| abstract
| - A short time has passed since the recent attack on Varonat, and while everyone is still talking about that, whispering as is more likely the case in Imperial systems, there does seem to have been a sort of calm that fell upon the area. Of course, as goes the saying, it's always quiet before...stuff hits the fan. Bespin's traffic, presumably, is handled normally, the world's tibanna of such importance that customs have to take second place to getting it offloaded to other locales. A transport, not immense, but not too small either, carries the Republic's initial strike force into the system, an expertly designed secret cargo hold allowing the Marine platoon concealed within to pass unnoticed. The vessel, an Action-series class transport, descends at a normal speed until it reaches the mining platform not far fom the planetary capital of Cloud City. There, the slow process of loading up its tanks with the precious resource commences, the Marines, aso rdered, beginning to depart from the vessel through shielded conduits in order to sneak onto the platform. Their mission being to wreck as much chaos as possible and take the Imperial facility out of commission. With that process well and truly under way, the Republic's main force arrives into the system, one large enough to not be instantly overwhelmed by the Imperial assets within the system. At its heart, though not necessarily in command is the MC40a class cruiser, the Rapier, a vessel that has distinguished itself in the recent engagement not far from here. Unlike previous engagements, the Republican forces do not immediately spring into action, instead fighters begin to launch from their motherships as the task group forms up. "To the Imperial forces illegally occupying the free system of Bespin, you are commanded to surrender your weapons and ships. Any and all who do so and renege their allegiance to the Empire will be shown leniency, any who resist will be treated as no more than enemy combattants and fought until your surrender, or worse. Task Group Valiant, out.", and so goes the rather provocatory message that is broadcast over open frequencies. Commodore Alexei's telltale, to any Intelligence officer on the Imperial side assisted by voice recognition software, thick Basic fairly easy to pick out in that. The Republic's task was fairly straightforward, plant explosives along major causeways and pipelines and control centres, give enough time for people to evacuate and then get the heck out of dodge. Which is perhaps why when the alarm comes that enemy forces have been detected in space, they go about their wyas nonplussed, aware of the ruse the Republic is trying to pull. One person not aware, however, is one Pone Cel, an officer within the Corps and in charge of his own platoon, one in the 501st no less. The man quickly hurries from his quarter, the armour he always has nearby being strapped on even as he is sending orders to his men to gather at a central hall near where they are quartered in the mining platform. It's been some time since Gene was here on Bespin, in the wonderous cloud city, but instead of site seeing and what have you, he has a mission. A mission in which he intends not to fail at. After orginizing his fifty troops into groups of twenty-five they split off, one half going one dirrection, he and another twenty-four goes in another direction. "Keep in contact and keep a sharp eye." He tells the troop on the other side. His smaller troop move forward, using crates and other items to hide behind as they advance onward. To get to where they need to be. Advancing only when they know the coaast is clear. Private Ndresi spent most of the flight in an atmosphere suit and only recently got out of it to put on his fatigues and the rest of his combat gear. He checks the medkit and the three medpacs before putting them in his specialty gear pockets and, when done, nods curtly to the folks around him. He tucks at his things, not used to the new gear and smiles into his breathmask. A moment later, the ship lands and it is time to get moving. Out of the craft and into the inevitable firezone. The near human follows the others in his squad, mostly guarding them and waiting for the time to lend a shoulder, back or hand to assist or help an injured brother, whatever the Sarge may happen to growl his way. His overall motion is one of practiced ease which is hardly surprising, given that he is about ten years older than the Sarge who relays the command with a downward and forward motion of his open hand. The Five Oh First had been sent to help reinforce garrisons around Bespin. The main part of the Legion's detachment was on Cloud City. However half of a century had been dispatched. Calyx Drogyn was not technically a Stormtrooper. He was a Navy Corpsman, to the troopers of his squad, he was one of them, anyone saying different would have to deal with them all. This particilar medic also happened to eb a crack shot. He was grabbing his blaster rifle and making his way towards the rally point almost as soon as the call had been made. His tactical computer uplinking with the rest of the facility to assist command and control. Called back from her leave, Sev'rance Cassoni is equiped in her scouttrooper armour, and her weapons in hand or on person. Unlike the others in her grouping, she wasn't a crack shot or anything of particular value there. She had the hands to seal wounds and make it so her fellows can get up and continue their fighting. The Echani woman is moving with the troopers she's been asigned to, her blaster rifle in hand, just incase the invader's heads pop up, like wack-a-womprat. Galatea's strides are deliberate and purposeful in their precision and application, the hardened rubber of her combat boots wasting minimal energy through excess sound and overzealous movements padding along the plasteel corridors. Armed in lighter armor than that of the heavily armed marines to provide mobility and reduce the load on her back to make more space for her standard medical kit, the Corporal remains somewhere in the middle of the group. Her breathing, smooth and rhythmic, mimics the steady circulation of her blood as her heart teeters on the edge of anticipation for the bloodshed that would hopefully follow. Idly, her eyes shift back and forth behind the dim glow of her visor's HUD, hiding the soft grin that was slowly creeping its way on to her visage. "Enemy force detected on this very platform, numbers unknown though less than company strength we can be fairly certain of.", the First Lieutenant says, his voice loud enough that it should carry to those men gathered before, and if not possible, then the microphone embedded into his helmet should do the trick. "Orders are straightforward, reduce risks of collateral damage, flush out enemy troops and get to the landing zones as quickly as possible so we can be airborne to assist in the space fight. Second Lieutenant Vell will take Squads 4 and 5, 1-3 come with me." A quick nod, and when he's made certain that his orders have been understood, the man is leading the way towards a nearby corridor, the station's security system used to plot out the quickest path to the enemy forces. Already the man is forced to raise his weapon and fire off a shot, though it rebounds against a crate, the Marine scout thus spared for now. 2nd Lt. Malantean leads his group on, further and further until they can't go further, and then the shot is heard, where one of his men are hiding behind. Gene calls over the com in hushed tones, "We've been spotted, we must get those explosives into place. Cover me and I'll get some planted." Keeping low, he moves off to plant as many as he can in strategic locations. Might not all be the best but perhapse enough in the right places will do some damage. Before moving from one barracade to the next, he makes sure his troops are keeping the Imps attention on anything, other then him. There is no grace to this fellow, only efficiently performed drudgery. He inhales deeply and with a silent hiss and squints his eyes when the first few shots ring. He ducks a bit lower, looks up and then to the enemy, his rifle already at his shoulder and thus pointing to the enemy almost with a life of its own. He immediately begins shooting at the closest target or a support weapon before it can be set up when the Lt. moves past him. "Copy, Sir," he says as silently as is making sense.(Chool) TK-4462 moves with the rest of his attached unit. He keeps his rifle in a ready position, the optics on the advanced blaster rifle already nice and warm so they wouldn't freeze up during combat. He flicks the safety off when he hears the reports over the Stormtrooper coms of contact. He motions his squad to spread out, finding cover amid some of the crates, they would provide cover for the next squad to leapfrog forward, then repeat the process. He raises a gloved hand, twirling his hand in a circle and pointing forward, relaying orders to the troopers around him, just in case comms get jammed Orders given, orders received, and Crewman Cassoni is moving swiftly for cover. She checks her primary weapon over once more, she may not be a good shot but she's darn good at providing cover fire. "Roger that," she says to her leader. Moving swiftly in her hunkered down position, she moves to get a clear shot of identified targets, and opens up fire. (Target: Gene) Galatea comes to an abrupt halt, sucks in a breath and drops to a single knee with the soft thud of the reinforced duraweave pad adding finality to the action. Her carbine is shouldered, the butt end of the energy weapon pressed into the crevace between her right shoulder and breast to soften the delivery of the impending lethal discharge. Sighted and ready, the Corporal is too far away to catch anyone outside of a very narrow field of vision leaving her to listen to the dull thud of her heart in the center of her skull. A moment passes with no action then the breath slides out slowly. Springing forward and remaining hunched over, she hustles closer to provide support should any of the Imperial troops on the other side of the room become more exposed, sliding ungracefully into the side of a convenient crate. Swiftly, Galatea wheels, snapping the rifle level with the horizon with the majority of its weight settled on the top of the crate. Her lower body remains obscured by the box As Cassoni takes a shot at Gene, Galatea snaps her targetting recticle to the source, squeezing the trigger to return fire and offer up a choice of targets rather than the lone demolitionist. Chool's fire is enough to force the Officer back, the man being forced to duck down at the last moment lest he finds himself as the receiving end of molten plasma. A quick burst is unleashed from his weapon, aimed at the enemy commander's direction as the man is identified as key to the Marines' effort to plant explosives. With that round let out, he turns to face the nearest trooper, the medic who was successful in keeping the Lieutenant pinned down just moments ago. "Cover me, when I make it to the next crate, follow me. We'll try and draw their attention while TK-4462 takes aim at whoever fires." Gene continues to make his way to the first spot to plant an explosive. He's blasted at, and dives for cover. Just missed, but his hiding place is a haphazardly stacked pile of crates. He accidently bumps the stack enough to disslodge a crate, enough to topple over and pin him. "Keep them disstracted." he cusses and tries to wedge the grate off him. Once it's off, he's making his way again to the next barricade. Another near miss from the Trooper_Officer but now he is really close to his first point to plant it. When the firing again resumes from his troops he's quick to the location, and plants it. Doing whatever must be done to the device before he is off to his next barricade and next spot. He is hearing things from the other group as well, and replies to them quietly, when he is in relative safety. To the ones here, "Few more and then it's your turn." He murrs softly over the comlink. With smoke now rising from the dents and holes caused by the dual colored storm of superheated gas, there are no shoulderpads to spot. The Private 1st Class thus aims at his previous target and ducks almost instantly after that. Calyx Drogyn, TK-4462 sees the incoming blaster fire and orders his squad to return fire, the troopers blaster rifles pit out volleys of heated red blaster gas. Calyx himself takes aim at Chool, trying to get the NR Marine into his sights. He squeezes the trigger, sending three bright red bolts blasting off towards the man. Galatea draws another breath in, steadying her aim for the next volley of shots. Her eyes dart back and forth with trained acumen, attempting to prioritize her shots to take the pressure off where it seems to matter the most - at least from her vantage point. Exhale; with the rush of air from her lungs she twists her torso to settle the carbine's sights squarely on Drogyn. With lungs empty, the trigger is squeezed sending its charged payload rocketting out of the barrel, leaving the muzzle of the carbine with a soft, orange glow that quickly dissipates as the weapon cools readying it for the next shot. The Imperials certainly are not having an easy go of things, with Drogyn's injuries combined with the officer's things on this side are not going well, though the other battle on the platform seems to be heading better. Still, when the man is struck, he is sent flying back, a fair chunk of the armour blown or melted away, and blood beginning to seep from his side. The man has barely enough time to crawl behind the cover provided from a nearby protrusion in the wall before blaster fire lands where he was, sending small pebbles up into the air. Before he attends to his wounds, the man has enough spirits still about him to order his men to lay down covering fire in order for the wounded to be tended to. After several moments and all of his explosives set, and then covering for the rest to get their explosives set, "Get back to the ship" he calls to both sets of troops, once he hears from the others that their explosives are set too.. he is setting the timer, "Retreat!" This is also called into the com to both sets of troops. Once the timer is set he's off and running as well, "Move move!" he calls out to them... not meaning to be rude, but pushing some of them along. Return fire comes his way, the concentrated kind. When he raises his arm up from a crate while in the process of getting down prior to the next few shots, Chool looks for the white can with the black side and with that comes the dull pain of a cauterized line along one of his forearms where a bolt grazed and cut past his gloves. This sensation is nothing new to the Private and he barely even flinches. His visor grants him a cornucopia of targets, but he has a target close to the one that is down and the Marine's prized A280 to make the new target join the old. That is when the order to retreat is piped into his ears and thus he snaps off a few shots at the enemy on the way his brothers lead, being one of the last few to fall back. White plasteel impacts with a blaster bolt from a rapid fire carbine. Galatea must have had his number because the blast hits right at the intersection of the plates on Drogyn's right shoulder, burning through the edges of armor plating, ballstic suit, flesh and muscle. The Trooper goes down. His armor immediately starts squaking his wounded status to catch teh attention of any medics that may be close. He tries to reach for his own medpack, but the pain is just too great. In line with the traditional laws of attrition, Galatea's skillfully aimed blaster bolt is returned with one from a significantly more powerful rifle. Tearing its way through the Corporal's hardened light engagement armor, the satisfying feeling of putting practice into motion is replaced with a nigh-animalistic fury that burns nearly as badly as the energy blast. Immediately, she falls back on her rump, dragging her carbine down with her to tend to the wound - an activity that is cut short by Gene's order. Surpressing a curse, Galatea clenches her teeth and steels herself against the need to exact physical revenge, ordering her legs to press her back to the LZ. Her task done with returning fire, her hands are moving fast to remove the armour in her way as she does field triage. It's not enough to heal them up by a long shot, especially with the worst of them, but it is enough to get the ready for transport. When the orders come in to evacuate, she curses a long string in Echani, and doubles her efforts. Now by passing those mortally wounded and those lightly wounded. "You four, move those three," she commands the troopers who are still more or less not injured. Cassoni keeps her head low to avoid any return fire. It would be most awful if the medic was taken out now. The troopers are smart enough to start prepping the wounded for transport out. Some keep to cover fire as the Rebels start to leave. Cassoni's help is the only thing keeping him alive, and when a stretcher, however makeshift is found for him, the officer grunts as he's lifted up onto it. A last set of orders are sent, ordering the facility evacuated, fortunately the Republic could be counted on to give people time enough to evacuate. The last sight he has of the platform is of a large explosion tearing a large hole into one of its bulkheads, perhaps not what the Republic was hoping for. But damage was dealt, the facility was to be of no use for some time, and above all a substantial shipment of the tibanna was acquired for whatever purpose higher command had determined it would be used for. As it is, the Action-class transport zooms its way up into space, the vessel overloaded with the resource, though thankfully the bulk of the Empire's attention is taken up by the battle in space just now wrapping up.
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