. But there's nothing friendly about Sandor's rifle staring at the wounded man, a choice set before him, as another blow may well push the attacker over the edge. Given that it appears to Sandor as though the man might be directly responsible for the deaths of many of his comrades - and for wounding the sniper himself, in a rather uncomfortable place no less - it again isn't a difficult choice to make. Sandor's finger squeezes down upon the trigger, sending another brilliant arc flying towards Cantrell. Cantrell is wounded? Oh hell. That's when you know things are getting rough. If only Danik knew it was Sandor who is responsible - but even then, he might not even bother to stay behind and fight him. He has more important concerns. "To the balcony," Danik says, pointing to the doorway leading out to the balcony, where right now the YT-2400 is hovering outside. He gives Johanna a look over, trying to keep his fear of Tyler burrowed. She would not get the best of him here - not when he finally has the upper hand. "I'll fill you in more on the way there," Danik says, looking down at her lightsaber. "And I think I'll be taking that with me, too..." As he makes his way towards the balcony, and the escape, he takes a look at Cantrell. "Come on, slacking off, Cantrell? No time for rest!" Danik shows the way for Johanna to the ramp of the YT-2400, which was extended towards the balcony ledge. "Ladies first..." Dareus begins to move towards the ship, as the other groups, do; as Cantrell falls; he quickly holsters his blaster, and helps the Sergeant up with one arm, as a human crutch, "Time to get the hell home, Sergeant, we'll be back to fight another day....don't' worry." They both limp together, Dareus using himself somewhat as a human shield for the wounded comrade, looks to the other lower ranks of the operation, "Give us some covering fire, we have wounded to get out...." Hearing another shot blare out, Cantrell stands perfectly still, watching it barreling towards him with such great speed. But wait...it misses. Cantrell continues to stand there, the barrage of fire flailing haphazardly around the wounded trooper, getting back up to one knee. "Traitor!!" Cantrell roars out in anger, firing madly in random directions. "I will have my retribution! This isn't...over!" And with that, he's startled to receive help from Dareus, too furious to accept. "I'm fine." He growls, his spit almost sizzles as it flies out of his mouth, clutching his side as he hobbles his way out of the throne room. He throws a faint grin. "She better be good, Danik." He takes another look at Johanna before returning his gaze to Danik. Taking one more look back, he throws out a glob of spit again, followed by a scoff. "This isn't over." Well, that hadn't worked as Sandor had expected it to. A sudden, immense pain in his rear had taken over the moment he'd fired the shot, causing the blaster bolt to miss by mere inches. And now there just isn't enough of a window left for Sandor to make another shot, as covering fire forces him to go prone to avoid ending up in Cantrell's condition, or worse, as Sandor catches sight of a wounded Twi'lek nearby. As he crawls over to tend to his comrade's wounds as well as he can before emergency crews can arrive, Sandor realizes that he actually recognizes the man, remembering him from the effort to find bodies after the explosion in the NR military base. And now, if things don't go Tal'sin's way, he'll become a body himself. "Irony's a bitch," Sandor whispers, as he produces what few bandages he has remaining and sets about the impossible task of stabilizing the other sniper. From SW1ki, a Wikia wiki.
- Field work. Not something Danik Kreldin has done in quite a long time. It's quite refreshing, really, to once again be back in the heat of things; office work can get boring. But, adventure and excitement is not the reason Danik decided to join this operation. It's a personal matter for him; this is something he absolutely must do. His objective is simple; retrieve a datacard from a vault within the upper levels of the Imperial Palace. A datacard containing the location to a Sith planet. The actual operation is not so simple. This is the Republic's Coruscant, after all, and this is the Imperial Palace. Fortunately, the Empire is good at record keeping, and floor plans, hidden passages and other goodies for the Palace were all in great abundance in Imperial archives; they at least have that on their side, not to mention the element of surprise. And, if Kreldin is right, the will of the Force - which is what this mission is really all about, after all. He just wishes Malign, or even Jarek, were with him. Where the hell were they? It's going to be tough without them, but Kreldin is confident he can pull it off with the team he has assembled. They're in the sewers now, in the lower levels of the Imperial Palace; soon they'll be on their way up, utilizing passages hopefully the Republic haven't secured as much. Either way, it's not going to be easy, especially if the Jedi decide to pop in and derail his plan. But these are risks Kreldin is willing to take. Casting a glance over to Cantrell and the others, he nods his head. "You boys ready for this? Let's make this quick and painless as possible. Let's not try to make a mess, Cantrell..." It's the more macabre side of herself that has compelled Johanna to visit the liberated Imperial Palace, for if logic has its way it won't be liberated much longer. It will simply revert to being the Imperial Palace and installed there, no doubt, will be the new Emperor. She ambles through the vast building and makes a point of it to stop in the commanding Throne Room with its dazzling prismatic skylight, though the object's purpose is lost in the Coruscanti night. How such a beautiful light-catcher could have been crafted by those who serve evil is almost a little beyond her; she turns her face towards the massive ceiling and squints in thought. Vadim does not deserve such a Throne Room. No, he would be better served by a subterranean installation that reeks of rotting bodies or some similar pleasantry. Who knows, maybe that's what he'll turn this place into! Something about him, however, tells Johanna that he'll sit on the throne easily enough and fancy himself the rightful ruler, ensconced in a brilliant palace from which he can issue whichever decree he chooses. He is, after all, supremely intelligent by his own estimation, and deserving of such illustrious surroundings. Her expression darkens for a moment and she kicks her heels against the smooth row of seating that the amphitheater provides. Field work is exactly Cantrell's expertise. His days back into the mess of things certainly has revitalized Cantrell's will to fight in the last few days, especially in the earlier escapades on Coruscant. Following alongside his old friend, Danik, Cantrell nods slightly, his eyes narrowing a bit at the site of the Palace. "My boys are -always- ready." Cantrell growls towards Danik, his teeth grinding with hatred at the thought of the Republic littering the Imperial Palace with propaganda races his mind. "Hopefully things will go quieter than the last operation." He says to Danik, reminding him of the last encounter with Jedi. "It sure is great to be battling alongside you again, Danik." He lets out a light-hearted chuckle, trudging through the muck and grime in the sewers. Looking back at the rest of the group, he sets his ST-II to semi-auto. "You heard the Admiral, men. Let's make this as quiet as possible." "Status report, Woden," a voice clicks into life from Sandor's headset, prompting the man out of a near-daze. It's already been more than an hour since his shift began, and while several more remain before he can be done with his patrols within the halls of the emancipated Imperial Palace, the soldier is more than ready to call it quits already. Even knowing that there's a prodigious shortage on people with clearance to enforce the laws of the New Republic, and protect various facilities that have been reduced to mere husks of their former security crews in the wake of the rioting, Sandor Woden knows just one thing. Whatever information stored in the vaults of the Palace is not his problem. "Nothing here, Six, most everyone's gone home already." As with the last time that he'd replied in such a manner, there's no reply over the radio, but it does illicit a bit of a smirk from one of the Marines nearby, also equipped with basic light armor and a 36T carbine. In such tight quarters, there's just no room for the heavier weapons to come into play, and more importantly, they're needed to carry on the fight against the Empire. Or so Sandor tells himself, at any rate, admittedly a little uncomfortable to be indoors with a weapon that he's largely unfamiliar with. But then, in so prestigious a structure, just who would be foolhardy enough to try anything out of the ordinary? Walking through the former Imperial palace on Coruscant was like a trip through the past for Tanbris. It was ironic to think that fifteen years ago Palpatine stood on these very floors and ruled with an iron fist, using his Security Bureau to enforce loyalty among even his closest ranks and the megalomania of men like Tarkin to keep the galaxy in check; now that had been replaced by a regime that that had been on a defensive that showed no signs of letting up. But taking the drastic gains with the drastic losses came with the territory. He stopped, leaning against a wall on the entrance level to collect his thoughts. They said that he would be shipped out soon, probably aboard the Mon Mothma, and there was talk that he might even receive his first command in short order. Someone in the Academy had told him once that it was a good idea to get a look at everything a port has to offer, because there were no guarantees you would be ever coming back, and he thought that Palpatine's lasting legacy was an appropriate, if ironic, choice. Naval officers like himself rarely got these kinds of chances. Night cast an eerie shadow over the complex, generating lingering reminders of its former residents. Having had enough of his private reverie, and deciding it might be best if he at least check in, Tanbris started down another corridor, one he figured that would take him back toward the entrance. At the same time, the thought of being able to lose himself here for hours was not that unattractive, either. Away from all of the problems on Republic Avenue and whatever was playing out on the stage among the stars above them. Dareus moves behind his Admiral, a confident look on his face, "Absolutely Admiral; we'll be out of here in no time." He lifts the left side of his hip-length leather coat, and double checks that the blaster is still securely in it's holster; if anything, just for the comfort of knowing that it was still there. After a few steps, he figures they must be quite well below the Imperial Palace by now, and a somewhat solemn look comes over his face; they should be walking proudly in dress uniforms through the gate, instead of slugging through these nasty sewers, oh well. Times change, and he knew, they would be back soon enough. As he steps in something rather disgusting sounding, with a half grin he smiles towards Cantrell, "Thanks for the invitation; by the way Admiral; it's been a long time since I've been able to have fun like this." Given the operation, he knows that Danik would have known what he meant; chances are the others wouldn't have; but oh well; it's amusing in Dareus' own mind. After another moment's thought, he decides to add, "Don't worry, sir, it hasn't been too long though; I still remember the important things" Fine time to be joking, but the serious parts are undoubtedly on their way; might as well enjoy the silence while it lasts. Hiking up the path with a few Rebel Troopers, he glances up at the palace, a scoff echoes down the rock slide "How gaudy. Not much of anything anymore. More of a museum. A storage facility for the memories of the old regime - the Empire", it was a mighty power, a power that once dominated this very planet and the very galaxy itself. It casted an eerie feeling all over Malika as he looked at the palace set before him. "Such a concentrated force of absolute corruption. How could one stand it, Hobbs?" The young officer nervously clutched his hand around his blaster. "Maybe a good pay bonus, sir?" he managed a slight laugh before making his inquiry "Sir, why are we here, anyway?" Malika rubbed his chin, as he continued down the path. "Well, I've got little to do right now while the Reprisal is being fixed and the Mon Mothma is undergoing maintenance. I got some marching orders for some milk-runs on Coruscant. Tomorrow, I have to appear before the Senate for supplemental hearings regarding the rogue Captain, Olimar Tains. For now, I'm taking you guys to the palace, so you can relieve the other watch that guards this area. The NR Security Bureau doesn't want looters running through this place and trying to rip off the artwork and components that are still in here. Our teams haven't finished stripping it anyway. You're going to babysit, basically." Malika tapped a few buttons onto his datapad, "Damnedest thing, though. Sending me in the middle of the night. I'm supposed to be asleep." As he makes his way within closing distance of the grand palace, his neck arches back, staring up at it's immensity. Shrouded with figures of lords and laborers of the Empire. His previous expression of mockery transformed into almost an awe, with a reverence, yet disdain for the engineers who crafted this symbol of absolute supremacy and dominance. "Hobbs, take the rest of the security team and find your stations. I'm going to signal the local New Republic Security Post informing of them of our progress." He watched Hobbs not and hurry off with the rest of the security team. "Malika to base, Malika to base. New security team is being installed. Old security team is being relieved and sent back to base, copy?" While still staring at the information on his datapad, his hand drops down to his Norcor XiX Reciprocator. Tried and true, he unclipped the top of the holster, his left hand wrapped around the butt of the gun. Always have an escape plan -- a motto he lived by. Though it was getting near closing time for the 'museum' that had become the former Imperial Palace, Viktor Faust had chosen this time to visit the once majestic building. He walks with his hands clasped in front of him, his cloak pulled around him to fight off the somewhat chilled Coruscanti night. He looks down at the chrono on his wrist after a few moments. She was running late it would appear, but time was not so important at this moment. He was assured she would arrive. The recent strife in this sector of the massive city had been particularly difficult and the increased vigilance from the Republic Marines were a welcome sight. Especially for an unarmed citizen such as himself. He reaches out and brushes his fingers across one of the stone walls, "How much trouble have you seen? How much is yet to come?" he pulls a small datapad from his cloak, opening up the guided tour program, projecting a small map of the palace along with a droid translating the features and historical facts behind the buildings construction. For what ever reason her boss had decided it was a good idea to take a walk at this hour, Phair Kreiss find herself in front of the single largest structure on this planet. To say it was impressive would be an understatement, but to pull the look off it set about an oppressive shadow as well, much like the man that had it built. It was all the woman could do not to slip her right hand under her left arm and feel the reassuring grip of her sidearm. She did not however because it was frowned upon in the polite society of Coruscant despite the riots and chaos that had washed over the planet of late. No matter the trend Phair had a job to do, her position as first aide and bodyguard for Viktor Faust was the best paying she had in a long time, and so if the blue blood wanted to go for a walk, she would put on her best suit and follow him dutifully all over his home world. He had only given her a few moments to be ready, and for that very reason, she always kept a well press suit ready, for his whims. He required his staff to look impeccable, something the former spacer found most difficult. Keeping just a step away from her charge, her red eyes scanned the area, a nightmare for security, there were hide holes, sharp peaks and long shadows. As if the planet had read the dangerous thoughts, a gust of wind pushes from between the buildings, lifting the loose stands of her dark hair. Indeed it does depress Danik to have to walk through the -Imperial Palace- via the sewers. It's insulting, really. But like any Imperial, Danik knows that would soon change. His eyes dart from Cantrell to Dareus to Krieg, nodding his head slowly as each of them chime in with their confirmations. While he does miss the presence of Malign, the presence of his old buddy Cantrell does soothe his old nerves somewhat; if anyone is going to fight his way through the Imperial Palace, it's Wescal. Smirking, Danik points towards a maintenance elevator down the corridor. He has no time for small talk with the men; he's on a rather tight schedule here. "That maintenance elevator will take us to the main hall, behind the main entrance. We'll have to transfer over to a turbolift several banks down, which will take us directly to the throne room." Oh yes, the throne room. The seat of Imperial power for nearly two decades. The thought of stepping into it, whether it be under Republic control or not, causes goosebumps on Kreldin's skin. He steps into the maintenance elevator, and as he waits for the others to file in, he taps his headset. He knew the person on the other line would be listening, hopefully. "We're making our way up the lower levels now. We'll be in the main hall in a few minutes..." It isn't going to be pretty, either. Hopefully Republic security wouldn't be too tight; but at least they have the advantage of surprise on their side. And some gas grenades. He looks down to his belt and nods. "Hope you know how to use those grenades, Cantrell... it's gonna get ugly real soon." The elevator doors slide close and it begins its journey upwards. Something is afoot. She starts as if someone had just shouted at her and slips lightly from the amphitheater seating, glancing about to scan for any visual confirmation of her uneasy suspicions. There's nobody here save for the lone guard at the far entrance, and he's half asleep. It just doesn't seem to fit. Johanna moves up and out of the rows of seats with caution, taking care to keep her gaze roving should anything suddenly jump out of the shadows. Heck, bad things have a habit of doing that, but nothing out of the ordinary seems to be going on here. Several paces more and she's begun her walk around the perimeter of the room, the terminus of her journey meant to bring her to the exit once she's satisfied that nobody is hiding out within this cavernous area. "Oh, Cricket," Johanna sighs, suddenly wishing the heap of evil and metal in the form of her R2 astromech were here to keep her company, "You'd probably tell me I was being paranoid." Is she being paranoid? There have been a few instances in the past when her hyper-alertness has fooled her. Is this one of them? Her steps finally grow silent as she pauses to listen to any whispered warnings the Force might bring her. "Yeah yeah..." Cantrell scoffs, brushing off Dareus' thanks. This wasn't a Sunday walk in the park. The seasoned veteran knew when to focus on business and now's the time. "Alright everyone...weapons and ammo check." With that order, he examines his well-worn and modified ST-II, patting his utility belt. "Last thing we need is someone having a fried battery unit on their piece." Cantrell follows the Admiral through the tunnels, gesturing everyone forward. "This is it, gentlemen. Do not do anything until the Admiral says so. Otherwise, I'll shoot you myself." He growls, watching the door open with a slide. Spotting the old man lecturing him about grenades, he can't help but to let out a dry snort. "You forget who you're talking to, old man?" He chuckles, grabbing hold of the grenade. "By the way...that target practice was a fluke." Only the two would know what that meant. "After you, boss." "Why do we gotta do this?", the formerly-smirking Marine PFC asks, as Sandor's jaw nearly drops in awe at the question. Immediately, the traitor tries to rationalize the question in a way that won't discount the top-notch training that the soldier doubtlessly received. "We're under civilian jurisdiction - you don't gotta be a cop and a soldier at once, do you?," PFC Stasio hastily adds, apparently noticing Sandor's alarm, if not understanding it completely. But then, Sandor had been trained to exist in both roles seamlessly, even if he never actually had the opportunity to do so, given his unique position in both the Imperial Army, and now the Republic's Second Division Marines. Sandor waves a hand around him, at various pieces of art and nostalgia that would have been considered all but sacred only a few years prior. Even by himself, at the time. "Because we have our orders, and if someone loots this place, it'll be our heads." Somehow, though, the response loses much of it's power due to the fact that it really won't be anyone's head, even that of the looter if he's caught. Silently, Sandor makes a mental note to check up on that fact later, wondering if there have been any executions at all in the new judicial system, either for war criminals or for heinous crimes against Humanity - against life, he realizes. As in this world he's come to accept, if not outright love, Humanity is only one single part of a vast picture. Krieg finds himself pounding the ground once again, this time hopefully it will work out better than the last. Here with the group though, he was brought in for his assistance with air cover on their way in or out, should it be needed on this planet. Of course, at any turn there is more than likely to be a lot of danger, but that was what went along with the territory. He's in his trenchcoat outfit and a bit more armor than he is used to, but goes along with the group, remaining in the center and not sticking out too much, as this was not something he was needed at right away. Following Danik into the service elevator he gets in and moves to one side and out of the way for the rest of the commandos to come in and do what they do best. Tanbris' awkward pattern takes him closer to the throne room, the one area that has always been considered sacred ground for all, Republic or New Order. He has no intentions of entering; satisfying his natural curiosity was enough. Ideally, he'd have come on this escapade during daytime, but then he'd have no privacy for his own thoughts, having to deal with men and women bustling inconsiderately in and out, being given scathing looks for his grim, downtrodden appearance. Making out the silhouette of the guard near the entrance even in this near pitch black state, he realized that the man looked to be almost asleep. What an assignment to have, he thought; no rewards, no recognition. Just routine. Who would take that duty assignment? Obviously, he realized, someone radically dedicated to the Republic's cause. Maybe giving the man a little rapport wouldn't be a bad idea; it's unlikely they'll have anything drastic happen here of all places. Dareus enters the elevator, and stands tall inside it. Silently, he slips a hand into his coat, putting a few fingers onto the butt of the pistol in the shoulder holster concealed beneath both the jacket, and the shirt; "I'm assuming when these doors open, we should be ready?" He looks over to the Admiral with a raised eyebrow; waiting for the orders he's wanted to hear since landing on this insult of an occupation. He double checks the battery pack on the blaster quickly, and returns it to the holster, awaiting for the Admiral's confirmation of his question; but quickly nods to Cantrell as he maintains his disciplinary stance in the elevator, "Ready to rock". A quick, but deep breath goes into his lungs; not necessarily nervous; but one of anxiety; waiting for what he's been trained for, and waiting for another chance to join the more...well thought of ranks of the Imperial Navy. Malika finally makes his way inside the palace. The main audience room was a grand as he imagined, but, still, he was largely unimpressed. He had hardened himself that although this place was strikingly beautiful in design, it's construction was for a largely sinister purpose. He continues to stare down at his datapad, it was scanning the area and mapping out weaknesses in the infrastructure. He tapped a button on his comlink. "Troopers, report to the Audience chamber, it is advisable that we sweep the interior." He stood in the center of the room, rubble and shattered glass under his feet. He reached out to touch the broken statue of Emperor Palpatine, some of the rock-construction broke of in his hand. "So much for that" he thought to himself. His datpad beeped, more life signs were detected in the area. "Aha, I know that one anywhere!" He punches a button on his comlink again. "What are YOU doing here, Severin? I thought they were only sending me to babysit relics." He was happy to be serving with Tanbris. They had become solid friends very quickly. Probably through the battles they have been involved in a very short amount of time. "Small galaxy", he mumbled, as he walked toward the back of the room, toward the interior. He could hear the bootsteps of his group of officers joining him up. She had been behind him the whole time, Viktor was truly a master of his surroundings on this evening it would appear. Looking over his shoulder, "Well since you are here already. Have you been to the former palace yet, Miss Kreiss?" He offers her the data pad, " I worked here a long time ago." He resumes his walk into the building, " Lots of Coruscanti have been faceless bureaucrats in whatever administration rules the planet. The only thing really changing are the letterheads of the thousands of forms and books of statue and law that govern the Republic. It was that way when Palpatine came to power, of course I was only a child when the Clone Wars began. My father used to tell me tales of Republic rule. Things were not always as golden as some would have you believe." "This staircase will take us to the Throne Room, Emperor Palpatine used to hold his court here. I never met him but my brother Jacob was in the SAG and said he met the Emperor. I don't know if that is true, he liked to lie a lot, but he is gone now. He died on Hoth when his AT-AT was blown apart." The man's generally cheerful expression fades for a moment as he remembers his brother. He motions Phair forward, " But the view is one unique in this galaxy. The City seems to almost be beautiful from this altitude. " He comments again as he begins to make his way up the marble staircase. Marines or not, her boss had a strange idea of when the best time to be out and about was. But then again, the raining he required from her was equally. Heat lighting flashes high in the night sky, not giving enough light to illuminate the grounds, but it does cast more shadows and contrasting light over the tops of the palace. The New Republic to some, rebels to others, what ever you'd call them had done much to scrub the stains of evil from the planet. Everywhere the old touches had been removed, or morphed into something the new government could be proud of. No matter how hard they tried, the taint of what came before lingers like a faint odor in the air. A tour? He brought her out for a tour? breathing in deeply, Phair reminds herself of the pay, and puts on a faint smile, "No My lord, I haven't been inside" The man was odd, she spend every waking moment in his sight, he must know she didn't get out...he didn't allow for it. Not knowing what to say about the sudden personal revelation, she doesn't respond right away. Pausing, she then adds "My Lord?" starting to follow the man up the stairs, "If you had that holo, why didn't you send it to me to review? It would help me with my other function besides paper work, you know keeping you safe?" The air was charged tonight a feeling like before a large storm, as the first gust dies down a second one replaces it from another direction. He may not like it, but Phair is comforted by the fact she is doing her job. The woman has known the man long enough to know, he will do what he want, but still "My Lord? I'm not sure this is a good night to be out. Why not return during the day?" Target practice. Danik lets out a little chuckle. "Shit happens, Sergeant. You don't give me enough credit... depresses me." Of course Danik beat Cantrell on the firing range, but that was luck more than anything. As the elevator starts to move upward, an uneasy feeling settles over the war horse - perhaps he's getting in a little too far over his head with this one. Closing his eyes, he seems to drift into a day dream, until he's brought out of it by Dareus and his questions. He blinks and gives the pilot a stare, before finally regaining his bearings. "Right. Alright, rather simple; the moment these elevator doors slide open, we'll lay down some cover with gas grenades. The smoke screen should provide us with some cover until the rebels realize what's going on and recover from their initial shock. Once the smoke screen is in place, we'll be making a dash for the turbolift bank down the corridor: we're taking it straight to the throne room. And from there..well..we'll see how it goes," he says with a smirk, taking his rifle in hand and leaning up against the elevator wall. "Almost there..." Something is out of place. And he's not just worried about the operation failing, either - it's something... elusive. In fact, he's quite certain it's the same feeling he felt just a day ago at Corellia, when he confronted Johanna. Well, if she is indeed here, bring it on. He has a surprise in store for that witch. But for now, he has to worry about the rebels. The elevator has just arrived. "Here we go, gentlemen..." And so the fun begins. The moment the elevator door opens up, the gas grenades are tossed out into the main hall, rolling along until they detonate, emitting their noxious gas throughout the main hall. There's no denying it now; the air is positively electric. Whether it's the Empire or local thugs is anybody's guess, but Johanna doesn't fancy the thought of another attack on a major Coruscanti installation, ex-Imperial palace or not. If they think they're going to get away with another subterranean detonation... "Have you received reports of anything suspicious going on?" the pilot demands of the dozing guard, his features flushing as he's shaken awake by Johanna, "Something isn't right out there." For a moment the guard looks as if he's about to say something very rude. Then he reconsiders, his mouth making an audible snap where his teeth hit one another and he exhales through them, a vague whistling noise preceding his words. "No," he mumbles, "Nothing out of the ordinary. Anything I should be looking out for in particular?" "Trouble," Johanna replies as she turns on her heel and begins one last look-over of the Throne Room just as the guards comm squawks to life. Trouble, it seems, has indeed arrived. Shit happens. Yeah it did happen that day...Cantrell had a case of the Corellian flu. Cantrell shrugs his shoulders at the Grand Admiral, the casualness between the NCO and Admiralty shocking. "And your lack faith with a device that I cherish as one of my own depresses me, Danik." He retorts in his quiet, grave voice, watching the floor lights blink as they get closer to their arrival point. Taking a glance at the rest of the group, his eyes narrow down to a sliver, his jade green eyes burning with fire. "Alright, this is the last weapons check. Wait for the Admiral and I to deliver our present. Anything in our way and doesn't have an Imperial emblem on it, dies." He states the last order with disgust. With the doors sliding open, Cantrell pulls down his sash for a moment, gently kissing the grenade. "Farewell, my friend." And with a gentle toss, the grenade rolls out and detonates. As the elevator moves, Stasio comes to a stop, a little confused as he reads the numbers to himself. "Hey, boss, aren't they going the wrong way?", the Marine asks, apparently not too certain that it's in fact a maintenance elevator. Inside what was one the Imperial Palace, everything looks about ten times more expensive than it might elsewhere on Coruscant, after all. "Yeah, weird, visiting hours are almost over," Sandor replies - judging by his tone, much less concerned with it than his compatriot is, in spite of the fact that the number is even now arriving upon the very floor that the pair is patrolling. But Sandor's complacency and the PFC's concern are both ill-placed, as when the elevator arrives, neither a hail of blasters nor a group of tardy tourists emerge. Instead, a collection of small, metallic objects that Sandor is all too familiar with do instead. "Grenade!", he shouts out of reflex, grabbing Stasio by the arm and pulling as hard as he can as he breaks into a run. With one arm pulling the private, and another reaching up to tap his headset comlink, Sandor's heart counts off the seconds until the frags explode, and nearly leaps as an unexpected hissing noise resounds instead. Perhaps it's poetic that Sandor, a man who had once been confined to his quarters for a misunderstanding involving a gas grenade being considered a frag onboard a Star Destroyer, now falls prey to the very same element himself. But all that matters is for him to run as fast as he possibly can, as he shouts. "Enemy! Enemy in the foyer!" Perhaps too little too late, but at least now the others can be aware of what's happening. Still staying out of the way, Krieg unslings his rifle that he had with him and points it towards the bottom of the elevator, prepping it and powering it up to fire. There was a very good chance that he would need to be using it, and he wanted to be the most ready for when that time came. Making sure everything was in order, he keeps to the back of the elevator, to exit after the other commandos and to help secure whatever area they were going to be taking. Speed was of the essence, of course. He didn't want to slow them, so he kept with what he knew and the limited training he received Still, he says nothing as this was best for everyone involved. Listening to the orders, he waits for the grenades go, and then in turn from the elevator makes his dash to the next bank of turbolifts. He had switched his comlink off, though - the only reason he carried it was per regulation. Too much ineffective chatter, not enough substance, he reasoned. Tanbris realized that this would be the closest he'd ever get to the throne room in his lifetime; he was a military man, not a force wielder, not a politician, and definitely not a megalomaniac, of which two out of the three seemed obligatory to ever gain entrance or a spot in this prestigious hall. Just standing at the doorway was an honor, a silent image that conveyed a thousand or more words. Before, however, he went any further, he decided to check in with the security team below; while stepping toward the guard and the silhouette of another person he had not seen before who had exited the room, however, he was treated to the fragment of a message from Sandor Woden. "Enemy in the foyer!" Trouble had seemed to follow Tanbris everywhere of late, and this had unfortunately been no exception. He turned toward his standard issue holster, but it was empty - he hated blaster weapons, and wasn't a good shot regardless. Turning around to stare back into the dimly lit corridor, he realized that heading back would only take them to the main foyer sooner or later, and that apparently had been overwhelmed. He looked back toward the guard, and then back again. He wasn't sure what to do. Dareus nods as the doors open, quickly pulling the blaster from out from it's concealed spot in his longer waistcoat. He looks over to Kreig, "Time to be Navy heroes, I guess?" With a grin, he awaits the first movements of the Admiral, and Cantrell, obviously who are in charge of the operation. He moves closer to the edge of the door, and takes a 1/2 knee position with the blaster covering the entrance, "Clear for the moment, we need to get moving now, though....." It would appear the smoke grenades did their job; but it wouldn't be long before the guards were able to regroup, and make their move on this now smoky; but obvious position. It's been a long time since he's been in combat like this; but still, the basics never leave you once you know your mission. He quickly motions with his right hand for the group in the elevator to exit, as he keeps his blaster ready for anything that may disrupt the exit from the lift. He glanced down the hallway watching a rush of fumes head toward him. His eyes widened and with some amount of breakneck speed he bolted off running toward the opposite end of the long corridor, diving into the turbolift. "Observation Deck!" he was breathing heavily, completely depleted because of that incredible sprint. He slammed his comm. on his wrist. "Malika to Security. I have had an encounter with gas grenades. Be advised and engage in tactical maneuvers for gassing procedures Set for heavy stun!" He switches to comlink over to the New Republic Security Depot "Malika to NR Security, gas grenade detonations in palace. Indeterminable amount of life-forms. Send re-enforcements!" As the lift accelerated to the observation tower, he glanced down at his datapad, attempting to trace the location of the assailants "Malika to Tanbris. Malika to Tanbris. Be advised there are hostile sentients near your location. I am en-route to the observation tower. Rendezvous there! I don't know what they are after. The only thing valuable here is data -- it has to be computer control." He emerges from the turbolift on the observation deck, jogging over to a monitoring panel. It flickers dimly, it has some juice left in it. Hopefully, it will serve some useful purpose. Something flashes in Faust's mind. Trouble was coming and he reaches out to grab Phair and pull her down behind the banister as the sound of grenade explosions go off, "Get down. Something is going on." he crouches down, "Just keep on guard, the Marines should be able to take care of this. Damned terrorists. Somebody really ought to do something about them." His gaze flicks towards the red-eyed woman, "Are you armed?" He asks, knowing the answer. "Keep it concealed, the last thing we need is to get shot by our protectors." He looks up over the encroaching attackers, one hand slipping into the pocket of his cloak to pull out a small comlink. However he doesn't activate it yet, or for what purpose he has it remains unknown. His voice drops back to a whisper, "However if anyone gets close, kill them." He reaches down to the top of his boot, unfastening the latch on a concealed holster, fingers tracing along the ridge of his hold-out blaster. Why did it seem lately that he was always in the wrong place at the wrong time. It seems her warning, which went unheeded was indeed on the mark. The soft hiss of the gas leaving it's makeshift home starts to fill the area behind the pair. Soon the sound is joined by the pounding of fast steps, and shouts of alarm and panic. Phair reaches for her blaster, but finds herself being dragged down my Faust, something he seems to do when ever there is danger about. Who exactly is protecting who. Not saying a word, the raven haired woman nods yes, and points to the blaster under her arm. It is a stun style weapon, but again the polite world that Coruscant is supposed to be demands such. As Phair up buckles the holster, she draws the pistol with her left hand, her right undoing the button on her coat, revealing a hidden hold out weapon. handing off the hold out, so is Faust. pointing to her eyes, she then signals ups and gestures for a number, talking might give out the position, that that is something the civilians can't afford. "Cover me!" Danik shouts, deciding to not wait for his men and rushing out into the hall. He doesn't take any time to shoot at the rebels, or even pay much mind to the rebel security officers and the tourists and what not. His goal is set on one thing and one thing alone: the turbolift bank. Hopefully his men will play it right; they'll cover him while he makes his way up to the throne room, holding off the rebel troops long enough for him to securely escape. That's what they're here for, after all; to save his ass. Rank has its privileges. "Cantrell, if it gets too rough, lay down some fragmentation grenades," he says over his headset, still on his dash to the turbolifts. "Do whatever it takes to hold them off, then get your sorry ass up the turbolifts!" Danik himself finally arrives at the lift, his mind shut off to anything else going on; he shouldn't have to worry about it, anyway, if his men do their job right... and now begins his journey up to the throne room. He enters the lift and is on his way. That damn old fool, Cantrell thinks to himself, watching Danik cry out the charge. A faint smirk crosses the Master Sergeant's face behind his sash, offering the Grand Admiral a nod. "With pleasure." He throws the rest of the group a quick glance before gesturing out of the lift. "Covering fire!" The trooper roars, his ST-II coming to life in a succession of single shots, the distinct whine of the rifle echoing through the hall. "Give the Admiral cover, then get your asses out." He points to Dareus and Krieg. "On the Admirals mark, I'll cover, and you two follow." He returns his attention to the hallway, his eyes sinking further behind the pressed eyelids. "Death to the New Republic!" If the prominent military base that had been bombed struck Sandor as an unlikely place to fear an attack on Coruscant - and once he'd recovered, it most certainly did - then an attack in what used to be the most heavily fortified building in the entire Galaxy is simply all but impossible for him to believe. After a few seconds, PFC Stasio recovers, and struggles his way out of Sandor's iron grip, taking hold of his under slung 36T carbine and popping off a few shots in the direction of the attacking group as he drops to a kneeling position. It's unlikely that any of them will actually hit, but at the very least it may serve as a reason for them to not stop at fight it out - at least, not out in the open. Sandor, however, is a bit less prepared, and finds that he must first grab hold of his 36T, which had been rather painfully slapping against him during the run, then pull it up, turn around, and drop onto his knee to reduce his profile as well. Although normally he'd spend a lot of time on each shot, given that the weapon he's been issued is hardly larger than a pistol, and lacks the sights that he's come to rely on - which would be all but useless at the relatively close range still present anyway - Sandor fires off a shot in the general direction of Dareus almost before he even realizes that he's there, as a person, rather than a formless blob that wants to see the traitor, and all his comrades, dead. Finding that running out to the next bank of turbolifts behind everyone else and that the NR was coming to life, Krieg wields his rifle and begins to aim at the closest NR soldiers in the area. He hears the command from Danik and drops to a kneeling stance behind a large pot of a tree that is in the main lobby, using it as some cover as he raises his rifle to the level of his shoulders, now taking aim for real upon the targets that may intercept the grand admiral. He looks like a real commando now, and something that would probably be in many scenes of movies. Thoughts of aiming and what needed to be done flood through his mind as he picks up a target and depresses the trigger to engage the firing mechanism on the rifle. A bolt of high energy streaks out to the target, as the rifle is definitely set on kill. A blaster bolt catches the shoulder of Dareus, burning his jacket and armor even though he's partially in the elevator. Left a little stunned, he calls out quickly; "MOVE MOVE MOVE" to the remaining people in the elevator Still a little rattled as other members of the strike team leave; he takes a standing posture in the elevator, and looks to Cantrell, "Master Sergeant, we need to start falling back to the lifts now, the reinforcements are on their way..." A couple of more blaster shots go past the entrance to the lift; and he looks back to both Krieg and Cantrell, "I'll head to the lift, and open up suppressing fire from there, cover me on my mark...." He gets into a semi-sprinting position, and leaps out of the door as he yells, "Now!" Running as fast as possible towards the limited cover of the lift area. Despite Faust's warnings or maybe because of them, Phair holds up both weapons. She isn't going to go unarmed, as she doubts that the people attacking the palace are all the concerned about her non-military status. She stays lodged behind the banister with him, and does her job protection. She isn't about to enter into a gun fight, not yet anyway as she couldn't care less about what the criminals were after. But should a shot stray too close, she will return fire. The sole reason for Phair following her boss here was to serve as protection, his life was far more important than her's in the grand scheme, but that doesn't mean she is willing to give up her life that easily. Peeking around the banister she gets a good look at one of the attackers, the others are obscured by the cloud of gas between them. She does however have the advantage of height, and can make out the lone protector as her boss pointed out. Phair doesn't believe that she is in danger for Marine, as she is more worried about stray shots. With any other weapon, she could pick the sprinting form of the attacker off, but with only her two small weapons, she slinks back behind the post elbows bent, holding the two pistols upright. Better to not be seen or heard at this point. Checking on Faust, she can tell his is upset she disobeyed him....he'll just have to get over it. He manages to regain his composure. After all, he's about to step foot in Palpatine's old throne room - the seat of Imperial power. As a grand admiral he has to look his best. Taking in a deep breath, the lift stops and the door opens - letting Danik out into the throne room. Smiling, Kreldin exits the lift, extending his arms outward as if he's taking in the entire room for himself, basking in its glory. "I have waited two decades to come here..." he says to himself, his eyes darting around the room and taking all the sights in. Until they fall upon Johanna. This causes him to abruptly stop and nearly trip over his foot. What is she doing here...? This isn't good... not good at all. His team is still not up here. His heart begins to pound as he stares at the Jedi, and for a few moments he's speechless. Finally, however, with his mind flashing to his insurance policy, he works up the courage to stand the witch down. "Johanna... what a pleasant surprise, so soon after our little run-in yesterday... I must say this is rather unexpected." It is almost too bold to be believed possible, even for one such as Grand Admiral Danik Kreldin, who hates her and her offspring with every fiber of his being. To have mounted an attack on the Palace while Coruscant is still under Republic control is the stuff of cheap holovids; surely such a thing is too bold to be realized! Johanna's jaw tenses and she feels the slow gnashing of her teeth before her lips draw back into a snarl and she brandishes her prized weapon by way of greeting. "Just couldn't leave well enough alone, my dear Mister Kreldin? You Imperial scum are all the same." Recovered Jedi though she may be, she makes no bones about her dislike of the Galactic Empire. "Come to treat the planet like a foregone conclusion?" The hiss of restless air wends its way about the Admiral; the molecules grow hotter. "Isn't it a mistake to meet the enemy in the open like this?" The blaster bolt that hits Dareus strays a little too close to the Master Sergeant, causing him to duck into the lift for a moment. Taking a look back, his face seems to scrunch up in a grin, "Feels good doesn't it?" He looks up at Dareus, letting out a stiff chuckle before returning back into the fire fight. That face looks familiar, Cantrell thinks to himself, spotting where the bolt came from that hit Dareus. Squinting, he recognizes the man. It can't be. A growl grinds from beneath his sash. "You.." He utters flatly, tightening the grip on his rifle. "Everyone...let's get out of this damn coffin." He grunts, gesturing out the door. "I got this." "I definitely got this." He grunts once more before returning a barrage of fire towards Sandor, his eyes burning with hate at the traitor. "Get your asses out of here now!" A hit! And Sandor's very first against someone since his defection to the New Republic - which is almost a bit sad, given not only how long he's served at this point, but the fact that he's seen combat, or at least been near it, more than once. Stasio, prudently, fires off another trio of wild shots to try to force the advancing, armored forms to cover, before returning to his feet and making his way towards cover as quickly as possible. "They're headed for the throne room!", he shouts, surmises even, before taking a hit in a weak area of the rear section of his light armor. It doesn't seem to be a fatal hit, but PFC Stasio is reduced to all fours as he crawls for the nearest cover. Sandor, however, is now a bit more into his element than he had been before. He's still too far off to hear what Cantrell says above the blaster fire, but the relatively near miss coming from him is enough to mark the Master Sergeant as a critical target. Perhaps it was simply luck, but more importantly, it's about to be vengeance for something that could have happened. Breathing in and out, Sandor squeezes off a reply, knowing that if he panics, then he'll most certainly be dead. A single bolt arcs toward Cantrell, as Sandor's eyes scan the area around him, to see if the group is going to stay and fight, or if they have a specific objective in mind. As cover fire is just that, Krieg follows the next set of orders and gets up from his firing position, keeping the rifle up and aimed at shoulder level, and bolts for the turbolift. There isn't anything that needs to be said or done besides just running, and that is exactly what he had in mind to do. Much more fighting was to come, and he needed to get up to the throne room where the real expertise he had to offer could come into play. Far from it right now though, he darts through the smoke as the next one to head to the turbolift bank and make his way up to the destination and goal for this mission. Once near the lift doors, Dareus quickly takes a one knee stance, and begins to open up with unaimed, covering fire for the remaining group in the lift. He keys his comlink to the whole group, "Grand we're making our way to the throne room now, Dareus out." The comlink quickly switches off as some of the members begin to take their covered firing positions near the lift doors. He moves into the lift arrives, and keys the comlink, "Get your asses here now to help the Grand Admiral...we gotta move gentlemen!" As Krieg comes running, he fires a few, unaimed cover shots to help his run, and continues the barrage of pointless fire until the whole crew has arrived at the lift; to help finish off their goal. "Sargent, get up here on the double, we gotta move!" he calls out from the lift; his blaster still firing covering shots, not necessarily aimed at anyone, but just a general direction. As the blaster bolts pass harmlessly below the pair of civilians, Phair slips the hold out blaster back in her jacket and buttons it back up. The fighting that rages below is on the move up to the Thrown room, the exact site that Faust had been so keen on going to. He is just going to have to wait for now. Maybe after the mess is cleaned up, they can return, in the mean time she can only hope he will listen to her instincts next time she says something is out of place. The way is clear for them to slip back out, she can watch the story about this in the IG news tomorrow. For tonight, it's best the Marines and local law handle this matter. "Damn it..." The anger in Cantrell's voice spits venom onto the metal plating on the floor when Cantrell misses. He underestimated the traitor's abilities. And then...it happens. In the blink of an eye, he spots a blaster bolt heading straight towards him, but not fast enough. "Aaaaaargh!" The Trooper bellows, the shot connecting onto his chest plate. His eyes close for a moment, before opening up, his eyes engulfed in a sea of green flame. "Is that all you got?" He roars with demand, standing back up, gesturing tauntingly towards Sandor. The world around him disconnects for a brief moment, the fury of being shot by a miserable traitor swirling in the seasoned troopers mind. And then reality strikes in the form of Dareus' voice. Hearing the man speak, Cantrell snaps his head towards him, spotting the rest of the team making a break for the turbolift. "Right move!" Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small frag grenade. Revenge is bittersweet. "Catch!" And with the pull of the pin and a heavy heave, he sends it towards the marines, racing towards the lift. As he had with the smoke grenades, Sandor fears the worst, and immediately springs to his feet. Awkwardly, he turns in the opposite direction, toward the cover that PFC Stasio has finally found, and breaks into a run as his heartbeat counts off the seconds once more. Only this time, he hears the proper sound, and is met by shrapnel as he doesn't make it away in time. Nothing lethal, fortunately, but enough to make Sandor realize that he'll have to tend to his own wounds and to those of the unfortunate Private First Class before considering any kind of a response against the attackers himself. Throne Room -- Emancipated Imperial Palace: Coruscant The former Emperor's Throne Room is a sunken auditorium like a great crater dug into the bedrock. The spectator seats are flat, stone benches, arranged semi-circle in front of the stage-like area where a majestic throne sits. Under the Empire's rule, this was where visitors could come to hear the Imperial pronouncements directly from the Emperor himself. The amphitheater-style seating has been made more comfortable with the addition of soft, padded cushions. Acoustics are perfect, allowing the audience to hear the barest whisper from a person on stage or sitting on the throne. The reverse is also true and the council area is so audible that one near the throne would be able to hear any question spoken to him from the highest row of benches; even whispered comments from one council member to another could have been discerned. At the pinnacle of the room is an angled, prismatic skylight, which pours rainbows of color onto the throne. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Holoterm Unit -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Krieger => Cantrell => Krieg => Tanbris => Malika => Danik => Johanna => Dareus Malika checks the computer terminal again, displaying a map of the area. He cross-references it with the schematics on his datapad, uploading security codes and pertinent data about the palac into his device. He checks a further scan, identifying that on the main-level, the throne-room, holds two occupants. He dashes into his turbolift, two New Republic Marines following close by. They have their blasters drawn, as does Malika. A frown, bordering on a scowl is across his face. It is a permanent mark of anger, he knows the source of his problems and the source of those grenades earlier would be in this room. The doors to the lift part and he emerges, his blaster pointing directly ahead. He charges into the room, stopping about 15 meters from the two individuals already occupying the space. "New Republic Security! Halt and turn, I have a blaster aimed", barked Malika. The marines flanking him also leveled their blaster rifles at the two forms. "Malika to NR Security, I have two hostiles in my sights. One of them is Danik Kreldin." He was poised, waiting for a response from either N.R.S. or the individuals trained in his site. All Tanbris could do was play the worst game of all - wait. Hope that through some fluke whoever was heading toward the throne room would spare him from becoming a permanent fixture on the walls of the palace. He hoped it wasn't the New Order - they were known to be justifiably brutal to their prisoners. The ones they took. For a naval officer, explosive decompressions, reactor failures, space collisions; they were the fears that haunted them. He never imagined he'd be in a situation quite like this. Malika's message came through loud and clear, but a reply would only serve as a reminder of the disparaging situation he found himself in. Looking down at his holster wielded the same. Woden had been on him for weeks to start carrying a sidearm - little did he know how important that decision to ignore those warnings might be now. With his left leg, he knew he could not go very far. He ducked in behind the throne room door, sitting in the shadow it created, out of sight. He had come to Palpatine's palace looking for a respite from what was going on outside; instead, he had found more danger in it. Tense situation. Danik's heart continues to beat faster and faster, adrenaline coursing through his system. So far so good, though - she hasn't ignited her lightsaber, nor has she brought the ceiling down on him. The air becomes nearly electric, and Kreldin can certainly feel it - perhaps it's the ghost of Palpatine, watching over them. Or maybe the energy between Danik and Johanna is really so great - he does hate her with a fiery passion, after all. "I don't think I make mistakes, Johanna; just calculated risks," he says, holding his ground against her. "You know me better than that," he says, his eyes glancing behind her as the NR security officers - four it looked like - began approaching. He does not flinch though. Instead, he simply reaches into his pocket and pulls out a rather small object, a holoprojector to those familiar. "Tell them to fall back, Johanna. I don't think you want anything happening to your son, now do you?" he says, flicking the projector on. An image of Etiel appears from the projector, locked in a cell and flanked by two Royal Guardsmen. "That would be most unfortunate, now wouldn't it? Unfortunately, those Guardsmen have been told that should anything happen to me, poor Etiel will have to suffer the consequences." A grin forms on his face, his eyes staring directly at the Jedi. As the air resonates ominously again, her white-bladed weapon ignites and she starts forward, wanting to part the Admiral's head from his neck. The warnings of the Republic forces behind her fade into the background. A moment before she would have gloated, would have made Danik even more painfully aware of the fact that he is outnumbered here. The arrival of Malika and his comrades had come at such an opportune time... ... Or not. "You're lying," Johanna snaps at Danik, even as her fear-blanched visage betrays a thought or two to the contrary, "You don't have him." Her senses stretch out through the Force to lance into the heart of the Imperial, testing the veracity of his seemingly outrageous claim. How can he possibly have Etiel? Etiel is safe on Gaena, watched over by Jessalyn Valios and her husband's kin. He is nowhere near Coruscant, nowhere near the Empire, surely! When her silent inquiries find no duplicity in the Imperial's words, the Jedi's shoulders sag ever so slightly. "He has nothing to do with this. Let him go." Much to her dismay the order sounds more like a request. Malika had beads of sweat dripping off his brw. With a hiss and a click, the doors of the turbolift parted, four more marines emerged taking up protectionary flanking positions around Malika. They also trained their weapons on the Admiral. Outside the palace were New Republic Marines gathering on his call for assistance after the gas-grenades and the mention that the Admiral was here himself. He looked to his marines that had joined him and mouthed the words "Stun only", hoping that was ample instruction. He watched the Jedi stand angled from Danik, she looked uneasy, from his perception of her expression. It was time to set that uneasiness to rest. He drew his blaster up to an appropriate aim, closing his left eye. His finger ripped back the trigger, firing off several stun shots. "What the devil?" was Tanbris' first thought; he saw the turbolift doors parting from his vantage point, and then saw Malika exit with a group of heavily armed New Republic security guards. Backup - just what they needed. He wished he had brought his own guards along on his private excursion, but he doubted that a New Republic security checkpoint would've given him the jurisdiction too. He knew that more Imperial troops were probably on the way; he keyed his comlink, but there was no reply anywhere. He rose from his hiding spot in the doorway, only to watch as Kreldin - he could recognize that man anywhere - unfurled a hologram of obviously some meaning. He didn't catch it; only the idle threats from the Grand Admiral. The tension in the air could've been broken with a knife; it was as Malika opened fire. So much for that, he figured - things were fixing to get pretty violent from here on out. Exiting the turbolift, Krieg is greeted with a new scene, and quickly aligns himself with what is going on in here to support the grand admiral. Of course, there are worse things for the admiral to be getting into, but this one was looking pretty bad so far. And by the sound of it, the firefight down below was taking a lot longer than the mission had anticipated. Seeing the admiral with some, what was that, Jedi? Krieg decides his best course of action is to take out the guards that are now entering into the room. Dropping to a knee for a better firing position, he brings his rifle to bear on Malika. With the setting still on kill he makes sure it is good, and even if he does miss it will give the other man something other to think about than Danik. Seeing that Danik was outnumbered here, Krieg was going to make one big ruckus to protect him, and that was at whatever price that needed to be paid. Of course the flight support would be on the way, he was prepared to contact the pilot for a firing solution from the inside here as a sort of heavy artillery. Over the wide channel of the comlink to everyone in the raiding party, "Admiral, we're on our way up...." Inside the lift, somewhat scratched, Dareus is ready for whatever will happen when that door opens. When the lift slows, and the doors open with a gentle hiss, Dareus, as the senior naval officer, takes a second to survey the situation, and looks around for only a brief moment before barking out commands, "Everyone, on the Admiral's defense....NOW". He bolts out of the turbolift, without regard for his own safety, and heads to a small covered point from the lift to help with the exit of the rest of the group from the turbolift, and opens up an unaimed barrage of fire towards anyone who is not the Grand Admiral; it's not directed, but it will hopefully be enough to distract the threat long enough to get the strike force in. "I can't believe I just got shot by a traitor..." Cantrell fumes, his eyes growing darker and darker as the scene that just unfolded rewinds in his mind. Shrugging it off, he checks his rifle's ammo count. Still good, he thought. Watching the doors part open and seeing the mass of NR troopers, he tugs down his sash. He wants the enemy know who they are dealing with. "Protect the Admiral at all costs!" His rifle lights up with a chaotic rumble of blaster fire, directed at the mass of troops. "Show no mercy to the Republic pig-dogs!" Danik watches as the lightsaber is ignited, but he still does not fall back. Would she be stupid enough to kill him and risk her son? Perhaps... she is insane, after all. Maybe he is in a bit too far over his head... "Come on, Johanna... you read my mind before. You know I'm telling the truth. Dispatch with these goons and let's deal with this in a civil..." Unfortunately not everything goes according to his plan, and a stun shot rings out and hits Kreldin - and he stumbles back, nearly dropping the holoprojector from his hand. "Bastard..." Danik is happy he decided to wear ESPO armor, or else he'd probably be a heap on the deck now. Still, he feels the effects of the stun blast, and Kreldin leans against the wall for support. "Call them off!" Fortunately for him, however, Cantrell & Co arrive from their fight downstairs, and then everything seems to turn around for him - perhaps he's going to make it out of here after all. Hoping the rebels will be too distracted to focus on him at this point, Kreldin looks back at Johanna. "Surrender, Johanna, or else Etiel will suffer.. you don't have much choice!" he says, breathing more heavily now as he tries to recover from the stun blast. Unfortunately he doesn't have time to play these games, with the NR or Johanna. He has to get to the vault. "Sergeant, take care of these rebels and seal off the turbolifts! We must hurry!" Malika switches his pistol to standard, kill. A little brutal, but so were the tactics of the Imperials. The air was thick with blaster bolts, he ducked behind a column, watching a group of New Republic Marines seek similar cover, attacking their aggressors. He peered out from behind the column, watching the Admiral noticably feeling the effects of his stun shots. He wondered what he was doing. Hopefully, it was the right thing. A life for a life seemed like an illogical course of reason for solving the problems of the galaxy, but their was little room for philosophical second-thoughts at this point. He motioned for two of the marines who were crouched next to him to aim and fire. They're Batavit BMC-150's trained on the Admiral, in a slightly weakened state released a series of shots from each of their rifles. Hopefully these will do a bit more justice. "Keep both eyes open", he said to himself, as he leveled his own blaster pistol and ripped off a volley of shots again. After firing off his round, he rolled behind the column again, seeking some cover from the hailstorm of blaster fire still flooding the air. His marines did the same, thank heavens, because a couple of blaster bolts struck the ground where they were crouched. Not because of direct fire, but the likeliness of ricochet was high in such a thick environment. The turbolift doors once again slid open, and more Imperial troops exited, out for blood; Tanbris watched as Malika went flying to deck to avoid one blaster bolt, and another spray took down two or three of his guards. Preferably, he'd propose some diplomatic solution right now - Kreldin and that Jedi can take their problems elsewhere, and everyone can leave without causing more casualties. But Imperial officers were seldom restrained and rarely reasonable, and he doubted that there was any love lost between either side. To his left, he watched as a standard blaster pistol from one of the downed guards went scattering to the floor and he grabbed it. It was the Republic's sidearm of choice, manufactured Draerian Defense; blaster pistols never fit right in his hand, never felt comfortable. He loathed them. He was a naval officer, not a combat soldier. There was a difference. As the female Jedi he didn't even know began to crumble and fall into a pit of her own despair, he finally left the shadows that the Throne's doorway created and emerged; the situation was thrown upside down. In front of him was Kreldin, facing Malika and his security guards, with Johanna off to the side, and behind Malika the Imperial soldiers who had just emerged from the turbolift who had their rifles trained on him. He thought about taking aim at Kreldin, but he might miss; he couldn't guarantee his accuracy even in such close quarters. If only he had had a flash grenade, or a thermal charge, or something. Malika then opened fire, and he himself hit the deck, fearing a ricochet or return and crossfire; what a terrible position he had been put into. Pinned down. His first shot overly failing to hit anything, Krieg makes aim for the rebels from his position still. Yes, he could run out to the admiral and get all shot up, but that would not help anything as there were other commandos that could do that and fire too. No, he needed to stay in the position he was at and fire again. He picks up another NR soldier and locks on. Of course, whatever he is aiming out there he is uncertain of the lines per se, but knows the general area of where everyone is so far. Getting a good aim and making sure to hit this time after seeing which way his previous shot went, he slowly pulls the trigger and releases the full charge of energy on the enemy. (at Tanbris) Once the firefight commences inside the throne room, all bets are off. This once hallowed ground for the Imperial Forces has now been desecrated; so Dareus moves to a lower cover position, somewhat closer to the Admiral, and keys the com to be voice activated, 'All units, converge to protect the Admiral at once!" Once he reaches his cover position, he looks to the Admiral, "Are you alright, Admiral?" As he waits for a response he opens up blaster fire towards the New Republic Soldiers, particularly towards Malika, who seems, or seemed to be an utter threat towards the very person he is here to protect. Tal'sin rushes into the throne room of the palace with the large gaggle of other New Republic marines, his rifle already drawn and ready. Unlike most of the other troopers, the green Twi'lek doesn't rush forward with his gun blazing. Instead, he moves quietly off to the side, huddled near an overturned stone bench, taking as much cover as possible without obstructing his aim. In the initial storming of the throne room, it hadn't occurred to Tal'sin what had potentially gone on in this room in passed years. As he scans the room for targets, however, the sight of the throne across and down the small expanse of empty chairs piques his curiosity. The Twi'lek has little knowledge of the history of the Empire, but he can't help but wonder if the idea for the betrayal of the Jedi of the past wasn't contrived and issued from here. Possibly. Possibly not. He shakes his head to himself and picks out a target. This isn't the time to let personal issues spring up and take control. Breathing calmly, Tal'sin aims the Farsight rifle at the man holding the holoprojector. He looks like he may be an important factor to events inside the large room, and as such makes a prime target. The (literally) green soldier takes another deep breath, tuning out potential distracts for only a split second as he pulls the trigger and fires. "Damn..." Cantrell is a bit overwhelmed of the now gigantic firefight in the throne room. So much history, and it's being blasted away by a bunch of backwater yokels. Excellent. Spotting his old friend and watching him take hit after hit but to the old man's good fortune and is unphased, Cantrell's face grows darker. "Hey...you bastards!" Cantrell taunts the enemy, leveling up his rifle towards Tal'sin. "My regards to your maker." He lets a wide, toothy grin as he lets out a horrible sounding blaster bolt towards the rather obvious green Twi'lek. So, the Imperials had finally arrived. That was fine with Krieger, it just meant that this Marine had to travel less of a distance to get his fair share of them. The general alarm had been sounded, and as the Second Combat Officer kicks open a hallway door, A280 wielded, he instinctively takes cover with his comrades as he surveys the situation. A noncommissioned officer lays upright behind a table. The man has a large scorch mark on his armor, which appears to have gone down right to the flesh. "Gunnery Sergeant, what's going on in here? How many of them are there?" "I'll tell you how many, sir, too damn many. We're being overrun." "Well, perhaps that might change now that he was he was here. Wilhelm peaks his head out from under the table, taking in the battle. As the Gunnery Sergeant had said, there were black and whites all over. The Imperial Storm Troopers were not the kind of men to take prisoners, as he knew from experience. After his first skirmish with them, he had learned quickly to return the favor. The concept of using the stun setting never entered his mind. He brings the A280 to his shoulder over the table, looking for a target. He pauses for a moment as he finds himself staring down his crosshairs at Danik Kreldin. So, the galaxy is a small place after all. Memories of times past surge through his mind. However, that lasts for a moment and no more. OCS quickly taught would-be Marine officers that hesitation can often prove fatal. Besides, the fewer people who could recant tales of those days, the better. Even as Danik is hit by a bolt from somewhere else on the line, Wilhelm adjusts his aim to compensate. However, just as he is about to fire, he watches a Twi'lek take a hit from yet another all-too familiar Imperial face. Once again adjusting his aim, he instinctively places his finger inside the trigger guard, and lets lose a bolt aimed at Cantrell. Danik should have expected that half the rebel troops here were opening fire on him. His face is too well known. But he's not about to give up now; oh no. As another blast shot impacts against his armor, absorbing into it, Kreldin winces and urges Johanna towards him. "There isn't much time, Johanna. Your son's life is at stake," he says, and he starts walking towards the left, remembering the schematics of the throne room from the Imperial archives. "You're coming with me!" Hoping to slide away under the cover of his troops, who were now doing a lot better against the rebel troops. "This way, this way..." He presses his hand against a slot in the wall, causing the wall to slide open and grant him access to the vault. He nudges Johanna forth, and the two enter into the room, the door closing behind them. He looked to a marine, nodding, grabbing his rifle. He leaned around the corner again, training his Batavit BMC-150 Carbine at Cantrell. He had watched a cadence of blaster-fire rush in every direction imaginable. He was worried about the possibility of too many people dying, but why continue to second-guess yourself in combat, it was dangerous. It could get your killed. Who cared about death at this point, he always believed it was best to turn life into a fighting chance to live. He watched Danik escape with Johanna. He wondered how likely it was that she had been corrupted. He was willing to ignore that for a moment. He opened fired with the rifle, a flurry of bolts exited and he whirled behind his cover once again. Tanbris' eyes widened as he saw the blaster bolt heading for his chest as he hit the deck, and he rolled to the right; he saw, out of the corner of his eye, it explode into the wall next to him, and he exhaled, realizing just how lucky he was to still be standing. They weren't firing on stun, that was for sure. He stood up from the floor, leaning against the wall, now fully exposed and in plain sight. He was like a fish out of water, flailing about. He saw two fresh faces enter the fray, Republic soldiers; Kreldin was absorbing blaster bolts left and right, or in some cases dodging them, and the Jedi had disappeared completely. His breathing heavy, arm shaking wildly, sweat dripping down his cheek, he brought his 'borrowed' DD6 pistol to bear at the back of Kreldin; only to see his Twi'lek comrade from the relief efforts on Republic Avenue go crashing to the floor, knocked unconscious and quite probably mortally wounded. His face contorted, he lowered his blaster pistol, his eyes staring lifelessly, almost shell shocked, as Tal'sin fell to the floor. What the hell was he doing? This moment of overt emotionalism left him exposed. "Kreldin!" He shouted as the reputed Grand Admiral once again managed to cheat death, escaping through a hidden catacomb in the wall of the throne room. He was gone Seeing again that his shot fired missed, he didn't anticipate that his opponent would hit the deck like he did. Seeing the blaster match ensue, he makes ready a better position to shoot at the targets assailing Danik, and diligently takes aim at the next villain. He's still got his sights on (tanbris) the same man and watches him move, anticipating the man's movements and slowly pulling the trigger back once more. This time he releases the energy on a dead on path, observing around him after the shot to make sure that he isn't being preyed upon by others sneaking up behind him. The blaster fire towards Danik distracts Dareus for a moment, but only enough before he realizes that one of the group is in fairly grave danger. Briefly, his leadership fails him, but after a few seconds of watching other people fall in this vicious combat, Dareus is heard clearly over the comm "Sergeant, we're backing you up, take a clear cover position near the left flanking column. His voice is clear, and very commanding as he looks to Krieg, his own senior officer, "Let's get the hell out of here as quick as possible." As he finishes his words he takes a quick moment to fire a few shots towards Tanbris, who has been making somewhat of a duck shoot of this imperial force. As he does so, the VOX of his comm opens up, "Hold all positions until the Grand Admiral returns....that's a goddamn order...!" His blaster opens up quite wildly, either with rage, or simply euphoric pleasure in the whole circumstance. Success. Seeing his bolt connect with the very large and very green Twi'lek, Cantrell help but grin in satisfaction. "Success." He whispers to himself, congratulation himself for the 'kill'. But then, out of nowhere, a stray bolt connects on his left shoulder. "Arrrgh..." Cantrell grunts, the force sending him backwards on his feet. "Is that all you can do?!" Lifting up his rifle towards Krieger's general direction, he paces back, snapping off a shot as he pulls back to regroup with the rest. A curse can be heard muttered under Tal'sin's breath as his shot seems to hit the figure quite solidly, but have no effect on the Imperial officer. Eyes glance down at the Farsight quickly, a look of disappointment about them. The feeling of irritation soon passes and the Twi'lek begins targeting again, only to notice a nasty looking blaster bolt flying straight and true towards him. The cover he's only slightly behind doesn't do any good - the Twilek hadn't noticed the shot in time. He attempts to dive out of the way, but to no avail. The shot impacts with Tal'sin's chest, the light armor doing little to soften the blow. As the Twi'lek goes down, rapidly fading into consciousness, a small string of curses floats through his mind as he can't help thinking that the Republic Military /really/ needs to invest in some quality armor. By the time Wilhelm readjusts his sights on Kreldin, he has already disappeared from view. Perhaps today was Krieger's lucky day and some unseen hero had transformed him into a steaming cloud of vapor. He knew the odds were strongly against that, though. As he shifts back to take aim at Cantrell again, he is greeted by a nice glowing beam of energy headed his way. It impacts him directly in the shoulder, causing a nice zap sound followed by the smell of burning flesh. After a few seconds of shock, however, he returns to his former position and pats himself down. He appears to be relatively unscathed. "Is that the best the Empire can produce these days? You'd have been better off throwing rocks!", Wilhelm shouts back. However, rather than shooting back at Cantrell, he takes aim at Krieg, and cracks off a bolt. When the maelstrom-level noise of blaster fire in the previous room dies down as they advance through the corridors, Johanna finds the voice to speak. "What could you possibly want from me? From my son? I am SORRY that I humiliated you, ok? I'm sorry! Vadim held me under his sway... but you... you... you KNOW that, don't you?" Her dark eyes grow suddenly wide with realization. "I can smell it about you; you're one of us." Indeed, now she knows why there has been more tension than ever before between the two of them. She can sense Danik through the Force quite strongly, and he can likely feel her to some degree as well. "What do you want, Danik? For me to apologize via IGN? For me to denounce the Republic? I'll do it, I'll denounce them. Only free my son." The "vault," as Danik likes to call it, is rather impressive: Palpatine's own hide-out within the Imperial Palace. As if his throne room wasn't secluded enough. It's a shame he had to trash the room, though... but he'll get over it. As he leads Johanna through the corridor towards where he believes the datacard to be, he turns to look at the woman. He notices something distinctly different about her: gone is her rage. What remains is desperation. What had happened to her? He swears he feels it, her desperation, fear, anger rushing through him. It's enough to make his stomach turn - her love for her child nearly invoking some level of sympathy in Kreldin. Perhaps it's because he knows he'll never experience that sort of love, that sort of compassion; that'll he have no offspring to pass any legacy onto. But Kreldin locks down. He can't allow his emotions to get the better of him. Instead, he grabs Johanna by the arm and stops walking, turning to look straight into her eyes. "We are beyong apologies, dear. You can denounce the Republic all you want; it's dead, anyway. What I want from you is simple: I want you to come with me. As my prisoner. We are going on a little trip, you see. And I can use someone like you on this trip." "Your prisoner?" Johanna echoes, though it's clear she knows who holds all the cards... her tone is subdued. "Why? Where are we going? What could you possibly need me for? You have the best navigators and pilots in the galaxy at your disposal, you have armies of millions and fleets enough to glass the universe as we know it. What do you need one Jedi for?" She battles with herself to remain calm, the idea of being taken back to Vadim enough to nearly make her gag. A range of emotions plays out over her remarkably expressive features. "Danik Kreldin, if you can feel the Force... if you can touch it as I can, you must know that what you are doing is wrong. My son is innocent. You and I are far from it, expend your rage on me." "All the fleets in the galaxy wouldn't matter much for where we're going, dear," Danik quickly replies, letting go of her arm. He begins searching through the room for the datacard, looking through drawers and other areas for any sign of it. "We're going to Ord Trasi. I'm sure someone like you have heard of it before. I can use your..expertise there." Danik would much rather use Johanna as a sacrifice; someone he can use to weather the dangers of Ord Trasi without risking anything to himself. And if she did survive, she would be quite the present to present to Vadim on a successful voyage home. "Whatever it is I feel, Johanna, it has empowered me to do what is necessary; to crush the likes of you, and your so-called Republic. Your son is not innocent; he was guilty of treason the moment he was born. The legacy you passed on to him. However, should you cooperate in a civil matter... you may just see him again..." He's careful to choose his words, though. She may seem again, but not necessarily in a non-Imperial enviornment. He continues to dig through datacards, humming a little tune from his childhood on Corellia as he searches. For a moment she feels herself in very real danger of bursting into sobs. Then it overpowers her and she cries. "Ord Trasi, a dark planet," she says through her tears, "I can feel your curiosity. You think your destiny lies there? Had Vadim made you promises?" Johanna can't quite believe what she does next, but then again she'd never imagined that her eldest child, a boy already gifted in the Force, would fall into Imperial hands when his safety had seemed so certain. "Whatever Vadim has promised you is a lie. He can bring you only pain. Or has my brother tried to seduce you with promises of greater powers, Dark things to speed your machinations for the galaxy? My brother is Vadim's puppet, and Vadim is a something that was never human. We are nothing to him. We are garbage." Danik is taken back by Johanna's outburst. What is this? This isn't the psycho who kidnapped, tortured and humiliated him. This is.. a very concerned mother. No. No no no. She's a Jedi. She's vile. She's corrupt. It's a trick, that's what it is. Nothing but a trick. Don't let her fool you, Kreldin. Shaking his head, Danik pulls out a datacard and reads the label on it. "This is it..." he says under his breath, sliding the datacard into his pocket. He turns back to face the crying Johanna, shaking his head some more. "I have not yet had the privelege to meet with Vadim on this matter, dear; and I'm afraid I do not know of this brother you speak of. I'm afraid your words mean little, however; whatever Vadim may think of me is irrelevant. Let him use me. It works to my advantage. My time will come. For now, though, you need to regain your composure; this is very unbecoming of you," he says, stepping up to the woman and placing his hands on her shoulders. "Your son will be returned to you after the completion of the mission. Then you may go with him, wherever you choose. Are we at an understanding?" The pilot blinks a few times against her tears and shakes her head once, miserable. "You are wrong on one point at least, Danik. You must know my brother quite well. Surely you have served with Warlorld Malign? Or at least met him? His real name is Tyler Damion... though it doesn't matter now, he has shed that skin forever. I've tried to bring him back. Some beings just..." But she doesn't finish, finding it difficult work as it is to cut off another sob. "I'll go to Ord Trasi with you, I'll get you whatever it is you want. Just don't let anything happen to Etiel. If I find out that you or those under your command have even..." That vague glow that Danik had seen around her when she'd been beating him to a pulp on Tatooine now incandesces into a white-hot light and the Jedi's skin pains her with the intensity of it. The tiny little hairs on Johanna's arms are singed before the light fades into nothingness, willed back by a woman struggling to remain in control of her unnatural abilities. Dareus moves towards the doors which Danik had entered and promptly shut. "All units converge on my position." As the other commando's assigned to this raid move into certain covered areas, Dareus runs back towards Cantrell's area, "Sergeant, establish a perimeter around that door, and prepare for our extraction." He was not a ground combat hardened soldier, but he damn sure was an officer. As the bolts of random fire ensue, Dareus sets his sighs on Tal'sin; and opens up a full volley with his ST-I rifle; not relenting until enough time has passed before he can take cover again behind one of the areas of the throne room, "Dareus to Danik, we're prepared to move out, Grand Admiral, awaiting your instructions." Over the comm, it's easy to hear the blaster fire, and screaming of all the combatants involved in the terrible battle ensuing in the throne room. "What?" Cantrell looks back towards Dareus, having a bit of trouble hearing over all the blaster fire. Finally comprehending, he nods, gesturing the commandos to do what he's told. He's having a bit too much fun chewing up New Republic soldiers. "Sir...all due respect...you can't hit sand if you fell off a freaking bantha!" Cantrell turns to spit out a glob of spit, aiming his rifle towards Krieger. "Allow me!" And PEW PEW PEW! LASER BEAMS! With PFC Stasio bandaged up and treated with some burn ointment, the best that Sandor can offer in the present situation, Sandor has since parted ways with his squad mate, who limped away to get further treatment. Although wounded himself, he seems to have handled it about the same way that Cantrell did when hit by Sandor's blaster shot, and has managed to make his way to the makeshift armory and barracks used by the Marine platoon that had been assigned to watch over the emancipated palace on this particular night. In particular, Sandor knew that one weapon calls to him more than any of the others, and traded his slung 36T carbine for his own Farsight laser sniper rifle. Although he's still an active proponent against the use of laser sniper rifles, which instantaneously reveal one's position to the world around them, Sandor carries it nonetheless, having heard the stories of how large and majestic the Imperial throne room really is. Emerging from one of the turbolifts, Sandor immediately rushes to the side, trying to conceal himself in the shadows for the time being, and get a better awareness of the situation before adding in his shots. Notably, he does not sit, having quite a good idea of how that would feel. Dareus looks to the sergeant, "Stow your smartass crap, Sergeant and get the job done." He crouches up, and fires a few blaster shots towards the marines, then moves to a lower cover position, "We're running out of men, we need to get this crap done quickly...." Checking the power left in his laster, Dareus rolls to the right a bit and opens up a volley towards the newly approaching sniper, hoping to get a few shots in on the general direction before he, himself has to take cover, "Covering fire on alpha, my mark...." with that being said over the comm, he opens up his own volley of fire, before moving to another covered position, strike and fade is his own momentum now, at least until they are able to leave this foray.... "With all due respect, sir..." Cantrell loads up a fresh ammo clip, keeping himself low for the meantime. "You have no idea who you are messing with." He issues the statement, a menacing scowl planted firmly on his face. "Take a look at the Republic Pig-dogs...I -am- getting the job done." He scans around the room, the hail of blaster fire and dead bodies distracting, but he searches for any new threats. Adjusting the scope to the shortest range possible, so as to target effectively in such a small area, Sandor's gun trains it's way silently toward Cantrell, the man who had hit him with several bits of shrapnel that still sting quite a bit. 'Just breathe, you can do this, you hit him once already,' Sandor reassures himself, as he lines up the shot. The thought enters his mind that he might want to consider trying to shoot Cantrell in a frag grenade, but whether or not the familiar face has any left is a moot point, as Sandor can't see any visible. With so much death and destruction in such a short time, the sniper does not have to think twice as he squeezes down upon the trigger. Danik taps a button on his collar, which activates his homing signal. The escape ship, a YT-2400, will pick it up and be on its way in no time. It's time to blow this party. Johanna's words, however, ring loudly within Kreldin. "Malign.. is your brother?" he says, his throat suddenly feeling very dry. Oh boy. What would Tyler do if he discovered that Kreldin kidnapped his nephew and sister? This was not in the plan. He would just have to work his way around it.... and ensure no real harm does come to Etiel, as per her wishes. He doesn't need her light show to convince him otherwise, but it does scare him a little, as it reminds him all too much of Tatooine. But he maintains his composure, and he motions for the exit. "This way..." he says, pressing a button to slide open the wall door again, and he returns to the now far more calm throne room... His shock is another thing that she can sense, and for the first time in this encounter, she suppresses a smirk. "Yes, my older brother," Johanna replies, "Too Corellian for his own good sometimes. You're not Corellian, are you, Danik? You don't seem to fit that easy stereotype so many of them like to play up." That's probably enough though, she doesn't want to push him and follows along as he moves back towards the throne room with his prize safely tucked away. "If you really intend to take me to Ord Trasi, you might want to tell me what it is you're looking for there. The Dark Side can confound the weak-minded quite easily." Then she adds rather hastily, "I'm not saying you're weak-minded, but if you're taking any others with you, they will be ill-used to various tricks commonly employed. For all I know Vadim's pulling the strings again. At least he's... familiar to me in some ways and I can be on my guard for all of our sakes." As Danik comes back out of the room, clearly over the comm, Dareus can be heard, "All units fall back to protect the Grand Admiral, Immediately." As the units begin to converge, Dareus stands up, and begins to walk towards the Admiral; aware of the standard laser blasts from the regular marine units, ; and then crouches down to maintain a covering posture to ensure his commanding officer is safe, "When the dropship is in place; everyone on board, I'll be the last to join you"....It's no longer a request, but an order, since aside from Danik, he's the only other high ranking naval officer on this mission. As he sees the strike force begin to make their escape, he makes the mistake of standing up, and beginning his walk to the drop point; only avoiding the regular marines fire, and somewhat ignoring the rest of his surroundings, except for his own soldiers' well-being; giving them a safe push on the back to head home. Watching Dareus intently, a faint smirk crosses the Master Sergeants face. He hears the orders to fall back, letting out a sigh of relief. Finally out of this hell hole. But he wasn't expecting the blaster bolt from out of nowhere. The round deceives the Master Sergeant, sinking past his armor and into his abdomen. "Son of..." He lets out a grunt, falling down on a knee, clutching the wound on the side. "Wha...what..." He gazes over towards Danik and the rest, gesturing everyone ahead. "We have a sniper! Go go go!" Could it be that all of the rumors were lies after all, of Cantrell's supposedly legendary exploits? When Colonel Halwinder had informed Sandor that he would be assisting Cantrell in his return to the Imperial Army fold, the then-Master Sergeant Woden had no idea that his sudden promotion to Sergeant Major after the meeting would be so quickly diminished by being shown up by the natural abilities of Cantrell's gunnery. But then, time has proven in Sandor's mind that relying solely upon natural abilities can be a rather dangerous thing, and choosing the scope, even set to so little magnification as per the short distances involved in the throne room, had proven to be a rather sound idea. With the world around him swirling, and one target on his mind, Sandor doesn't even notice the approach of Danik Kreldin, an even more important target in Sandor's mind than a man who could have easily grown into a friendly rival if he'd stayed as part of the Imperial Army. But there's nothing friendly about Sandor's rifle staring at the wounded man, a choice set before him, as another blow may well push the attacker over the edge. Given that it appears to Sandor as though the man might be directly responsible for the deaths of many of his comrades - and for wounding the sniper himself, in a rather uncomfortable place no less - it again isn't a difficult choice to make. Sandor's finger squeezes down upon the trigger, sending another brilliant arc flying towards Cantrell. Cantrell is wounded? Oh hell. That's when you know things are getting rough. If only Danik knew it was Sandor who is responsible - but even then, he might not even bother to stay behind and fight him. He has more important concerns. "To the balcony," Danik says, pointing to the doorway leading out to the balcony, where right now the YT-2400 is hovering outside. He gives Johanna a look over, trying to keep his fear of Tyler burrowed. She would not get the best of him here - not when he finally has the upper hand. "I'll fill you in more on the way there," Danik says, looking down at her lightsaber. "And I think I'll be taking that with me, too..." As he makes his way towards the balcony, and the escape, he takes a look at Cantrell. "Come on, slacking off, Cantrell? No time for rest!" Danik shows the way for Johanna to the ramp of the YT-2400, which was extended towards the balcony ledge. "Ladies first..." Dareus begins to move towards the ship, as the other groups, do; as Cantrell falls; he quickly holsters his blaster, and helps the Sergeant up with one arm, as a human crutch, "Time to get the hell home, Sergeant, we'll be back to fight another day....don't' worry." They both limp together, Dareus using himself somewhat as a human shield for the wounded comrade, looks to the other lower ranks of the operation, "Give us some covering fire, we have wounded to get out...." Hearing another shot blare out, Cantrell stands perfectly still, watching it barreling towards him with such great speed. But wait...it misses. Cantrell continues to stand there, the barrage of fire flailing haphazardly around the wounded trooper, getting back up to one knee. "Traitor!!" Cantrell roars out in anger, firing madly in random directions. "I will have my retribution! This isn't...over!" And with that, he's startled to receive help from Dareus, too furious to accept. "I'm fine." He growls, his spit almost sizzles as it flies out of his mouth, clutching his side as he hobbles his way out of the throne room. He throws a faint grin. "She better be good, Danik." He takes another look at Johanna before returning his gaze to Danik. Taking one more look back, he throws out a glob of spit again, followed by a scoff. "This isn't over." Well, that hadn't worked as Sandor had expected it to. A sudden, immense pain in his rear had taken over the moment he'd fired the shot, causing the blaster bolt to miss by mere inches. And now there just isn't enough of a window left for Sandor to make another shot, as covering fire forces him to go prone to avoid ending up in Cantrell's condition, or worse, as Sandor catches sight of a wounded Twi'lek nearby. As he crawls over to tend to his comrade's wounds as well as he can before emergency crews can arrive, Sandor realizes that he actually recognizes the man, remembering him from the effort to find bodies after the explosion in the NR military base. And now, if things don't go Tal'sin's way, he'll become a body himself. "Irony's a bitch," Sandor whispers, as he produces what few bandages he has remaining and sets about the impossible task of stabilizing the other sniper.
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