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General BattleTech => Alternate Universe => Non-BattleTech AUs => Topic started by: masterarminas on March 28, 2013, 02:10:55 AM

Title: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: masterarminas on March 28, 2013, 02:10:55 AM

Okay, let’s get the legal stuff out of the way:  I do not own the rights to Star Wars, nor is this work for profit.  It is a piece of fan-fiction set within the universe created by George Lucas using (some) of the characters he (and others) created for Star Wars, but also tells an original story using my own input.  It is, in no way, canon, nor do I claim it as such. 

Having said that, I hope that you the reader enjoy the continuation of this saga.  Let your thoughts and ideas flow here and prod me along as needed.  Correct me when I am wrong, or point out something that you think I could do better.  And I will try to do so.  But now, on to the story.

Star Wars:  The Crucible

Episode II of Broken Empire

By Stephen T Bynum

All Rights Reserved, 2013

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away . . .

It was a time of great change in the galaxy.  Three years had passed since the death of the Emperor and Lord Vader at the Battle of Endor.  The Galactic Empire was sundered on that day, broken although far from dead.  In the wake of deaths of the two men who had ruled, chaos had descended.

The New Republic, forged from the shards of the fallen Old Republic, birthed in the fires of a thousand battles as the Rebel Alliance, stood anew.  The turbulent years had seen victory and defeat, but steadily, relentlessly, the Republic had consolidated its hold and now two-thirds of the Galaxy lay under its rule.

Coruscant, the Galactic Capital, had surrendered to the New Republic, and now, in these days of waning tyranny, Mon Mothma issued a call for a new Senate to assemble, to bestow legitimacy upon the reformed Republic—and its leadership.
The Imperial Remnant, in theory led by Grand Moff Ardus Kaine, controlled the much of the area that remained.   A collection of Warlords and dictators, the Remnant quarreled and squabbled among itself rather than fight the steadily encroaching and ever more powerful New Republic. 

There remained large swathes of space, filled with system after system, and Sector upon Sector, that owed no allegiance to either party.  It was here, in these unaffiliated systems where the Remnant and Republic vied with one another most fierce . . . and one government, one Union, more . . .


Chapter One

Abril Jonas, Admiral of the Third Strike Fleet of the Consolidated Armed Forces of the Rim, shook his head as he watched the lighter New Republic warships withdraw into hyper.  Retreat, rather.  He grinned.  Clearly, his opponents had not expected to find an entire Strike Fleet here at Arbra, in the heart of the Bon’nyuw-Luq Sector.   Although perhaps he should have.

Over the past three years, the Imperial Union of the Rim had incorporated seventeen more Sectors within itself:  Hunnovers and Instrop to the Galactic North-east, Hook Nebula, Parmel, Khuiumin, Quence, Svivreni, Tamarin, Toblain, Bon'nyuw-Luq, Parmic, Sujimis, Torch Nebula, Thuris, Skine, Merel, and Samix to the Galactic South-West.  Not only did the Union hold the Spice Terminus (a fact which caused a great wailing within Hutt Space when it occurred), but they had acted (in many cases) to move fast and efficiently to curtail atrocities by former-Imperial leaders . . . in several cases, the Union had preserved alien species from genocide.

As they had here at Arbra, when the Lord Steward of the Union had ordered Third Strike Fleet here to prevent General Riik from carrying out his threat to exterminate the . . . Abril couldn’t help it, he blushed and then he frowned—glaring at his aide who quickly found somewhere to turn his attention.  The, ahem, extremely cute and cuddly and entirely inoffensive Hoojibs who were native to the planet.

So what if they had allowed the Rebel Alliance to house a base here during the Rebellion?  For one such act, an entire species earned eternal death?  Not on Abril’s watch.  Not on the watch of Thom Patrice, Deputy Steward and Moff of Cyralis.  Not on the watch of Garm bel Iblis.

Third Strike Fleet was a fast-moving and powerful formation with the first four completed Stalwart-class Star Destroyers to emerge from the Ord Tanis Yards.  Supported by the Venator-class Star Destroyer Fighter Carrier Invictus (and her crack fighter wings led by Captain Maarek Steele) and six smaller Victory-class Star Destroyers.  But his Flagship remained the Glorious-class Star Destroyer Ascension—old, perhaps, but she was a ship that Abril Jonas knew well—and one that he trusted to bring him home. 

He grinned again, and this time he made no effort to hide it—because he was certain that the Rebel—oops, he though, Republic—commander had made no plans to run into a dozen Star Destroyers and more than seventy escort ships.  Not to mention the dozen vessels, mostly Acclamator-class Assault Ships, assigned to transport the XVII and XXI Legions of General Ise.  If he had, then his ship choices had been profoundly poor ones, especially since his two heaviest vessels had been Assault Frigates—old ones at that.

Still, he had responded, so that meant that Mon Mothma was once again paying attention to the Outer Rim Territories, instead of concentrating on capturing—and holding—Coruscant.  Perhaps it had not been the wisest maneuver for the Lord Steward to irritate her so publicly—but the two of them seemed to enjoy the long-distance verbal sniping back-and-forth, Abril thought with a shrug.

Lord Steward Garm bel Iblis, the statesman who held the highest executive post within the Union, had answered the questions of interstellar media quite simply when he was asked in the Palace of the Steward on Naboo:  “The beings who comprise our Union will not stand by and allow such actions when we can stop them.  Who cares which faction controls Coruscant when it is the common people who are suffering here, so very far distant from the Capital world.  Mon Mothma, despite her zeal and her good intentions, has devoted far too much time and resources in an effort that is nothing more than a public relations stunt.  Had she devoted the same resources and ships and troops out here, I would applaud her actions.  She did not—so we did.”

Abril snorted.  Mon Mothma was rumored to have been utterly apoplectic when she saw that particular interview.

She no doubt wanted to be the one who rescued the Hoojibs—but she had not been the one to do so.  For it had been Jonas and the CAF who had utterly crushed Riik’s ships and then his troops. 

“Rather blood-thirsty thoughts there,” a tenor voice said in Abril’s mind and he looked down at the exasperated Hoojib sitting on the deck.  “And you don’t need to be so happy that you and your Union managed to get here first, Abril.”

Abril smiled and he shook his head again.  “Ambassador Plif, I make no apologies for my thoughts—which are my own, after all.  And yes, I am quite pleased that we were able to stop Riik before he could carry out his genocide—and that we beat the New Republic to the punch.”

“Which places Arbra in a terrible bind, Admiral Jonas,” the telepathic ‘voice’ of the Hoojib continued with what felt like a sigh.  “We have already established relations with the New Republic—yet now we owe you a debt as well.  Someone will have to be disappointed, I fear.”

“Ambassador, on behalf of Lord Steward bel Iblis, I have been directed to inform you of the following—while we have annexed Bon'nyuw-Luq Sector to remove all of Riik’s supporters from power, we are not annexing Arbra.  This world is yours.  Join the New Republic, if you wish—or join us.  Whichever course of action you, your people rather, would prefer.”

The alien creature on the deck of the flag bridge blinked—and Abril could feel the surprise in his thoughts.

“We may be Imperials, Ambassador Plif,” Abril continued, “but we are not conquerors in the traditional sense.  We only ask that if you join the New Republic that you allow the Union to participate in the defense of Arbra—if that should be necessary—and that you remember us kindly when you take your seat in the New Republic Senate.”  Abril frowned.  “Many there are not our friends, Ambassador—we would welcome at least one.”

“And should we decide to join the New Republic, Admiral Jonas, rest assured, one friend—one voice—at the least you shall have,” Plif replied.

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: shwagpo on March 28, 2013, 09:28:36 AM

Marked.  I like it already MA :)

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: Red Pins on March 28, 2013, 10:06:55 AM

Tagged.  Thank you, MA.  I'm sick of having nothing to read.

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: masterarminas on March 28, 2013, 05:18:49 PM

“The entire situation is intolerable!” the Rodian bellowed.  “Your precious leaders in the Republic have done nothing—NOTHING!  While my world is surrounded by these blatant human-centric Imperials!”

Crix Madine, General of the New Republic, ignored the sweltering heat and humidity of the reception chamber—although his uniform coat was already soaked with his sweat.  And the bitter scent of the mold and fungi growing upon the walls made his nose itch.  But at least the other representative of the New Republic here for this meeting on Rodia was suffering far worse.

Councilor (and Senator) Borsk Fey'lya looked miserable with the full body fur of the Bothan race, normally so exquisitely styled and arranged, lying limp and soaked against his skin, making patches of stain upon his expensive garments. 

“I would not go so far, Protector Navik,” Madine said, “as to characterize the Imperial Union of the Rim as ‘human-centric’; after all, they have offered to all non-human species full rights under their laws, they have gone to war—repeatedly—against former Imperials who have abused non-humans, they have made Ryloth—and Rodia—free systems not incorporated into their government.  Rodia they even allowed to join the New Republic.  These are hardly leaders in the style of Palpatine.”

Navik the Red of Clan Chattza, the leader of Rodia and the Rodian people snorted.  “They pretend to have our best interests at heart, General Madine.  Yet, over the past three years they have masked their expansionistic urges as ‘relief missions’ and self-serving propaganda by selecting a minor discriminatory act and overthrowing the rulers behind it—Imperial or independent alike.  Do you not forget that it was last year that these . . . Imperials wearing Nerf-skins were repulsed from Ferra and Grohl Sectors?  No thanks to your New Republic Fleets—it was the work of us non-humans aided by various other races . . . and the Hutts who stopped their invasion of those two Sectors.  No, they are Imperials still and I shall not rest until they are gone.”

Madine frowned.  It was true that the Union had invaded Ferra and Grohl—but his intelligence reports had indicated that it was a preemptive strike against a Hutt-backed attempt to foment rebellion within the Arkanis, Bitrose, Dalchon, Gaulus, and Savareen Sectors.  And that information had come straight from the Twi’leks of Ryloth—some of whom had been approached by the instigators.  The Hutts were very, very upset with the Imperial Union of the Rim, after all.  For the first time in, and Crix snorted.  For the first time ever, the laws regarding slavery and chattel servitude were being enforced in this region of the Outer Rim Territories—and the Hutts did not care for that.  Nor for the enthusiastic crackdown on the smuggling of Spice and other illegal drugs.  And weapons.  And the many other criminal activities that the Hutts sponsored along with various other criminal organizations.

Still, the General did not doubt that had a large force of independent warships not challenged the Union, that bel Iblis would today rule over both Ferra and Grohl.  But the Union’s Admirals and Generals had not been ready for such a confrontation—and they had withdrawn.  After removing most of the leaders who had offended them, that was.

“And I would remind you that my title is GRAND Protector, General Madine,” Navik hissed.  “Where is the vaunted Fleet of Ackbar?  Where is the protection which we on Rodia were promised?”

“Calm yourself, Grand Protector Navik,” Fey’lya said smoothly in a voice that revealed none of the discomfort which he must have felt.  “I have personally spoken with the good Admiral and a rather . . . sizeable detachement of the Fleet will be arriving here shortly.  And General Madine is here to brief you on certain . . . classified operations we have initiated within the Union itself.”

Crix jerked and he stared at the Bothan—and those stares narrowed into glares of anger.  “Councilor, that is not on the agenda—it should not even be discussed here!”

“I set the agenda as the senior member of the leadership of the New Republic present, General,” Fey’lya replied in a firm voice.  “Grand Protector Navik—Senator Navik—has need to know that the Republic is taking his concerns seriously.  Consider it an order, if you must, but brief him we shall.”

Navik’s reddish birthmark flushed brightly and he laughed.  “So, are we finally going to regain my promised worlds in Savareen?”

“Your promised worlds?” Madine asked as he looked away from the Bothan member of the Chief of State’s Council.  “Promised by whom, if I may ask?”

“We are travelling far afield,” Fey’lya interrupted with a glare of his own at the Rodian on his throne.  “Analysis of the current economic situation of the Union by my own people indicates that they are straining their budgets to the very breaking point—they cannot sustain such great expenditures for long.  Which is why one aspect of our operation will involve hitting them in their banking accounts,” he said with a laugh.

“I have warned you, Councilor,” Madine said, “that while their spending is indeed greater than their income, as long as others are willing to extend them credit—and they have the possibility to make good their debts—that phase of your operation may not be as successful as you might wish.  But on the personnel side of things; there they are indeed suffering a crisis.  Our information,” and the General winced as Borsk Fey’lya nodded for him to go on, “shows that bel Iblis has been forced to mothball nearly two dozen Dreadnought-class cruisers—cruisers that he no longer has the crews to man.  Their Consolidated Armed Forces have managed to integrate many—but not all—of the Imperials who have defected to them; but the number of such defections has long since peaked and is now not more than a trickle.”

“Even with the integration of their ‘Alien Legions’ into their ground force and naval components, the Union is experiencing a drastic shortage in manpower—trained and experienced manpower for their ground forces, strike fighters, and fleet vessels.  And their losses over the past three years factor into that—none of their conquests have been bloodless; all have had more than their share of deaths and critical injuries and lost equipment.”

“Expensive equipment whose replacement has contributed to their economic woes,” added Fey’lya with a laugh of his own.  “Financially and industrially and logistically, they are at their nadir.  And we will push them further until that traitor bel Iblis breaks—and then we will absorb this so-called Union and end the Imperial presence here on the Outer Rim forever.”

The Bothan bared his sharp fangs to the Rodian and Madine sighed again.  “Grand Protector, we have already inserted certain special operations groups into the systems of the Union close by to Rodia . . .,” and despite his misgivings, the loyal General of the New Republic proceeded to fully brief his ally.

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: masterarminas on March 28, 2013, 08:31:39 PM

“Broke?  BROKE!  What do you mean we are broke!” thundered Garm bel Iblis.

Thom Patrice sighed and he gazed out of the expansive windows that overlooked the Lake Country here on Naboo.  The landscape was relaxing and serene—perhaps too serene, he thought.

“I mean, Lord Steward, that the Imperial Union of the Rim has spent far more credits than we have taken in.  At the moment, we are relying upon loans from various corporate interests and institutions—but the loans will come due soon and we must address the issues facing us here.”  He paused and turned back to face the chief executive of the Union.  “Don’t you read the memorandum your advisors send to you?”

The Steward had the grace to flush, at least, and then he snorted.  “Have you any clue as to how many pieces of paper I get on my desk that it is absolutely imperative that I read?  On a daily basis?”

“I do, Lord Steward.  So was that a yes or a no?” asked Thom.

“Not that I recall—although I do believe that I recall you telling me that cutting Imperial taxes on the member systems would result in a greater amount of revenue collected!”

“It did, Your Grace,” answered Thom.  “Our taxation rates are half those of the New Republic and Imperial Remnant—and we have seen an overall increase in the total sum of revenue we have collected.  But your government,” and Thom placed the emphasis on your deliberately, “has managed to spend nearly fifty percent more than our annual revenue stream this past year!”

“There is so much that has to be done—take the Fleet, for example, Thom.  Ships cost money; training crews costs money; paying those crews costs money.”

“I agree.  And we would have plenty of funds available for the Fleet and the Army had we not moved so precipitously to intervene in our neighbors affairs and almost double the size of the Union in just three years time.”

Garm waved one hand in dismissal.  “They needed our help—they still need our help.”

“So they did and so they do, Lord Steward.  But we are spending ourselves into disaster here by pouring money hand-over-fist into Sectors to repair the damage of centuries in a matter of months!  I mean, you signed the legislation to revamp the infrastructure on twenty-three systems in Toblain Sector—twenty-three!  With grants, not loans, issued by the central government of the Union!”

“The people need to see that we are taking an interest in their affairs, Thom.  That our first priority is their safety and security, which means adequate power and water supplies and safe means of transport.”

Thom shook his head at the idealist seated in the chair behind the ornate desk.  “And just how safe and secure will they be when we are forced to cut the Fleet and the Army to pay our debts?  Garm, we cannot save everyone.  And yes, I realize that you are making an important point to the Galactic media in that while the New Republic is talking a good game, we are actually getting the job done!  But it is Mon Mothma who will have the last laugh if you spend us into a fiscal black hole!”

Now the younger man, the former Rebel scowled and he leaned back in his chair.  “The Sectors are doing well enough . . .,” he began.

“The original twenty-three Sectors including Tolanda,” Thom said bluntly.  “Yes, we are doing fine—the other seventeen we added are money sinks, Garm.  And we are stretching the CAF like a skin atop a drum—any more tension and pressure and they could break.”

Both men stared at each other and then Garm sighed.  “The Senate is pressuring me to promise that no new taxes are coming . . . but we need the revenue.”

“You are an elected official, Garm bel Iblis—raising taxes is something that will very much impact your votes next year in the election.”  Thom sat down and he shook his head.  “I’ve spent too much time in Cyralis instead of here, I fear.  This is partially my fault for not arguing with you against this overuse of our forces and this too-rapid expansion.”

“No, I should have read the damned memos,” Garm said gloomily.  “How long until our creditors start getting antsy?”

“They are already antsy, Garm,” Thom chuckled.  “A year, maybe two before they start to dial back on future loans—and increase our interest rates.  But we cannot keep spending at the current levels—we literally cannot.”

“If we bite the bullet and raise taxes,” the Lord Steward began, but Thom interrupted him again.

“Then industry will have no incentive to move their operations out here instead of staying in the Republic or the Remnant.  With less liquidity in the public square, the economy will slow—we might see a short-term gain, but in the long run we will lose.  And you already promised the citizenry that you would ease the tax burden they bear—the public has long memories about broken promises that affect them personally, Garm.”

“Perhaps I can convince the Sectors to make a one-time tithe to the Union,” bel Iblis mused.  “As you said, the original Sectors are doing very well.”

“They will resist such an effort—I will resist, Lord Steward.  It is true that some of us have a surplus; it is also true that all of us are working very hard on making our Sectors competitive.  Taking our rainy day funds away is not how you win the hearts and minds of the Sector Moffs or Senators.  Beside,” Thom said with another shrug of his shoulders, “even if you did that, it would account for only about a third of this year’s short-fall.”

Both men sat in silence for a moment before Patrice sighed.  “We have to cut your programs in the newly acquired Sectors for domestic improvement to the bone, Lord Steward.  Unless you want to slash defense?”

Garm winced.  “Those improvements are what will tie the new Sectors to the Union, Thom.  They need them—they need to see us there for them.”

“We don’t have the funds to do everything, Garm,” Thom said quietly.  “We are already seeing problems getting enough recruits to fill every position we need in the CAF—and Grand Admiral Morvin has just signed off on retiring all of our Dreadnought-class ships, with the exception of the six you brought with you, because of their immense manpower requirements.  Unless we want to reintroduce conscription, Lord Steward, we need to devote more funds to the Consolidated Armed Forces—half of the Sector forces are paying better wages and bonuses than the CAF.  For less risk.”

Garm’s eyes flashed at that.  “Including those of Cyralis,” he growled.

“Including Cyralis,” agreed Thom.  “I told you three years ago, you needed to offer the enlisted and officers better compensation, but instead you decided that the domestic affairs had a greater priority.  The New Republic is having the same problem—they cannot maintain numbers anywhere close to what the Empire could because they aren’t devoting enough fiscal resources to the men and women in uniform.  The Remnant is conscripting people to keep up its strength, but we cannot afford to start that.  Not if we want to make the average citizen see us any differently from Palpatine’s Empire.”

Garm glared at Thom, but the old General just returned the look stoically until the Lord Steward sighed and turned his gaze away.

“This was supposed to be fun,” he whispered.  “Where is the fun that you promised me?”

“Are you becoming senile?  I never promised you fun, Garm,” laughed Thom.  “I promised you the chance to do things right.”

“So what are our options?” asked the Lord Steward.

“We have to reduce the budget—have to,” answered Thom.  “And frankly, we need to release four or five or six of the new Sectors that are the biggest drain on our finances.”

Garm winced.

“Look at it this way, Lord Steward—we will still be much larger than we were three years ago.  Or we can find a major corporation and nationalize it—but I do not believe you want to start down that road.”

“No,” bel Iblis spat.  “Put together a working group—coordinate with Irenez and work out a plan to gently let some of the border Sectors go their separate way over the next year,” he snorted.  “Sena would wind up shooting half of your members, I think.”

“She would—she’s feisty, Garm,” Thom agreed.

“Which is why she is my head of security—Irenez does the heavy lifting on the Operations side of things,” Garm answered.  “What else?  You didn’t come all the way to Naboo to discuss just the budget?”

“I had a visitor last week, Garm,” Thom said.  “The son of an old friend from inside the Remnant.  He said that someone very important wants to meet with me—privately.  Outside of Union space.  He seemed sincere.”

“And you are asking me for permission?  That is a first!”

“No, just giving you a heads-up in case I don’t come back, Garm.  And,” Thom paused and he scratched his cheek, “I am getting reports of New Republic forces massing at Rodia.  Fleet and ground elements both.”

“What does Galen say?”

“That we need someone on the ground to give us better information than the limited SigInt our ferret is picking up in the outer system.  He cannot confirm or deny anything, but he is starting to get worried over our good friend Navik.”

Garm snorted again.  “Navik is an opportunist.  He worked for Palpatine to keep the Rodians under control and now he is working for Mon Mothma on behalf of the Rodians.  The man is a snake.”

“Agreed.  And he despises you and I both—rumors suggest that he was promised lordship over all of Savareen before Moff Anar decided to get onboard.  He covets those worlds—and I have to wonder who besides the Hutts he may be cutting deals with.  We’ve seen a lot of activity in that Sector in the last month.”

“We don’t have the forces to send there to hunt ghosts, Thom,” Garm said.  “Unless,” he began with a smile.

“Unless what?  And why do I suddenly have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach?”

“Unless Moff Anar agrees to host joint maneuvers with say . . . the Local Defense Forces of Cyralis Sector?  In part, of course.  I do not mean to suggest your entire force, Moff Patrice.”

“Of course you don’t, Lord Steward bel Iblis,” Thom growled.  And then he sighed.  “I’ll cut the orders—but you best make sure that Anar knows to expect them.  He’s rather particular about his privileges and responsibilities.”

“I’ll do it after lunch,” Garm answered with a smile.  “Who are you meeting with, by the way?”

“A Fleet Captain by the name of Gilead Pellaeon,” Thom answered.  “I knew his father in the Clone Wars.  If the son is half the man Daveed was, I think this is a meeting I should attend.”

“Then may the Force be with you,” Garm answered.  “And back to the salt mines of endless memorandum for me.”

“Next time bring a flame-thrower to work with you, Your Grace,” Thom answered with a smile.

“I would—but Pooja and the Queen both would kill me.  Their gift of this desk cost more than my annual salary, a point they remind me of every time they visit.”

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: Gabriel on March 29, 2013, 12:55:41 AM

This is great.

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: masterarminas on March 29, 2013, 12:36:46 PM

“Han, wait!” Leia cried out as she emerged into the wide corridors of the former Imperial palace.

The dark-haired smuggler and hero of the Rebellion stopped in his tracks and he turned around to face his wife.  “They want proof, Leia?  Well, I am going to get them their proof—as if I don’t know what a Grand Admiral looks like!  This guy was no fake, no self-promoted ambitious Moff or officer, he was the real thing, Leia.”

“Han it is just so . . .,” her voice trailed off, and Han Solo nodded.

“Unbelievable.  I get it.  But I know what I saw, Leia.  I don’t care if he isn’t human, I don’t care what their records say about us accounting for all of Palpatine’s Grand Admirals,” his voice trailed off and the flush faded from his face.  “To tell the truth, this man scares me.  And I will wager that he is a bigger threat to the Republic than Kaine and Patrice combined.  Ackbar needs to get over his unease with my smuggling history—and you need to get Mon Mothma to trust me!”

“Han, what did you expect?  Barging in here to tell them that we missed one of the Emperor’s most senior agents?  I believe you,” and it wasn’t completely a lie, “but it is a single report.  One solitary report.  Where has he been?  Why hasn’t anyone seen him before now?  Why don’t we have any record of him?”

“I don’t know, Your Worshipfulness,” Han said with a sigh.  “But I will find out.  I’m taking the Falcon back out there—there are still some old friends who owe me.”

The Wookie standing beside the smuggler made a low moan that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, and Han glared at him.

“No, these friends won’t let some Dark Lord of the Sith freeze me in carbonite, you flea-bitten walking carpet,” and Han smiled.  “Speaking of which, Lando owes me as well.  And he has a lot of connections that the Republic frowns upon—and knows some of the best slicers in the galaxy.”

Han held up his hand as both Leia and Chewbacca began to protest at the same time.  “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“How many times have I heard that?” Leia said in an exasperated voice.

“How many times have I been wrong?” asked Han with a grin.  And then he shook his head as the Wookie opened his mouth.  “Those don’t count, Chewie.”

“You will never stop being a scoundrel, will you?” asked Leia softly.

“Hey!  You like me being a scoundrel, Princess.”  And Han stepped up close to Leia and he kissed her.  Then he stepped back.  “I’ll be back—and I’ll have the proof those two need when I return.”

“Han,” Leia soft quietly.  “Be careful; if it is a Grand Admiral, he is an incredibly dangerous man.”

“When am I not careful?” asked Han with a wide grin.  “Let’s go, Chewie,” he said cutting off the Wookie again.

The tall creature howled at Leia and shrugged his shoulders and she shook her head.  “Take care of him, Chewie.”

“Oh dear,” said 3PO as he ambled into the corridor and waved his arms at the Princess.  “My apologies, Mistress Leia, but the Chief of State requests your presence in the meeting of the Council,” he said.  “Is Master Han leaving?”

“Yes,” she whispered before she turned back to the droid.  “Let’s not keep her waiting, shall we?”

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: Gabriel on March 29, 2013, 08:01:09 PM

Mon Mothma is just like the emperor insane

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: masterarminas on March 30, 2013, 12:56:05 AM

“Well, well, well,” intoned Kerr Avon, Colonel in rank and commander of the Vigil-class Corvette Bringer of Justice, along with all ninety-seven souls (including his own) aboard her.  “What do we have here, Jas?”

“Corellian YU-410 class light freighter, Sir; she has not been cleared by perimeter security,” the sensor operator replied almost immediately.  “She seems to believe that she can avoid detection by using the cometary tail to mask her drives.”

Avon snorted.  Indeed, if Bringer of Justice had not been here, with her advanced sensor suite, the tactic might well have worked.  “Armament?  Defenses?  Complement?”

“Two twin laser turrets, dorsal and ventral mountings, Sir,” answered the tactical officer.  “Light shields—no match for our guns.  Official crew complement is four with space for a dozen passengers—but these ships are capable of extensive modification.  Fully outfitted as a slaver, she could be carrying upwards of five hundred individuals aboard.”

“Very well, ladies and gentlemen,” Avon said formally.  “Sound action stations and lay in a pursuit course.  Order Special Agent Benchek and her team to prep . . .,” and Avon paused as he scrolled through data on his screen, “Cutters Three and Four for boarding action.  And ask Lieutenant Gayne if his gunboats are ready for deployment.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” the executive officer answered as she began to pass orders.  Avon sat back in his chair and he smiled.  Quite a bit of difference from the old way of doing things, he thought to himself.  In the old days, the Sector Rangers made do with what they could—but here?  Now?  In this Imperial Union of the Rim?

Almost one hundred of the new Vigil-class Corvettes had emerged from Ord Tanis over the past three years.  And every single one of them had been assigned directly to the reformed Union Rangers.  At 255-meters in length, these ships were heavily armed with three twin turrets of medium-weight turbo-lasers, five twin turrets of heavy laser cannons, and two bow-mounted proton torpedo launchers.  Not to mention a pair of very powerful tractor beams and two hard-hitting ion cannons.  Each of the new ships carried six Boarding Cutters—specialized shuttlecraft that lacked any hyperdrives, but were designed to board even the most uncooperative of targets—and four Gunboats.  And they were designed from the core outwards to serve the Rangers.

Ninety-seven officers and men comprised the crew—all of them Rangers.  The ship had its own forensics teams, research labs, medical examiners, analysis laboratories, and cutting-edge computers run by some of the best slicers in the business.  Avon smiled again.  Such as himself.  Once upon a time, he had been on the opposite side of the law—but no more.  Now, he enforced the law, for he had seen with his own eyes just what barbarity many criminals were capable of.  And the ship had space for as many as fifty-three more passengers, troops, or Rangers.  Plus the cells in the four brigs that could hold up to eighty prisoners in maximum isolation and containment.

No, Avon, thought to himself, these ships were not just transport for the Rangers, but were mobile headquarters.  And they had allowed the Rangers to finally begin putting an end to the foulness that seethed beneath the surface here in the Outer Rim.

“She’s seen us, Sir—she’s running,” the sensor operator declared.

“Put us on an intercept course, Helm.  Jas, hail her and instruct her to heave to at once at the direct order of the Imperial Office of Criminal Investigations . . . Guns, if she fails to cut her drives, put a turbolaser bolt across her bow and warm up the ion cannons and tractor beams.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” a chorus of voices answered.  “No response,” answered Jas Kimlane from the sensor/comm station.

“Guns, you are authorized to fire at your earliest convenience,” Avon ordered as he pressed a stud on the arm of his chair.  And snorted again.  Crazy Imperial Fleet officers—a proper commander sat, he didn’t stand.  “Lieutenant Gayne, I trust that your toys are almost ready for launch?”

“Aye, Sir,” a strong voice emerged from the comm.

“Then go convince this smuggler he has made the wrong choice, Ranger,” Avon said.

“Gunboats One through Four are launching, Colonel,” reported the XO.  “Gunnery is reported direct strikes on her stern shields with the ion cannons—Sir, she is cutting her drives and is now transmitting.”

“On speaker, Jas.”

“Imperial vessel, this is the medical transport Harmony.  Cease fire!  Cease fire!  We are on an authorized mission to bring emergency medical supplies to Orvax.”

“Jas?”

“Transponder confirms ship ID as Harmony—but she is registered as a stock light freighter out of Kolanda Station in Yminis Sector.”

“Right up near Hutt space,” Avon whispered.

“Yes, Sir.  And we have no record of her being a medical transport—or having authorization to land on the surface.”

Avon frowned.  Even though as a Senior Colonel in the Rangers he could have had his choice of assignments, he had come here to Orvax because . . . well, to hunt Rancor one had to go where the Rancor lived.  And to stop slavers, one had to come to the prime market for the slave trade outside of Hutt space.  And for the last six centuries, that location had been Orvax.

“Open mike,” Avon ordered.  “Freighter Harmony, you were directed to heave to for inspection—an order that you disobeyed.  Lower your shields and cut your drives—you will be boarded, your manifest and cargo will be inspected, and we will discuss your infractions in person.  By now, you have no doubt detected my gunboats that have you surrounded—running is no longer an option.  Do not compound your crimes by firing upon my officers, you are not dealing with the Fleet or with Customs—you are dealing with the Rangers of the Rim.  And we do not take people shooting at us lightly, Harmony,” he growled.

“Understood,” a very depressed voice answered over the comm.  “I’m just the middleman delivering the packages—do the Rangers still offer reduced sentences for cooperative witnesses?”

Avon’s lips twisted.  “That depends, Harmony.  On how cooperative such witnesses are and whether or not their crimes make my stomach twist—if you aren’t one of those, we might be able to deal.”

“I’m not—just trying to make a few credits and pay the bills, Ranger.  Wouldn’t have touched this job if I had anything else—and I don’t do it because I like it.  There won’t be any resistance over here.”

“If that sentiment plays true Harmony, I am certain we work something out,” Avon said with a fierce grin.  “Ranger out.”

He looked up at the XO, who was listening to a second transmission.  “Benchek is aboard—no resistance.  At least forty slaves in the cargo holds—the crew is cooperating.”

“Excellent.  Send a prize crew across—and have Dr. Illian give the . . . passengers full examinations.  Jas, send a message to Ranger HQ, Dalchon.  Request transport for these people—I’ll be damned if I see them landed on that cesspool down there.”

“Colonel,” Jas reported with a sigh.  “New contact emerging from hyper—three hours out, but inbound for Orvax.”

Avon shook his head.  It was going to be one of those days, he thought.  “As soon as the prize crew is aboard our capture, set an intercept course for the next customer.  And have the chef make an extra pot of caf.”

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: Rainbow 6 on March 30, 2013, 04:24:47 PM

Excellent.

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: Gabriel on March 31, 2013, 10:10:02 AM

True justice has arrived but i doubt that Mon Mothma would understand. Anything that is not the new republic is evil.

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: Warclaw on March 31, 2013, 11:06:51 AM

This Mon Mothma strikes me as someone who, while having the best of intentions initially, has been both overwhelmed and seduced by the power of the office she now holds.

Additionally, she appears to be making a classic mistake common to managers/leaders in over their heads.  They focus on one goal/objective that they CAN understand, beyond all rational bounds.  Even when the big picture has made that goal no longer the best option.

And that doesn't count her pride being bruised.  "I swore we'd take Coruscant, and by God himself we'll do it if I have to grab a rifle and do it personally!"

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: Gabriel on March 31, 2013, 11:39:43 AM

That might be true but the rest Luke,Leia, Han and the rest of the command structure are also a threat to freedom. Luke is the greatest threat because he is rebuilding an order that stole children and that wobbled like a drunk between right and wrong like when they at the direct command of the republic senate crippled the Kaleesh race and left hundreds of thousads to starve to death. The jedi were suppose to be guardians of good but their arrogance and their belief in their own superiority destroyed so many innocent lives. That they could compel people to do what ever they wanted took away all races freedom and liberty.

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: Warclaw on March 31, 2013, 11:53:40 AM

Which only reinforces the idea of Mon Mothma being a very poor manager/leader.  Each one of her command staff/structure is pursuing their own agendas with little, (if any) regard to the big picture.  Not in and of itself a bad thing, IF there are limits they must observe.

None of them have any meaningful restraints on their actions.

A proper leader should be balancing the goals against the costs/consequences, and at very least putting in place checks against unrestrained actions.  For even benevolent intent can quickly become tyranny if allowed free reign.

That she has not only makes it more clear that she's in over her head and losing sight of the overall goals in favor of petty concerns.

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: shwagpo on March 31, 2013, 01:14:51 PM

Yeah, it seemed to me that Mon Mothma was leading the rebellion for the wrong reasons, but she gained the support for the rebels and the money they needed t osecure resources and troops in order to stay in the fight.  Garm Bel Iblis, her former partner from the Rebellion, has a more level head but lets the idealogical mentality control him far too much.  He is an idealist and a charismatic figure, but not practical enough(On his own) to keep things running.  During the Rebellion, they had each other for a counter, which was a significant boon for the rebs.  Unfortunately, without Garm in the New Republic heirarchy, the ones who can bring Mon Mothma down a notch from her tower, like Han Solo and a few others, are rarely there to do so.

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: masterarminas on April 03, 2013, 01:02:01 PM

Tylan G’deransk, Fleet Captain of the Imperial Union of the Rim and assigned as the commander of the Imperator-class Star Destroyer Rapacity and its escorting 573rd Battle Squadron, stood upon his bridge and he sighed.

“The orders are confirmed?”

“Yes, Sir.  Command has instructed that we are to withdraw from the Bundil System immediately—all CAF forces are to retire from the entire Ferra Sector, in fact,” the executive officer replied.

“Pity,” muttered Tylan as he stared at the troubled world floating distant in the armored windows of the bridge.  “Although given how far and fast we have expanded, it was perhaps inevitable that we would be called to stand on the defensive.”

“Yes, sir.  I just hate giving this system over to the Rebels.”

“Tsk, tsk, Halron,” Tylan said with a smile.  “They aren’t rebels anymore—they are the New Republic.  And I agree in principle, but the Republic does not worry me as much as the fact this Bundil is a major operations hub for Black Sun and the Hutts.  One that is poised right upon our borders.”

Tylan sighed again.  “Still, orders are orders,” he said softly as he glanced down at the holographic map of the ground forces on the surface.  And then he smiled again.  “Pass the word to General Abe’s IV Legion that he is to establish a perimeter for the landing ships.  And raise Colonel Johans—I wish to brief him myself.”

“Rancor Johans?” Halron Haies asked.  “His armor regiment is well separated from the rest of the Legion down there—but FireHawke can land to embark his unit and avoid further conflict.”

“Avoid further conflict?  Such a quaint notion, Halron,” Tylan chuckled.  “No, I do believe that the insurgents might have too much air defense to risk FireHawke at the Hammer’s current location—best to bring them back to us on the ground to a safe area for embarkation.”  And he sketched out a line of advance on the map.

Commander Halron Haies cocked one eyebrow.  “Sir, that route takes them directly through the Huttese enclave—we have orders to avoid any . . . unnecessary entanglements with the Hutts.”

“Yes we do, and I deem this entanglement to be entirely necessary, Commander.  Establish a comm-link with Colonel Johans immediately; then I wish to speak with the Commanders of FireHawke and Retribution, as well as Captain Bren.  Alert the White Death to stand by to support the Hammer’s withdrawal.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: masterarminas on April 03, 2013, 02:14:33 PM

Zel ‘Rancor’ Johans, Colonel of the 112th Heavy Repulsortank Regiment—Hell’s Hammers—looked up from the projection map as the last of his battalion and troop commanders entered the ad hoc command post.  And he bared his teeth in a fierce grin.

“New orders, gentlemen,” he said without a pause.  “The Union is consolidating—we are withdrawing from Bundil.  Our task is to rendezvous with FireHawke for embarkation here,” he said pointing to a flashing icon on the map.

The assembled officers glanced down at the map and Zell knew that each were evaluating the recovery zone—and the mountain range that separated the Hammer’s from it.

“Three days minimum,” muttered Major Tadeus Harkin, the regiment’s executive officer.  “Our tanks cannot get through those mountains—too much altitude; we are going to have to backtrack north or go south all the way to the coast and sweep back up.”

“Aye,” Zell growled, “it would except that Fleet Captain G’deransk has altered our rules of engagement, lads.”  He tapped the map display and a series of waypoints and phase lines appeared—passing through a small pass in the center of the map.

“Oh, the Hutts and syndicates are not going to like that,” murmured one of the troop commanders.

“I don’t think either G’deransk or I much care for what scum and worms like, Captain Eisel,” Zell chuckled.  “Their enclave is set up to control this pass—seventeen kilometers in width.  The southern end contains all of the civilian housing for their workers and slaves—we are not going in there.  In the center is the local space-port, and anchored into the rock of the northern end is the Hutt’s palace,” the map zoomed in and weapon emplacements, bunkers, and strongpoints began to appear.  “The palace is heavily defended; the spaceport less so.  First and Third Battalions will engage the palace, while Second deals with the spaceport.”

Zell looked up at the faces of his officers.  “Gentlemen, I don’t want any of these scum to forget the might of the Empire after this day.”

Growls answered his statement, but Major Harkin shook his head.  “The Hutts have installed a lot of firepower, Colonel.  But it is short-ranged firepower—we could take out the spaceport certainly, but that palace?”

“I agree, and so does G’deransk,” Zell answered.  “Which is why Captain Bren has the White Death is suiting up and arming for a ground support mission.”

“The White Death?” asked one of the troop commanders.  “The entire Scimitar Assault Wing is going to be flying cover?”

“All seventy-two bombers, Captain Farleon,” confirmed Zell.  “They are going to plaster the palace from the air just as we enter weapons range—and we are going to tear through that pass and engage every target of opportunity.”

“A thunder-run,” Harkin said with a smile.

“Aye, Major.  A thunder-run,” Zell repeated.  “I want nothing left standing on the palace grounds or within the perimeter of the space-port—not a hanger, not a bunker, not a control tower, or a warehouse.”

“Collateral damage is going to be heavy, boss,” Harkin warned.  “Sure, we are avoiding the civilian—and slave—housing, but there are going to be a good number of them working in both of our targets.”

Zell shrugged.  “We aren’t a scalpel, and bel Iblis and Patrice both know that.  But today, we are sending a message that the Union goes where it wishes—no one is going to tell us that we cannot go somewhere, like these Hutts believe that they can.”

Harkin nodded, but he pressed on—it was his job to press on.  “Still, this palace is the property of Lord Durga, and he is a Hutt of no small power, Colonel.  Blowing through the space-port which handles illegal shipments is one thing—smashing one of his homes apart is something else entirely.”

“Which is exactly why we are doing it—Durga the Hutt believes that since his ascendancy to power in the Syndicates and Hutt Space that he cannot be touched.  Gentlemen, we are going to show him how mistaken he is.”  Zell looked at his officers and each of them nodded in agreement.

“Saddle up—the White Death starts its attack run in,” he checked the time, “twenty-two minutes . . . MARK, and I’ll be damned if the Hammers are late for the party.”

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: masterarminas on April 03, 2013, 04:54:36 PM

“My Lord Seneschal,” the Twi’lek major-domo said with a deep bow, “Naboor the Hutt has answered thy summons—by hypercomm,” he added.

The massive Hutt narrowed his eyes, but he did not strike the Twi’lek.  Instead a rumble emerged from deep within his chest.  “Has he?  Put the transmission through,” he ordered.

The Twi’lek bowed again and made a gesture with one hand; his own assistants activated the screen and the holographic image of the much smaller—and younger—Hutt appeared in the throne room of the Seneschal of Bundil.

“What is this, Naboor?” asked the Seneschal in a quiet voice.  “Did I not command that you were to report to me—in person?  Instead, you risk my anger by failing to obey your betters.”

“I bear warnings to you, the Lord Seneschal of Durga the Mighty,” the image of Naboor said with a bow.  A very shallow and insincere bow. 

“Warnings?  Explain yourself, Naboor the Weak.”

“Bundil has been targeted by the Union, Lord Seneschal—I fear that you are in grave danger.”

“You fear too much, Naboor.  Had Durga the Mighty allowed it, I would have ordered your demise already—but he believes that there may still be value in you.  I do not such any such value in one who has bowed to these . . . humans.”

Naboor bristled, but then he bowed low again.  “These humans know no fear, my Lord Seneschal; they dare much which none have attempted in millennia.  They believe in their laws, rather than seeing them as impediments to be overcome—Patrice, foul as that name is within my mouth, has dedicated himself to stamping out corruption.  Our best agents have been arrested or slain; our operations have been compromised again and again—this Union seeks to destroy our power here in the territory they have the temerity to claim as their own.”

“Against such a worthless child as you, Naboor, they dare much,” the older Hutt laughed.  “Here, on Bundil and other worlds, they dare not to challenge Durga the Mighty or those who speak for him.  You show them weakness and expect them to grovel—that is not the way of the Hutt.  Durga himself grows ever more displeased by the pittance you send to him—perhaps finally he has come to the opinion where you should be replaced with a more worthy, and skilled, Hutt.  Profit from your operations has dwindled, Naboor—and that cannot be tolerated.”

“Forgive me, Lord Seneschal, but you do not understand the difficulties under which I labor.  These accursed Rangers hound my operations day and night—the humans have dedicated themselves to ending once and for all time the trade in slaves and illegal spice.  My smugglers have fled en masse and there are few who are willing to risk swift judgments under Union law for minor profit.”

“So,” the Seneschal laughed, “you admit your failure?”

Naboor squirmed and the anger in his eyes was clearly evident even through the hologram.  “I have . . . changed course to ensure that profits flow; not as great as in days past, but profits nonetheless, Lord Seneschal.  And for that, the humans—bel Iblis and Patrice and Morvin—they have allowed my . . . more legitimate operations to proceed without harassment.  But your operations, my Lord Seneschal, those still provoke their ire.”

“Of all that I thought to see and experience in this Galaxy, a Hutt filled with fear of lesser beings was the last I would have imagined.  Until today, Naboor the Weak,” the Seneschal said with a grim chuckle.  “Your Union which you fear so much has already landed here and they dare not to violate the sanctity of my domain—they avoid it.  They know not to challenge me.”

“Yet,” Naboor whispered the single word, and the elder Hutt’s eyes narrowed again.

“What was that, Naboor?”

“They do not challenge you yet, my Lord Seneschal,” the hologram answered.  “But they shall, oh, they shall.”

“Not even Palpatine dared to attempt to bring the Hutts to task, Naboor.  You are a disgrace to all Hutts past and present and future—a disgrace that I shall endeavor to see removed from your post; you will serve as the lowliest Hutt on Nar Shaddaa; you shall become a servant and not a Master.”

The Seneschal drew himself up to his full height and began to speak again, when the Twi’lek suddenly stumbled back into the throne room.  “What is the reason for this interruption?”

“A transmission from the ships in orbit, my Lord Seneschal,” the Twi’lek whispered.  “Their commander—Captain G’deransk demands to speak with you.”

“DEMANDS?” the Seneschal bellowed.

And at the name, Naboor shivered and he shook his head.  “My warnings come too late; perhaps others will take heed of this harbinger,” and then his image died as he cut the holographic transmission at the source.

“I DID NOT DISMISS HIM!” howled the Seneschal.  “HE WILL BE BROKEN!  DESTROYED!”

All sound within the throne room died as everyone being present stared at the furious Hutt in horror as he ranted and raved and threw droids left and right.

Finally, the Twi’lek gathered his courage and he stepped forward.  “My Lord?  The human is waiting.”

The Hutt glared at his advisor, and then he drew in a deep breath.  “Activate the circuit,” he ordered curtly.

A hologram of an immaculately dressed Imperial officer appeared standing before the Hutt.  “Hello, worm,” it said—and the Seneschal jerked as a GASP went through the throne room.

“HOW DARE YOU!”

“I wished to inform you personally that Lord Steward bel Iblis has decided to leave this world to the New Republic—my forces are withdrawing.”

The Seneschal’s eyes flashed and he laughed.  “Then be gone from this world, human.”

“We shall, we shall,” G’deransk said with a chuckle.  “But first, there is one final thing we can to ensure that this world has best chance to prosper in the future.”

“And that is?”

“Utterly destroying you and your operations,” G’deransk answered with a smile.

Utter and complete silence filled the throne room.  No one dared to even breath, until the Hutt began to laugh.  “Think I am not prepared for such?  My defenses are such that not even your Star Destroyers can broach.  RAISE THE SHIELD!”

The Twi’lek bowed and rushed to the control section, where he blanched.  “My Lord!  Their ground vehicles and star-fighters already approach!”

“QUICKLY YOU FOOL!” the Seneschal bellowed.  “They cannot penetrate MY shields once they are raised.”

The Twi’lek bowed and he activated the defensive shields—and Tylan G’deransk smiled.

“Of course, you do not ask why if we wanted to destroy you we did not attack when we first landed here four weeks ago.  Hutt arrogance on display at its finest!  We did not attack you because first we had to deal with your defensive shield, you slime-ridden, diseased-filled, excuse for a life form.”

And the transmission ceased.

The Seneschal’s eyes grew wide and then the Twi’lek turned around in stunned disbelief.  “My Lord!  The shield generators!  They have just . . . exploded, my Lord!”

“E CHU TA!” screamed the Hutt as heavy laser bolts and concussion missiles began to slam into the unshielded walls of his fortress.

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: Gabriel on April 05, 2013, 01:01:17 AM

I love these guys. A message has been sent in blood. This is something Mon Mothma can not understand true justice requires the blood of the GUILTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: masterarminas on May 16, 2013, 12:08:31 AM

As the explosions ripped apart the outer walls of Durga’s vacation palace on Bundil, one of the exquisitely camouflaged troopers sprawled out along the flank of the mountain overlooking the target sighed heavily.

“What a waste,” he whispered into his helmet microphone.  “You know that the Hutt had to have had a fortune in there—and we are just gonna smash it flat?”

“Vsilisk,” another trooper, this one the section sergeant, growled.

“Not our job, I know,” Vsilisk said plaintively.  “Noooooo, we just risk life and limb to sneak in and plant those charges on the generators down there.  And we leave it behind for some nerf-herding salvager to dig out all of those treasures.”

“Vsilisk!  Shut that damn mouth!”

But Captain Anton L’sard just chuckled from his perch half a kilometer away.

“Vsilisk,” he said into his own mike.

“Here, Captain, Sir,” the cheery—if somewhat insolent voice—answered immediately.

“You really want to dig through the rubble down there for trinkets?”

Trey Vsilisk began to open his mouth—but three full years of working for the officer made him hold his tongue; at least a little, anyway.  “Well, I’d rather have snuck in and liberated the treasury before the Hammers blew half of it into orbit, Sir.”

“Wasn’t the question, Vsilisk,” L’sard replied.  “We have three hours and twenty-two minutes to rendezvous with our transport . . . which is the last Union ship leaving Bundil.  You want to loot that palace, go right ahead, trooper—but I’m not holding the transport on the ground to wait for you.”

A long sigh came over the comm system again.  “Probably too much to carry anyway,” muttered the special operations trooper.  “Unless you and the rest of the guys want to give me a hand, Sarge?”

“Vsilisk, when we get aboard ship, I swear I am going to . . .,” and the squeal of feedback through the helmet comms made every trooper wince.

“Sir,” another of the soldiers snapped.  “Escape vessel just launched from the palace—twenty seconds before it passes overhead.  ID confirmed—Hutt stealth ship, hyperspace capable.”

L’sard smiled behind his armored mask.  “Drogan, Kelp—break out the Plex-Four and engage that target,” he ordered.

The two troopers lifted the heavy weapon (the PLX-4, or ‘Plex-Four’), one holding it on his shoulder as he aimed, while the second—Drogan—armed the revolving cylinder which contained four GAMs (Gravity Activated Missile).  Then he tapped Kelp on the top of his helmet.  That trooper locked the Plex-Four’s sensors onto the oncoming vessel and a tone began to sound—he squeezed the trigger and the first GAM was hurled forward before its drive lit off, the barrel of the Plex rising with the recoil force.  As the barrel dropped, the cylinder rotated and a second GAM locked into the launch tube; the tone sounded again—and once more a missile streaked away.  In two seconds, Kelp had fired all four of the ready missiles—homing in on the gravity signature of the Hutt vessel’s repulsorlifts.

The pilot tried to evade, but the GAM was a very smart missile and each approached from a different vector under the control of its suicidal droid brain; of course, the sensors and intelligence did not leave room for much of a payload, but each GAM carried a miniature proton torpedo—and four were more than enough to shatter the escape crafts repulsorlifts, sending it hurtling towards a snow-filled glacier that it slammed into with a dull BOOM.

“Vsilisk,” L’sard continued with a smile.  “Ten to one the fortune you seek is there—along with a very high-ranking Hutt.  How about we take them both?”

“Hutts are pretty damn heavy, Captain, Sir—can we throw him off the cliff face and call it a day?”

“Vsilisk!” the Sergeant snapped, as the rest of the platoon began to chuckle.

“Slimy too . . . damn worm will make a mess of the shuttle when it picks us up.  Not to mention the smell.”

“VSILISK!”

“Hey, I’m just saying!”

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: Takiro on May 16, 2013, 05:49:34 AM

More good stuff!

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: Rainbow 6 on May 16, 2013, 09:48:06 AM

WooHoo, its back  :)

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: Gabriel on May 17, 2013, 12:36:58 AM

God I miss this and Vsilisk is too damn funny

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: Gabriel on December 29, 2013, 01:02:31 PM

We need more of this for the new year

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: Red Pins on December 29, 2013, 04:40:31 PM

...I expect he's busy as heck - I haven't seen anything on either the official forum or this one for a long time.

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: Gabriel on December 30, 2013, 10:46:07 PM

Yeah you are right

Title: Re: Star Wars: The Crucible
Post by: Gabriel on December 31, 2013, 11:33:16 PM

Oh Look This is how the Imperial Military looks like now