[Mandalorian Confederacy] A Slaver’s Paradise.

[T.J]

Noe'ha'on.

Its name brought literally nothing to mind for the average galactic citizen. A back water slightly moist ball of mud in the middle of the expansion region between the mid and inner rims. Home to nothing more than monsters and an insectoid race known most for its long and storied history in the dishonorable trade of sentient life nestled in a hostile planet wide jungle. To a random passerby its description would bring only feelings of discomfort and an ever growing need to never visit. To Delmon Skyblade however, it sounded like the perfect place to set up a base of operations. The Mandalorian veteran had been born and raised in a far harsher jungle, one who's world it resided on had garnered the name of, " The Demon Moon. " A place that had gained the reputation as one of the most hostile and dangerous places in the galaxy, one that was now a smoldering lifeless orb thanks to the Sith and their Empire. To say that Noe'ha'on had some sort of strategic advantage due to its location had been an afterthought to the Mandalorian, simply finding a place that reminded him of his lost home was all the incentive he needed to take the mission the Mandalorian Confederacy had listed. Through careful planning and continual reconnaissance he had mapped and tracked the perimeter guard of the base down to their individual names, and had gotten close enough to the retaining wall to touch it several times during the dead of night.

In fact, he had went ahead of the Confederacy forces to do advanced reconnaissance and to meet up with the local populace in an attempt to gain any more intel on their target. In the few weeks he had spent there Delmon had learned a great deal. For one it seemed the local Noehon didn't care one way or another if the slavers were removed from their perch, to them it had been a way of life for such a long time that the fact they were selling their own kind to certain doom meant nothing. A potential uprising on their part to aid the Mandalorian forces in their attempt at the slaver fort was out of the question apparently. The closest Weld proved to be one the edge of hostile, preferring the weapons they received from the slavers over their own freedom. Delmon had been forced to search the wilds for exiled individuals, those who had no stock in the slaver's continued occupation. His search through the natives hadn't been in vain however, one seemed willing to aid the warrior. A former slave, one who had actually helped build the fortress years ago prior to gaining his own freedom through escape. The insectoid had told Delmon of some key structural weaknesses in the bases main fortifications, weaknesses he would share with his fellow Mandalorians as soon as they arrived.

The plan had been layed out, all he needed to do was to debrief his companions and they could begin the operation. He waited in an open patch of land several clicks away from his base of operations hidden in the jungle. The area was far enough away from their objective to not arouse suspicion but large enough to accommodate a couple moderately sized craft. Standing at the edge of the clearing his armor looked exactly as it would after being knee deep in jungle flora for an extended duration. Entirely covered in muck and grime it blended in perfectly to his surroundings.

 

[Tristar]

Whatever this planet name was, Calico wasn't bothered to learn how to pronounce it. For the sake of simplicity, he took to calling the planet merely as "No." It was close enough to the proper length of the winding name, much like a corkscrew. He stood vigilant, hanging onto the bay door's pistons and watched as the greenery flew past below them. The wind slapped onto his face, forcing him to squint as his foot nudged two bulging bags, both of which had another smaller pack strapped around it. He himself carried one on his back that clung tight to his body- his back was sweaty from the close proximity of the bag, leaving little space for the winds to cool his perspiration away.
It had been a long time since he had to do something this close to suicidal or daring. The closest had been his first stint with the Kushari, raining from the heavens like little streams of fire, striking on the surface of a crippled destroyer. Well, as he told himself repeatedly, there wasn't a drop pod around him to protect him from the burning heat, or a flak-infested sky to drop down into. No Star Destroyers and definitely no chance of running afoul into a friendly fighter ship. Just him, the vast green ocean and a parachute.
Calico wasn't sure what his other partner would say to this method of insertion- it definitely was unorthodox and was a good way to counter any form of radar the slavers might be having to repel air invasions. High Altitude Low Opening jumps were a good way to flip a finger off at radar protection, if they did it correctly. The 'chutes on his travel bags were programmed to break open at the right altitudes, and his faith in the technology was strong. It was himself and his partner that worried himself. The pilot's voice crackled to life in his ears: "30 seconds. Prep for drop."
Looking behind him, he noticed his partner and wondered if he'd join in on the fun. His loss, Calico supposed as the light flashed green. Kicking both bags before him, he soon followed after and braced himself for the rush of adrenaline. Wind rushed through him, through his light clothes and hinted at tearing his cheeks apart- his eyes were well insulated against the winds, behind goggles that threatened to sink deep into his skull. He kept his hands and legs together and watched as he plummeted straight to the surface, aiming for the drop zone. It was close enough to their forward observation post set up several weeks prior that he didn't need to worry about being lost in the humid jungles. Even though his hearing was distorted with the stream of the winds, he picked up the beeping on the altitude detectors on his bags and unfurled open in a white rush of canvas, nylon and silk. Soon there were 2 white mushroom caps that floated gently to the planet's surface, no further from each other than 10-20 meters apart. On his part he felt the jerk of his parachutes before he even heard the altitude meter go off. Grunting in annoyance, he ripped off the little sphere and tossed it away, hearing the beeping die off the further it was from him. In time it would no longer create such a racket, having been disconnected from the primary power source. Its battery would keep it alive for 10 minutes, and by then he would be long gone from the drop zone that the curious would be disappointed.
It was a slow, boring descent to the marshy earth that he snapped open the safety locks and fell the rest of the 5 meters down. Mud splashed onto his shirt as the parachute covered him in a colored hue of sunset lights. Ripping it off of him, the mandalorian set to work on finding his packages. The first bag wasn't too hard to find, being 12 meters away from him and awaiting its master on an elevated piece of earth not claimed by the marshy waters. The parachute had been ripped off and lay dead and weak several meters away. A quick inspection of the contents relieved him of his worries- his spare parts and equipment were present, and a piece of his armor- the helmet.
The second bag was a bitch of a catch. It hung several meters off from a dead tree in the middle of a small muddy island that was surrounded by a pool of black, muddy water. Hiking over there was a tedious affair that left him with mud everywhere from his chest to a few spittles on his cheeks. Dropping the first duffel bag on a small root that was big enough for him to sit down and still have spare space for another person, he spat on his hands and set to work on climbing the tree. He soon suffered scratches, ant bites and nearly fell off as a concerned mother of 3 chicks tried to gauge his eyes out. Just as he was reaching for the bag the sheer weight of its contents brought the entire branch with it where it quickly sank into the mud. Cursing rapidly, he slid down the tree and quickly recovered the bag before it sank into oblivion. His armor lived to see another day.
Washing off the mud proved the most troublesome affair of the mission and in frustration he stripped himself off and bathed in the only clean pool of water he had the luck of finding- whoever was watching would've probably turned away in embarrassment and shame. Not bothering to dry himself off, he don his armor systematically from the boots up and finally slid the helmet down where it clasped softly to the flight suit and sealed the compartment in. Airtight and sound-proof. Just the way it was meant to be. In front of his eyes the HUD flickered to life where a navigation beacon directed him south-west where the base of operations was set up. He hands grasped the handle of the Thunderbolt slugthrower with fondness- another relic of the Kushari- and set off to a quick jog to the base. It would be a long hike, but in due time he'd burst through the clearing with hardly a hello (His patented method of entrance.) and report in- he just hoped his partner had made it there uneventful.

 

[Arcangel]

Nyx stood in the transports bay away from the door as he went over the mission in his head. A high altitude low opening jump for insertion. Make contact with reconnaissance on the ground. Begin the operations. All old hat to him, the only difference was that he was usually the reconnaissance. He looked over at his partner in the mission, who was unarmored, his bulky Kushari armor too heavy to make a jump in. The thought of making a jump without his armor on sent a shiver up his spine, not because he was afraid to be without his armor, but because he had lived in it for so long that the name “second skin” had taken on a new meaning to him. His armor wasn’t his second skin, as far as he was concerned. It was his only skin.


He would wear most of his armor for the drop, the only parts he wasn’t wearing was the heavy Duraplast chestplates and jetpack. Those were in an environmentally sealed drop bag along with most of his guns and an excess of powerpacks. The only gun he trusted to survive a trek through the jungle was his SR-23 rifle. It wasn’t the best of rifles, but when it came to mud, dirt and sand, he didn’t have to worry about whether the circuits would fry. Hell that gun had seen him from Mandalore to the farthest edge of the galaxy.


As the light flashed and Calico kicked his bags and jumped, Nyx picked up his single bag, tossing it out of the bay door before taking the plunge himself. Wind ripped around him, trying to tear at his clothing and armor plates. His suit kept him well insulated from the wind as he dropped, and he could see Calico’s chute open near the drop point. Moments later his own chute opened, jerking him upwards before floating slowly to the ground, his drop bag not too far off. Snapping off his chute as he approached the ground he landed with a splash, muddy water coming up to his thighs. Looking around he saw the white chute of his drop bag caught on a low tree, the bag itself half submerged in the water. Grabbing his bag he began to slog his way through the thick muddy water to the drop point, rifle held over his head and bag in tow.


Once he had found dry land it had been a quick jog to the base of operations. After he had secured his chest and back plates firmly to the rest of his suit, whole once again. Arriving in the clearing he saw that his partner had already made it. Setting his bag down he began to go through it and inspect the contents, making sure his jetpack, guns and extra powerpacks were dry and fully functioning while he waited to be briefed.

 

[T.J]

" Kandosii! " Delmon yelled from across the clearing. It seemed his companions had thought to use a low altitude jump rather than landing a craft directly. A clever tactic to be sure, one that would ensure their target had no knowledge of their arrival to the jungle planet. Their clean white chutes contrasting against the deep blue sky above, it was a trivial matter to plot the rough area that they would land. He remained where he was however, knowing that they would make their own way to the rendezvous point. Delmon himself had opted for a more direct approach, landing his craft a good distance from both his forward operation base and the fortress they were planning on sieging. The trek to the operation site had given the Mandalorian all the information he needed to properly set up and survive undetected by both the natives and the slavers, a perfect starting point to what to him was a quite enjoyable vacation. Covering the span of the clearing in record time, he embraced the closest man to him.

The first unfortunate soul was Calico, having arrived to the meeting spot first. Giving the man a firm pat on the back during the embrace Delmon left a dirty mud and plant matter covered smear roughly the size of his own body on the opposing man's still somewhat clean armor. Turning to Nyx he repeated the gesture, embracing the man in a hearty hug before releasing him. It wouldn't matter in the long run, they were all sure to be completely saturated in the essence of the jungle world before their job was done. " We have much to discuss! " Delmon was in rare form it seemed, his normal serious demeanor had given way to a much more jovial one. Being in what he would describe as close to home seemed to have quite the effect on his spirits, even if Noe'ha'on was a mere facade of his birthplace. It had been years since he had been in anything remotely close to it, bringing the man he once was closer to the surface. The second civil war and subsequent destruction of his homeworld had left Delmon a shell of his former self, forced into a more stoic and hardened being to ensure the survival of his clan and way of life.

" Come, come. The path is this way. " Stepping into the dense foliage without looking to see if his companions had followed he continued to speak even as he drifted deeper and deeper into the jungle, moving through the thick underbrush as if it wasn't even present. " You know I was starting to think you lads weren't going to show. " His base of operations was still a couple clicks to the south, through some of the thicker parts of the jungle. It's location was meant to dissuade prying eyes, and as such it was somewhat difficult to reach. Stopping at a rather large tree he turned to face the others, waiting for them to catch up before speaking. " Nice trick doing a low altitude drop. Slavers might'ave missed it but the locals sure won't. "

 

[Tristar]

Calico grunted his greeting at their contact, wincing internally at the squish of the muck as Delmon passed the contact of the accursed mud from one poor schmuck to another. When they disengaged he looked down at his chest and attempted to wipe off some of the mud- it proved a futile attempt and shortly after nearly sinking into the mud he gave up all hopes of escaping in a clean piece. His colleagues had gathered, the muddy trio as they pulled their feet towards the base of operations.
When their reconnaissance man gave them a pat on the back regarding their method of insertion, he shrugged and offered a slightly cheerful grunt. "The locals'll shut their mouth, I think. They don't strike me as the type that'd go out of their way to help without gaining something at the end of the bargain." At least from the preliminary reports- he himself hadn't had much first contact with the insectoids but knew for a fact that chitin or flesh, his Thunderbolt would pierce through with deadly efficiency. Or they'd have fried crickets for dinner, he reminded himself as he patted his holstered Thunderbird, a small bulge that hung low from his waist for a quick slip-n-shoot.
They pushed through the wooden landscape, grunting in frustration as low hanging branches and leaves slapped his helmet with extreme prejudice. The hazardous environment only solidified his reasoning for a flamethrower, which for the most part was a practical choice of weaponry to be slapped onto one's armor. Yet after having being set on fire during his first stint with the Kushari after a firing malfunction, the motivation to strap another spawn of Satan's breath on his armor was low. They cleared the jungle and stumbled into a short clearing which the mandalorian could only accept as a rudimentary forward base of operations. A soft blip from his HUD confirmed his suspicions and a quick navigational reference reminded him that they were approximately 10-12 klicks away from the target which might as well be right on their doorstep. Ballsy.
"Nice." he said, dropping his duffel bags onto the dry-ish piece of land and inspected the contents. "I take it you've been busy drinking tea with the locals and eyeing the slavers these past few days. So tell me-" he grunted as he extracted a few cylindrical objects and 2 pairs of conical tubes connected together by a steady frame, gingerly placing it on the ground. There was a short pause as he connected the parts together, kneeling down in his own little private world. When he had finished, Calico turned around, shouldering an intimidating rocket launcher, it's outward side spray painted with the stark white words: SPNKR. "-when do we get to spank the naughty 'uns?"

 

[Arcangel]

Flinching inwardly at Delmon’s embrace, Nyx was taken aback by the cheerful Mandalorian’s greeting. His time wandering the galaxy alone had distanced him from his fellow Mando’ad, and he was having a difficult time acclimating to the familiar attitudes of his fellow warriors. Following Delmon and Calico through the thick brush, drop bag strapped firmly to his back so that he could keep both hands on his rifle, he kept lookout for any threats. Needlessly as the hike to the makeshift base of operations was uneventful, with Delmon making a few attempts at conversation to which Nyx grunted short replies, preferring to keep his focus on their surroundings.


Once they arrived at the operations base, dangerously close to the target, Nyx followed Calico’s lead in unpacking the rest of his gear. Arming himself with his various guns and grenade belts, attaching his jetpack to the modular hookup on his back and running the reinforced hose from the jetpack’s fuel tank to his arm mounted flamethrower. Noticing Calico had finished assembling some sort of rocket launcher and shouldering it, Nyx felt it was best to point out one of the mission objectives, “I thought we were supposed to take the base intact.” He said, nodding at the rocket launcher as he spoke before turning to Delmon. “What information has your reconnaissance gleaned ner’vod?”

 

[T.J]

It was true that the trio was technically in the confines of the forward operations base, Delmon had set up a neat little perimeter to dissuade the locals. The path he led his companions through actually missed several of the traps he had set along the makeshift base's outer edge. Where he had been staying was a ways up the tree he had stopped at, having built a small shelter of sorts which braced against the crook of one of the larger branches further up the tree. Being that it was in the jungle canopy, it was masked quite excellently from prying eyes, and gave Delmon a good view of the surrounding area. Most of his observational notes were up in his shelter, except for a flimsi map and some technical specs. Delmon had figured his companions would not be up for a climb. Not to mention his little bungalow would never be able to fit three fully armored Mandalorians, let alone support their weight.

Raising a solitary finger as a gesture for his fellow vode to wait, he walked over to an unassuming rotted out stump that was within the clearing. Reaching into its brittle confines he produced a medium sized rolled up piece of laminate flimsi. The problem with the jungle wasn't just the hostile environment, it was the humidity. Anything electronic never lasted more than a few days in the moist air, the analog way of doing things always prevailed in such an environment. Unrolling the flimsi atop the stump and placing a rock in its center to hold it down, his companions would see that it depicted a detailed map of the area. Complete with their present location, several of the noteworthy welds in the vicinity, and their actual target along with a slew of technical data pertaining to the bases defenses and structural composition. Crude in regards to some of the more modern methods, but it would do the job for the time being.

" We wait for nightfall. " Pointing to the map to show the others the base and its surroundings. " The slavers have a rather impressive amount of jungle cleared out around their base, we won't be able to make the gap in broad daylight without getting shredded. Being that this world has no modern infrastructure to speak of the only light for miles will be coming from their spotlights. There are two on each of the four towers, intersecting each others gaze in regular intervals. I've gotten close enough to touch the walls the last few nights, should be doable as long as we all keep quiet. " Delmon emphasized the word quiet by gesturing at Calico's rocket launcher. " What I'm sure your wondering is how we get inside once we get close. Well, I have that covered. " Picking the rock up off the table he tossed it over his shoulder into the jungle. Flipping the flimsi over he revealed a much more detailed depiction of one of the bases walls. At the base of the wall one would be able to see some sort of drainage pipe half buried in the jungle mud. " A local who says he helped to build the fortress told me of this drainage pipe. It's half submerged and probably full of mud but its our best shot to get inside undetected. Most of the slavers are asleep in the barracks at night, leaving a small perimeter guard on watch. How they act it seems like they don't expect to ever get attacked by the locals or otherwise, should make it easier for us to mop them up. "

Rolling the flimsi back up he held it out in case of the others wanted to take a closer look. " So, any questions? "

 

[Tristar]

Calico merely grunted as he spun the twin barrels of his toy, setting the tubes down by his feet and kneeling by them as he unloaded their payload. Of course the mission specifically called for the safe delivery of the fort- it wasn't good enough that they were saving lives; the retail prices for property had skyrocketed over the night, didn't he know? Oh but of course, they'll need to hire the cleaners to flush out all manners of critters before the new tenants could move in. He listened to the plan, how'd they'd enter through the sewage systems and then slit the throats of sleeping men under the cover of night- not particularly in those exact words, but he had been in the job far too long to understand that one man's job was another man's grave.
The flimsi map was fairly accurate and the plan was rudimentary. There was much to be improvised on the spot, which Calico was fine with, all things considering. Strict plans were prone to failure and extremely difficult (He would venture it as impossible.) to execute perfectly- pretty much the entire reason he barely listened to commanders who thought they knew everything there was about the situation. It was better to be on the grounds, muck to the soles, and judge for yourself. "I take it-," he grunted as he flicked off a piece of mud from his pauldrons. "-that the slaves are somewhere in one of their warehouses. Big targets. That there-" His fingers smudged on what looked like a cable line extending all the way off the map. "-looks something like a supply line for power. Installation this size, they'll have emergency generators. What we could do is have someone nick their electrical cables around the same time as one of us bust their spare generators. Keep the place in darkness and force 'em to fight in our conditions."
He allowed for the map to be rolled back and crossed his arms, huffing his displeasure of the night time raid. "They'll be alerted and probably scrambling to the armory for their NVGs- we place someone by that entrance and gun 'em down as they look for shit in the dark, we should be able to kill about 60-75 percent of their forces. The other 40-25 percent would be those pulling night duty and are really our only threats to our operation. " A sly grin crossed up to the corners of his mouth.

"And we force 'em to NVGs before lighting the place up with flares or keep the spare generators out of commission until we need 'em blinded. They won't be expecting that shit, I'll tell you that much. Of course, pretty much depends on keeping someone posted by the spare generators at all times. So?"

 

[Arcangel]

Listening to Calico’s plan Nyx found himself nodding in agreement, it would give them the element of surprise, and allow them to take out a majority of the hostiles before they could even come in to play. “As far as plans go it’s a good one.” Nyx commented casually once Calico had finished speaking his mind. “Still have to deal with those gun towers though, that’ll be the tough part.” Picking up his bag and setting it on the log they were using as a makeshift table, he opened it up and pulled out two grenade belts. “Stun gas,” he said as he pulled out the first one. “Flash bang,” as he pulled out the second. “The boys up top are sure to have NVG’s with them, so once we cut the lights they won’t take too long to get ‘em on and start lighting us up.”


Nodding at Calico’s now unloaded rocket launcher, Nyx continued speaking. “Swap out the explosive warheads for something a little less destructive,” motioning to the two grenade belts he had set down, “and the sentries on the guns will be blind, deaf and out cold, easy pickings once we take out the rest of the gaurds.” Drawing a finger across his throat as he spoke. “Should leave the towers and heavy guns on them relatively intact.” With those words Nyx was finished, and he waited to hear what the two other warriors thought.

 

[T.J]

" Most of em will probably be asleep in the barracks if we strike late enough, though I wouldn't hinge the plan on a hunch... I'm not above outright destroying their generators, an acceptable loss in my book. No need to tie one of us up if they can be used elsewhere. " Retrieving his flimsi map Delmon rolled it back up and tucked it under his arm as he paced around the clearing. Clearly in thought, he tapped the side of his helmet with one of his index fingers as he walked. Turning on his heel is spun to face the others, hands on his hips. " I like it! We sneak our way into the facility, cut their power, and kill everyone inside! " Brandishing the Zakkeg tooth knife from its sheath on his belt to emphasis his last statement. " As long as we don't release the slaves until after we're finished we won't have to worry about any collateral damage. So if you two are ready we only need to wait until night fall and we can begin. "

 

[Tristar]

Darkness crawled over the ghastly green sea and took light from the eyes of its many inhabitants, yet signalling a new day for many others- Calico, within the fortress of his armor, sat cross legged bare meters away from the vast emptiness soaked in fuzzy green light from his night-vision goggles and merely watched. His body ached and his eyes were burning from the sheer intensity of his gaze; despite the many ailing parts of him, he stood vigil in his watch.

The slavers' fortress loomed over him, its four watch towers swiveling the floodlights across the expanse of land before him, the tree stumps and turned up soil the only things that were visible. He wasn't entirely sure why they bothered with the floodlights considering they had access to NVGs- the light merely blinded their sentries and made their entrance into the base an easier task. A fly landed on his helmet- he didn't need to see it to know it was there. The slight patch of pressure was a sensitive feeling that he felt.

The sudden movement from his body jarred the fly away from its resting post, buzzing angrily as Calico took off his helmet and sniffed the humid air. It smelled rancid, like a decomposing body. Fishing his tactical pouches, he pulled out a whiskey flask and uncapped it, gulping down the remainder of its contents into his gullet. The warm liquid coursed through his body in one smooth motion, only felt and not seen. It kept him awake thus far, it'll do the same for the next phase of their mission. He stood up, letting the mud slide off of him and clucked softly to the winds- a signal for his comrades to awaken and be ready. 0300 hours, somewhat early given the planet's rotation.

Perfect time for a night raid, and Calico knew that the slavers' knew about it. His weapons and gear was checked and stowed away, the rifle within his hands and the anti-vehicle weapon strapped to his back. If there was a name for what he carried, it would be merely identified as a party favor as a contingency were their plans take a slight bump- just a slight. That was all it took for him to rip it off of his back and fire the rockets. They could patch up any damages with perma-crete, so long as collateral damage was void and any other important infrastructure was spared from an explosive dessert than it was fine in his book. Ral shouldn't complain.

"It's time." he announced unnecessarily, falling into a crouch-walk position and signalling them forward. Their way lead them to war, and Calico was intent on leading them. He'd go for the generators and keep it on lockdown- where else his other 2 comrades were headed he left to their discretion. There was the matter of the armory and the external power source, both of which was required to be knocked out/safeguarded.

But it all remains the same- the slavers all had to die, with dirt kicked over them in their shallow graves, or bullets spat at them in a pool of blood.

 

[Arcangel]

Nyx sat in darkness, surrounded by brush and vegetation, looking out over the expanse of burnt foliage that separated him from the slaver outpost. Harsh spotlights wandered the empty buffer zone between the small fort and the jungle, intended to deter any of the natives from attacking the base. Unfortunately for the slavers the unknown assailants who would be slaughtering them were not jungle savages or natives to this world, they were Mandalorian’s, warriors raised from childhood for exactly this kind of assault. Zooming in on the base with his macrobinocular viewplate he spotted his two fellow warriors, preparing to enter the base. Raising his rifle and peering through the scope, he aimed at one of the watchtowers. He would give Calico and Delmon a few moments to reach their positions before he cut the lights, then he would make sure the attention of the tower sentries was focused away from the base while his two vod did their bloody work.



As soon as darkness had fallen Nyx parted ways with his comrades. They would begin the slow process of crossing the barren expanse between the jungle and the fort while he found the external power generators and shut them down. Finding the generators hadn’t been hard, all he had to do was follow the poorly hidden cables that led from the base to his target. A small antiqued generator building surrounded by the rubble of some long lost township, probably a settlement of some sort that had been destined for tragic and bloody failure. Padding silently through the vine twisted ghost town, he arrived before the generator complex unspotted, only to be confronted by a crackling metal fence. Scouting the perimeter he found a small burrowing of some native animal, just large enough for him to crawl through carefully. Once he had cleared the fence he lay still, surveying the complex. One sentry patrolling on the far side of the complex, and another one sitting, sound asleep, next to a rust covered durasteel door. His mistake.


Surging forward silently, Nyx had covered the ground quickly, knife flashing silently as blood sprayed against the perma-crete wall. The other Sentry paid dearly for his fellow’s laziness as well, a hand clasped over his mouth as Nyx’ knife entered his jugular, before being gently lowered to the ground. From there it had been easy to enter the locked building, tearing off the keypad to the door and slicing it, descrambling the password. The door opened with a screech, causing Nyx to shudder beneath his armor. Entering the dimly lit building, pistol in one hand held at the ready with the forearm of his knife hand supporting it, the bloody knife held in his grip. Making his way from room to room he found the bunkroom first, and mercilessly cut the throats of the three men sleeping inside. Clearing every room he found the last man, who what “watching” the camera feeds, though his attention seemed much more focused on the bottle of whisky he was nursing in his hands. Nyx was sickened by the lax behavior of these slavers, though it made his job easier. As the man brought the bottle to his lips Nyx cut his throat, a look of confusion filling the slavers face as he felt the warm liquor enter his mouth, only to spill down his chest. The man thudded to the floor, bottle rolling into the corner. Without pausing to look back, Nyx walked out of the room, heading for the generator room.


Once he felt he had given the two warrior’s time to get into position, Nyx pulled a comlink out of one of the waterproof pouches on his belt. “Lights out.” He whispered as he pressed the transmit button on the comlink. Back at the generator, a matching comlink picked up the transmission, activating a detonator attached to the ion charges he had strung up to the power generators. Back at the slaver fort, the floodlights went out, along with all the other power inside the complex as the ion charges detonated, disabling the generators permanently, at least until the wiring and fuses could be replaced and manually restarted by the new owners. With his primary objective complete, Nyx centered his sites on one of the men manning the repeating blaster turrets in the southmost watchtower. Exhaling, he pulled the trigger, then immediately shifted to the other man, repeating the process before quickly moving, pushing his way through the brush to take up a position 20 meters to his left, where he would repeat the process.


Inside the complex, as the lights went out, one of the men on the South tower motioned to his partner, “Go get the backup generator on then wake up the men, we need to send a squad out to get that main generator running again.” Before either of them could act though, blaster bolts flew from the jungle, cutting them both down. The men on the other towers didn’t fail to notice this, and began screaming alarm while they began to fire blindly into the jungle. “The damn bugs are attacking!” one of them yelled. In the barracks the men were awoken by the sounds of yelling and repeating blasters. “Quick to the armory!” shouted one of the senior slavers, the men rushing out of the barracks and stumbling blindly to the armory, to retrieve weapons and NVG goggles.

 

[T.J]

With a grunt only audible from within his sealed helmet, Delmon wrenched himself from the exposed drainage pipe and into the interior of the fortress. It had been a tight fit, he silently cursed himself for not making more exact measurements. He made a mental note to be more precise in future operations as he silently pulled his ruck sack up and out of the pipe. Moving to the shadows he unzipped it to inspect and itemize its contents. Within were a few dozen proximity limpet mines, a handful of thermal detonators, and a roll of det tape. More than enough ordinance for the job, probably too much in all honesty, but one could never be too careful. His plan was to lay a trap for the slavers as they scrambled for their weapons when his companions began the assault Hefting the bag up over his shoulder he deftly made his way towards the barracks. Having left several minutes ahead of the others, he had all the time he needed to set up before the shooting started. Moving through the base completely unseen was a trivial matter due to the lax security, a fact Delmon would use to its full potential. Forgoing rigging the entirety of the armory due to the weapons inside, Delmon instead lay several limpet mines around and just inside the entrance, keeping them just hidden enough to not arouse suspicion.

The panicked scream of one of the perimeter guards signaled to Delmon that the battle had began and that his time to work had come to an abrupt end. Hiking the ruck sack back over his shoulder he quickly moved back to the shadows, laying in wait for the group of slavers inevitable mad dash to the barracks. Like clockwork a substantially sized grouping of them rushed through the base in reckless abandon and right into his trap. Upon opening the doors to the armory they would hear a soft beeping, but only for a split second. Shortly thereafter the limpet mines detonated, tearing apart the front half of the small building in a fiery explosion, practically disintegrating a score of the slavers that had reached the building first and wounded many others. Flaming chunks of body parts and gore rained over the area, those who managed to escape the blast were left disorientated and shell shocked. More slavers arrived on the scene however, drawn by either then sound of the explosion or the potential promise of weaponry the armory provided.

His attack did not end there however, pulling one of the thermal detonators from his bag, he primed it several seconds before throwing it into the confused mass of men. The grenade detonated above ground mid group, atomizing several of them and scoring the ground. Moving to a different position he primed and threw another thermal detonator rifle in hand as he fired it into the crowd, effectively creating hysteria among the ranks of the Slavers as he cut them down.

 

[Tristar]

The darkness hid Calico well enough in the corner of the long hallway, the back up generator hidden within a mess of entwining pipes- some of which were leaking coolants, and hissed upon contact with the dusty ground. Calico had to work his way from the drainage pipes with Delmon, the stench horrifyingly close to home when he had forgotten to seal up his suit. It smelled of manure and bad eggs, bringing about a resurgence of life as a farm hand on a grassy planet- horrifyingly dreadfully dull, though this life wasn't better.

But there was the adrenaline factor, something he tasted when he left Dantooine, so that was there for him. Now, no doubt the stench clung to him like a bad memory, or a girl with daddy issues- it just wasn't comfortable to imagine. Similarly, it wasn't very comfortable for him, crouched and waiting his victim, poised like an armored mantis waiting- he didn't fight with a knife, not usually but if it was it was usually a bowie knife. He fought mano-e-mano, fist to face, which was why he had his hands closed in a fist, jaws clenched and lurking. Patiently.

Gun shots, blaster-variant and in rapid-fire mode- panicked, or someone sowing panic among the unawares. Regardless of the context of the situation, it meant he plan was starting, and he was ready within the back-up generator room. Footsteps echoed in the darkness, and a faded beam of light appeared from his peripheral vision, blocked by the narrow pipes- 3 men, rushing down the stairs. As soon as they stepped within arms reach of him, he sprang into action, snarling viciously as he did so with great gusto.

Out he leapt from behind the pipe works and caught the lead man's cheek with a right hook that knocked to to the other wall with a bloody crack! and swung around to face the other two, who recoiled from the sight of the armored fighter. He gave them a few good moments to stare in shock before they reached for their weapons, letting the recognition sink in. When they twisted their bodies for to reach for their sidearms, he twisted along, but delivered a swift kick that robed the slaver to his immediate right of his footing, and sent him to the ground with a sad oomph. It took a good deal of effort, but he managed to cancel out his inertia by delivering a heavy strike to the second slaver who had the fortune of slipping out a pistol- before being punched at his left ear and stumbling back, swearing as blood leaked out between his fingers. Calico had to regain his footing, and cursed himself for his melee style that stayed true to the infamous forefront fighters of drugged, half naked warriors screaming for Valhalla.

The pointman struggled to his feet, getting on all fours but was intercepted roughly with a brutal kick to his stomach from Calico, and fell back, coughing blood. Calico's an advocate for brutal, unbridled violence when it came to hand to hand combat- never give the opponent a chance to breath, and when they did give them no parley or a reason to. Your enemy was an enemy, did not deserve the mercy a friend would receive, and if they begged for mercy, give them a quick and painless death- which was why he overturned the first man to his back and drop-knee-ed him, aiming his knees for the throat. A sickening crunch resounded, and blood gushed out from his mouth, his voice trailing off and choking somewhat, his hands grasping at his throat- and then he twisted it once, and his legacy, saga and heritage was wiped from the world. The other two combatants recovered, with one throwing a kick at him- he let the foot strike his helmet, and laughed as the assailant cringed and yelled back in pain as he struck solid plexiglass- he didn't give him the chance to recoil his foot, and grabbed it in a vice grip and yank him to the ground and forcing him into a split, which further aggravated his condition.

Calico got up to his feet, and rose his knee to the screaming man's face, knocking him backwards with a spray of blood as his nose broke- the man's eyes closed shut, and won't open them until hours later, or not. Calico had half a mind to slit his throat. The last man looked desperately, anxious and frightened at the prospect of holding back the titan's rage, who's hands reached down and-

Bang!

-pulled the trigger, the barrel smoking hot from the last shot. He was a dirty fighter after all: "Back up generator cut off, cut the shit, slaughter 'em now.", he radioed, tightening his grip around the handle and staring at his own mess. It was art.

 

[Arcangel]

As he continued his sniping on the guard towers, Nyx confirmed that the guards in the second tower were dead, felled by another pair of blaster bolts from his rifle. Before he could move on however, his night vision was lit up by a pair of explosions coming from inside the slaver base, temporarily blinding him. “Osik,” he half shouted as he ducked blindly into the brush, hearing the heavy blaster bolts of the slavers turret guns ripping over his head. Crawling a few meters as his vision slowly returned, he stayed low as the occasional blaster bolt zinged overhead, the stench of ozone filling the air, his helmets air scrubbers not quite eliminating the smell.


Once clear of the immediate danger, with his vision mostly returned, getting up into a crouch and moving along the perimeter of the clearing, making his way closer to the northwards towers. Finding a good position he settled down into a patch of brush, resting his rifle on a downed tree branch as he centered the third guard tower in his sites. Amateurs, he thought as he watched the gunner fire blindly into the night, red bolts streaking off into the jungle to hit nothing more than rocks or trees. Firing a trio of bolts, he waited for a moment to confirm that the gunners were down before moving on, just as another explosion lit up the camp. His change of position wasn’t a moment too soon as the space he had just occupied was peppered with blaster fire. The slavers were wising up it seemed. He made a few meters before a blaster bolt slammed into his chest.


“Kriff Kriff Kriff!” Antoni shouted as he watched the slavers in the other guard towers systematically eliminated by the sniper in the jungle, even as explosions and blaster fire filled the inside of the compound, slaughtering the men inside. “Ssshut up and find that sssniper!” hissed Krassk, as he finished attaching a NVG scope to the long rifle he was holding. Scanning the darkness while swiveling the turreted E-Web heavy repeating blaster, Antoni happened to be looking in the right direction as a trio of blaster bolts accelerated out of the jungle, hitting the men in the third tower. “Got him!” he shouted as he sprayed the deadly bolts at the position where the sniper fire had come from. “I’ve got him in my sssitesss,” the Trandoshan rifleman hissed sinisterly, “turn that gun around and focusss on whoever isss blowing up the camp.” He ordered as he squeezed the trigger and cackled as the bolt scored a direct hit. Antoni turned the E-Web around, identifying where he thought the unknown assailant was firing on the bunched men from, and pulled the trigger.


Nyx lay still for a moment, his chest felt like a X-wing had slammed into it. Looking down he saw the steaming dented metal of two of the overlapping duraplast plates were crushing his chest. Fumbling for the armor’s catches he released the two plates, pulling the warped armor off of his chest and tossing it to the side. He felt his chest gingerly for a moment to confirm that nothing was broken before grabbing his rifle and crawling into a small ditch on the edge of the burnt out field between the jungle and the slaver base, wincing with every movement. Dragging himself up just over the rise of the ditch he brought his rifle to bear, knowing he had to eliminate the last gun. Before he could take aim however, there was a flash from the tower. Nyx ducked down as blaster shot hit the dirt right by his head. “Ner’Vod, im pinned down by a sniper in the last tower, I can’t eliminate the gunner from here. You'll have to take him out or distract that sniper.” He said over the com.

@T.J

 

[T.J]

Delmon had just enough to to huck one last thermal detonator before abandoning his pack and hiding place from the stream of blaster fire that came from the last E-Web turret. His dive turned into a tuck and run, the pack still contained a fair amount of explosives and was bound to explode due to the withering fire from the turret. The Mandalorian wanted to be as far away from the ordinance as possible just in case. Naturally the pack and its contents did indeed explode, violently ripping apart the portion of turret foundation and much of the floor where Delmon had been standing only moments before. Skidding to a halt behind newly aquired cover away from the ark of the turret, he gunned down a few stragglers whilst recieving Nyx's message. The last tower had to go, but just as he was about to jump back out of cover some daring slavers took a couple pot shots at his position. For the moment he was pinned, he only hoped Calico's objective faired better.


The detonator he had thrown went high and wide, bouncing off the roof of the last occupied tower before before rolling down the side of the slatted roof and falling to the upper deck of the structure itself. Having had no time to prime the explosive, the gunner of the E-Web was granted just enough time to see the shiny orb as it rolled into view before it went off. The detonator atomized the unfortunate slaver manning the large blaster and half of the top of the structure which promptly buckled under its own weight, crushing the sniper within and raining debris into the interior of the base itself. A rather large chunk pegged one of Delmon's would be aggressors square in the head, incapacitating him and startling the other enough to allow the Mandalorian to emerge from cover and neatly gun him down.

From the sounds of the dying and wounded the battle seemed to be close to its end. Those who were still able or willing to fight were either incapacitated or trapped by rubble and debris from the destoryed portions of the stronghold.