Road to Hell

Livgardist · Jul 30, 2013

The district seemed abandoned at a glance, a deserted area haunted by the ghosts of those who had lived there before the Imperials invaded. But it was not quiet. In the distance one could hear explosions and the sound of blaster fire. Turbolaster beams were bathing the dark sky in a cascade of lights all across the spectrum. The district had been seized by Imperials because it was a key location turned into a military stronghold. Equipped with the best AA turrets the Imperials had, it effectively blocked a majority of the Alliance's evacuation efforts.

Those AA turrets had had to go.

It had been a dangerous mission, with a high risk of no return. A large group of mercenaries, Jedi and elite special forces had been sent to take it down. The survivors had succeeded. Now, they were backtracking - and fast. Many had died already. Everything had been planned minitiously, but even then, things had taken a turn for the worse. The survivors were moving fast through minefields and with Imperials on their heels, trying to get to the evacuation zone before they were caught up by the Imps. Several of the Alliance fighters offered supporting shoulders to wounded, while others were holding back, trying to delay the pursuing Imps with blaster fire or lightsabers.

Gutterson was holding back. He would run twenty feet, stop, move into a crouch, and open fire on the Imperials that had gotten too close. His breath was ragged, his muscles exhausted from constantly moving between crouching and standing positions, but his aim was true, and many Imperials stumbled and fell to his R5 blaster. As he got up to run with his comrades again for the hundredth time, he yelled out: "Changing batteries!" as his finger hit the battery ejection port, while his left hand already pulled out a new battery, which he slapped into the weapon, readying it. "Ready!" He shouted when he was finished.

They had been moving like this for at least two kilometers now. The only reason they were still moving was because the fear of death caused adrenaline to flow through their veins in rivers - and the adrenaline gave them the energy needed to keep moving. Their fear was the only thing that kept them moving still, or in the case of the Jedi, the Force.

A soldier fell, screaming, with a burning hole in his shoulder, next to Gutterson. Gutterson stopped, grabbed him by the arm and yanked him up, throwing him up on his back in a fireman's grip. His blaster fell in its sling down on his side, and he unholstered his sidearm. With that in his right hand, and the wounded soldier on his shoulders, he began to run again, sweat pouring down his face. He spun around and fired off several random shots at the Imps, even though they were far out of range. The mere sound of the gun fire would be enough to deter them, if just a little, and force them into cover.

This wasn't good. Not good at all.

With the Alliance fractured, its ships occupied taking refugees off world, and its soldiers dead, captured or fleeing, there was no reinforcements to be had, and the likelyhood of evacuation by the Alliance, was growing smaller and smaller for each minute. If they didn't think of something, this would turn into a bloodbath.

"Keep it up! Quadrant G80 is near!" Gutterson shouted. He didn't know if it really was - probably not - but the soldiers needed hope. Quadrant G80 was their secondary escape route, a quadrant of the planet that was still held by a small faction of Alliance military personnel, and offered temporary security - and hopefully a way off-world.

Somebody fell, and Gutterson stopped, pulling him on his feet despite the weight already on his shoulders, growling as he yanked off the man's combat vest that weighed him down:

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, and keep running, soldier. Move!" He growled as he pushed the man forward, and the soldier nodded as he continued running, lighter than before, now when he wasn't carrying his combat gear anymore. Gutterson himself was no Alliance soldier. Nor was he a jedi. He was a mercenary. He was loyal to the Alliance, but he was in it for the money. Even so, he couldn't help but feel responsible for these soldiers that had fought alongside him on this near-suicide mission. He was tired of losing brothers in arms, and if he had anything to say about it, none more of them would die today.

Kartikeyan · Jul 30, 2013

With a ship of his own, you would think Arai would have been off planet by now given the success of the invading Imperials. The retreat had already been sounded, but Arai had to help get others to safety even at the cost of his own life. Earlier that day during the invasion in the city his friend and fellow padawan Ren Atori was killed in explosion while protecting others from their tyranny. By the time he had made it to the Jedi Temple, he was distraught to see it overran with Imperials and Sith. S3 was able to pilot his Black Series out from the hanger, pick him up and jetted off as two Imperial fighters pursued him through the city, shooting him with laser cannons. Escaping would have been inevitable if it wasn't for the underworld of Coruscant where he lost the two fighters and returned to the upper city.

After getting a transmission of a Galactic Alliance holdout keeping people evacuate off planet, Arai set his courses to Quadrant G80. Coming down in an open area, he leaped out of his star fighter just as three soldiers came at him holding up blaster rifles. They were battle scarred and exhausted, tiredness in their dull eyes, heavy with the weight of today's lost.

“Arai Munkaira. Jedi.” He held up his arms in a surrender, showing his lightsaber and ignited it to show them the blue blade then deactivated it. They lowered there weapons and seemed relieved to not have to face another enemy, especially one with a lightsaber. His black tank top was quick to get soaked by the rain, wishing he had not lost his jacket earlier to laser bolts. His face and arms were dirty with smug from smoke and debris.

He was brought to the highest ranking Alliance personnel left alive or still there. A Bothan Lieutenant by the name of Kaeton Flak who was overseeing everything going on within the sector. Lt. Flak informed Arai that the only reason they were still holding out here because they were waiting on a group of men to return from their final mission before departing. They had lost here, but anything to cripple the Imperials was a sign of hope. They were not invincible or all powerful.

Once watchtower spotted the survivors from their mission making way to the zone while being pursued by the Imperials. Arai rushed onto a speeder bike and zoomed off. He did not need directions, he was guided by the force, being drawn to those Jedi close by fighting for their lives. He could hear the sounds of lasers firing in the distance, then see explosions flash, colorful bolts and then lightsaber blades. He had found them and things were not looking good for them at all. They were in danger of being overrun by relentless firepower by Imperials.

Arai took out the thermal detonator he had looted of the dead Imperial troop from earlier that morning and set it active on the speeder bike counting down from ten in beeps. He swerved through the running mass of survivors towards the pursuing Imperials and leaped off the speeder into an aerial back flip to the ground, landing in a low crouch just in time to see the speeder ram into a group of Imperials, bawling them over then exploding in a small fiery brilliance of flying metal causing a minor distraction.

“Alright, that should by us a few more seconds. Everyone keep moving, Evac is just up ahead!” He yelled out, igniting the vibrant blue blade of his lightsaber as he followed along with the fellow survivors, batting away blaster bolts with simple swings of his lightsaber away, some back into Imperials. These brave men had risked their lives for one final effort. Arai was going to make sure he could get many of them to G80 and off world as possible.

Tribunal Power · Jul 30, 2013

Their mission was successful. They had completed their goal, done their duty. But the mission stank, a putrid rotting stench of lifeless chaos that bled through every situation on every sector of the world. The rank smell surrounded the living and enveloped the fallen. It discouraged the soldiers that fought to live, and it distracted those that lived to fight. The smell was death, and the worst part of it was that Kendra was getting used to it.

Even in the rain, the air beaten and battered by drops from the sky, the stench was palpable. Burned, scorched flesh followed each swipe of Kendra's saberstaff, which let off a plume of steam as the rain around it dissipated into gas from the heat of the yellow blade. But the blade never stayed exposed for long; as her feet carried her swiftly over the muddy, sodden ground, she would extend the blade for a trikata attack against any sith or Imperial that neared her, the blade slicing neatly through armor and flesh and bone only to leave behind separated sections of a former enemy.

She had stayed behind to delay the enemy when the AA guns fell, she and a handful of Jedi that volunteered when the temple collapsed under the Imperial war machine. One by one they fell; Adama Tul, the youngest padawan, was caught unawares by a frag grenade. Sestra Ro-Baffa excelled at Force Telekinesis, perhaps even moreso than Kendra, but for whatever reason she failed to protect herself under the collapse of the Borven Bridge when the sith collapsed it with thermal detonators to cut off the Alliance retreat. Cedric Mallen and Davora Bul-Gorra, both padawans nearing the end of their trials and very afraid that their intimate relationship would be discovered by the Council, fell to a sith acolyte. Kendra regretted never telling them that the Council would not condemn their relationship, and for that, she and Knight Somha Gellard killed him. Knight Gellard herself fell to a blaster bolt which, despite her years of training and brilliant saber work, managed to penetrate her ability to swipe the bolts away and struck her in the throat, thus proving that no Jedi was immune to a simple blaster.

Kendra nearly suffered the same fate. It was by some grand mistake that she lived where so many had died. No, not a trick-- she couldn't believe that... It was the Force, which for some reason saw fit that she keep on fighting. And fight she would.

Mud splashed against her forest green tunic as she sped over the field, bolts whizzing past her. She bobbed and weaved to make herself a more difficult target. Unintentionally, her foot landed atop a fallen Alliance corpse, and she propelled herself with a push over it to continue moving. Ahead of her, she was a man carrying a wounded soldier on his shoulders while firing at the enemy with his sidearm-- admirable, heroic. But just as she took notice, another man beside him fell, and he stopped.

Kendra skidded to a muddy stop between him and the enemy, planting her feet. Yellow show from the hilt in her hand and blocked a bolt that may have struck one of them, then swiped back again to deflect another. A bolt zipped by her leg as she missed the swipe-- a very dangerous inaccuracy, but this time, harmless-- and another bounced against her defense and fizzled into the sod. There were so many bolts that it was nearly impossible to keep up with the sheer volume. She drew back and slapped another away with her blade, the second blade of the saberstaff firing from the bottom of the hilt to deflect one that might have struck the fallen soldier. Then, as she withdrew to block another bolt, one slapped into the hilt of her lightsaber. Pain blasted through her arm, and she let out a shocked yelp nearly fumbling her saber. Quickly switching hands as a shot whizzed overhead, she had time to block one last bolt before casting a glance over her shoulder. The man behind her began to move after getting the soldier to her feet, and likewise, she spun and began to move.

He shouted that the grid was close, and she hoped he was right, but like many of the men, she too was uncertain. Pain shot up her left arm as she attempted to move her hand; she dared not look at it, not yet, but she couldn't feel her fingers. Biting her lip, she focused on the Force rather than the pain or the adrenaline, and used it to pudh herself harder. The pain that rocked her arm with every step she took seemed to fade subtly into the background like ambient noise as he found her focus once more.

They were dangerously close to being overrun. The trail of Alliance bodies over which the Imperial army now advanced was indicative of a total loss of life. They needed to get out now, before the Imperials began bombarding their position with air support and all hope of their survival was truly lost.

Livgardist · Aug 2, 2013

Gutterson gritted his teeth, breathing heavily as he stumbled onward with the wounded soldier on his shoulders. A jedi was fighting behind them, deflecting blaster bolts for them as they moved on, until she was nearly - or even - hit by one herself. He kept moving, but watched through gritted teeth to see whether or not she would fall. If she did, he was uncertain whether or not he would run back for her - but considering the circumstances...probably not. A wounded soldier on his shoulders...that was the extent to which he could still take care of his brothers in arms. He did not have the strength to drag another one with him. Fortunately, however, she kept moving, and so did he.

Then, a speeder bike suddenly roared past them, fast, so fast he barely caught sight of the pilot as both disappeared behind them in the direction of the Imps. A violent explosion followed. Then, the man came running after them. A lightsaber hung in his belt. A jedi. He shouted encouraging words to the beaten band of fighters: “Alright, that should by us a few more seconds. Everyone keep moving, Evac is just up ahead!” Gutterson was struck for a moment by his youthful appearance. Could such a young man really be a Jedi? He didn't really doubt it, though, and the situation left little room for him to consider it further.

Instead, he shouted:
"You heard him. Keep moving!"

A thump behind him made him turn around to see a soldier fall. He cursed as he took a step back and somehow managed to pull him on his feet. The soldier already on his shoulders didn't leave him with room to lend the man one of them, but he kept a firm grip on his arm, discarding his sidearm to do so, and began to pull him up and forward. The man stumbled to his feet, his face pale with exhaustion. Not wounds or bloodloss, but sheer staminal exhaustion. His energy was running out. Gutterson shouted:

"I need a hand here!"

Two soldiers quickly joined him, and pulled the exhausted man's arms over their shoulders. Gutterson turned his focus back forward, and kept moving. He stumbled as another soldier fell in front of him, dead by a black, charred blaster bolthole in the back of his armor, center of the body mass. But he managed to catch his balance again before falling face down into the mud. His lungs were burning, his vision was blurred from his lungs' inability to inhale enough oxygen to supply the body with all its needs. His every step was a Herculean effort, his limbs heavy as lead. He wasn't sure how he could still carry the man on his shoulders, but he wasn't going to question it and risk the realization that the man was too heavy for him.

It began to rain. It poured down heavy, like millions of small balls of steel, hammering against the ground, against steel, armors, soaking everything in an instant. As if things were not bad enough already... And moments later, it got even worse. A wooshing sound in front of Gutterson made him look ahead of the group. Several darkly dressed men had stepped out in front of the group. They were not Imperial soldiers, but the wand-like metallic objects held in their hands was indication enough of where their loyalties lay. The suspicions were confirmed when each of them created a protrusion of red light.

Three Sith were blocking their path, ready to cut them down like defenseless dogs. They were trapped.

Gutterson gritted his teeth. He crouched, and gently placed the wounded man on the ground, gesturing for the only surviving medic to take care of him. As he did, he stood up on wobbly legs, and reached for the only weapon he had not discarded. His small cortosis made karambit knife. He took a deep breath as he closed his eyes, trying to in his exhausted mind formulate something that resembled an order. Finally, he managed, and called out: "Firing positions to the rear. Put all the fire you have on the Imps, but conserve your ammunition. Keep them back and buy us time."

He looked at the two Jedi. A young boy, and a young woman. He couldn't tell their age, or if they had seen battle before. Actually, his brain wasn't much for thinking at all right now. But they both looked battle-hardened. Either way, he had no choice but to trust them to watch his back. His legs almost buckled from pure exhaustion for a moment, but he regained his footing by taking support against a wall, and he shook his head to clear it. His hair was soaked, and fluttered in the air as he did. It was cold. He was soaked to the bones, and shivered slightly, every breath making him feel even more chilled. He forgot what he was about to say to the duo, however, his brain as exhausted as his body, and ended up just shaking his head and motion with it towards the Sith.

The intent was clear enough; Kill these ******.

A battle cry from one of the Sith alerted him to the fact that the three lightsaber wielding lunatics were charging, lightsabers ready to render the flesh of his comrades, and he moved into a military type hand-to-hand combat stance, his hook-like knife ready to be used.

It wasn't ideal for fighting lightsaber armed opponents. Not by any account.

Tribunal Power · Aug 2, 2013

The green-clad Jedi Knight kept pace with the group of soldiers until, as the rain came down upon them, they were faced with a threat even more dangerous than the one that pursued them. Kendra slid to a stop, soaked red hair slopping against her shoulderblades and crimson bangs dripping water over her eyes. For a moment, the battle almost seemed to stop, as if suddenly there were only three dark ones, and three light ones.

Kendra sensed them before she saw them. Three signatures, like three stones in the boot of an even stride, disrupting the already tumultuous balance of the Force around her. She'd already slain one Sith today-- one, who had killed two of her fellow Jedi before her-- and now she was faced with three. Casting a glance to the mercenary beside her, and reaching out in the Force to the other Jedi that was present, she directed her attention to the man with the greatest and most dangerous disruption in the Force.

He stood taller than she, his hands hidden with dark dagged sleeves. The other two flanked him, eager to fight. Was he the master? Or perhaps their equal, but simply more attuned to the Dark Side? Kendra couldn't know. As she felt through the Force to reach them, so too did she feel his reaching for her, a sickly and deathly invisible hand tracing a razor sharp fingernail against the chalkboard of her mind. She cringled inwardly. She had not faced someone this strong before.

The three sith burst into a run. A charge, motivated by bloodlust of glory-- typical of the Sith. Kendra broke from the group and dashed left to circle them, but her flanking intentions were foiled when the man in the center stopped, letting the other two sith continue the charge. The tall, dark one began long, even strides toward Kendra, who continued to circle until he was back-to-back with his dark comrades.

Her hand flexed beneath the sleeve of her bantha-leather coat; movement was restricted, like wearing a glove that was far too tight. Pain radiated through her arm. However bad it was, it would have to hold together.

The sith wasted no more time. He rushed, a long red blade erupting from his hand, pointed straight at Kendra. She stood her ground, pushed her human nerves deep into her soul and steadied herself in the universe.

"There is no death; there is the Force."

Red struck forth to thrust, and yellow flashed from her right hand to redirect it. As quickly as the yellow came, it went, like a brilliant flash that pushed the red blade away. The sith saber spun rapidly to strike again. "High cross to Two," she thought as the battle played. The yellow blade again appeared and blocked the red, which bounced away; no time to withdraw, the yellow shot down to intercept a dangerously deceptive faint attack. "Ripost feint thrust to Six," she thought. "Now parry sixte, withdraw, and fleche to trakata!"

Kendra's blade wound around his, flashing backward and vanishing as the young Knight retreated a step. The sith moved to strike again, but was surprised with a sudden aggression that burst from her like an explosion. The shimmering golden blade flashed out for a low swing, barely redirected by the sith saber, as Kendra rushed past him with a lunge that carried her around his left side. The sith turned and brought his saber around for an attack that fell short, but Kendra's saber found something. A large section of the sith's robe fell apart, cut through; had the sith not turned just when he did, he might have fallen apart with it. The two squared once again, and Kendra steadied her racing heart.

The Knight was beginning to think her duelling experience gave her the advantage. "Have I outmatched him?"

But she was not expecting the change in style, as the Sith adjusted from predictable Shii-Cho to something else and rained down on her with a flurry of unforseen speed. Her blade stayed delpoyed as the crimson blade flashed at her again and again, and she began to backpedal under the weight of the attack. She found her technical analysis was all that could keep up, and just barely; she was wearing down, and needed an opening. But he wasn't presenting, so she'd have to make one.

The blade came at her for the thousandth time, and Kendra feigned a hardblock but shifted to a disengagement; the scarlet swiped past her, and her blade came up to thrust at him from the ground. As if he'd been expecting it, the batted it away with his saber, spinning it around for a ripost. Just as his blade left his guard stance, Kendra's injured hand shot forward, a viridian blade expoding from it; the green light extended in a sudden flash, bursting through the overhanging sleeve of her overcoat, sizzling through the rain-filled air, and charring its way through the sith's gut.

He let out a groan of agony, but before Kendra could withdraw, his attack carried through. The crimson blade swiped upward at her arm, and the agony of using her left hand caused a lag on her response time; she managed to pull her hand back fast enough to save her arm, but not all of it. Sparks flew as the dark red blade struck the phrik hilt of her lightsaber, and a blinding, mind-altering pain exploded through her arm. It twisted over her wrist, crawled up her shoulder, spread into her neck and stuck knives in her brain. She felt it in her legs, in her toes, in her heart; she felt it in her gut, in her head; but most of all, she felt it in her left hand, where fingers once were.

The green lightsaber spun into the air, propelled by the swing, but the centered side of Kendra knew that to allow the wound to bring her down would mean her death. She couldn't let the pain defeat her. She screamed in agony, but hoped to take the sith by surprise just as he had her; her yellow blade slashed inward, and he moved to block it, before the second blade came from the bottom of the hilt mid-slash. The attack made him back off, the slash knicking the front of his thigh.

Just as the sith fell to a knee from his grievous wounds, Kendra reached her disfigured hand into the sky. Her will in the Force reached out, grabbing the airborn lightsaber from the sky. For a fraction of a second, she saw it there; Shak'tur's viridian blade suspended in the rainy sky, a backdrop to Kendra's bloody, charred three-fingered left hand. Then, like a bolt of lightning, the lightsaber came down on the sith tip-first, lancing him like a beast on a spit.

Once the killing blow was dealt and the emitter of the lightsaber had touched the sith's forehead, Kendra released the saber. As if the sith's body was no resistance at all, the blade fell to the ground, dividing the sith into unequal halfs from head to toe. The burnt, gorey corpse spattered to the ground in pieces as Kendra staggered to the ground, overcome by pain. But her hazed, weary eyes closed only for a moment as she again reached for the Force, trusting in it to give her the strength to rise again and live; to continue fighting, if for no other reason, then only to return to her padawan that he might not be abandoned in the horror of this war.

She rose to uneasy feet, still clutching her golden saberstaff with her right hand. Shak'tur's green lightsaber, as well as the sith's red blade, lifted from the dirt and levitated in the air; Kendra may have lost the use of one hand, but through the will of the Force, she had others-- and those, the sith could not cut down.

Kendra looked to her comrades with impassive eyes, feeling the Force in her body as thick as her blood, ready to strike down all others that would bring harm to her Order or any other innocent. The Jedi were a diplomatic people, it was true...

But this was a war, and in war, one must kill.

EnderM5 · Aug 3, 2013

Emile had been watching the fleeing group for quite some time, moving in the tree cover beside them on his "liberated" speeder bike. The reason he was not completely helping the Imperials was simply because, if he massacred the GA soldiers here, then he would have no way off this planet. Other than, of course, the Imperial way, which would probably involve immediate conscription and time in a torture chamber for being a "spy." That of course, was why he had to leave with the GA. The problem was, at his previous battle, at Centax-1, he had acted against the GA, and had opened the way for the Imps to get into there in the first place. They were bound to have Wanted signs for his death. He didn't want to risk getting shot up. Yet.

He saw as the three Sith charged the GA position. That was the last straw. He wasn't going to allow his saviors to be sliced-and-diced.

He put on his backpack, swung his leg over the side of his speeder bike, and charged out of the forest; heading for where a Sith was calmly advancing on a small group of the soldiers, who were desperately shooting at him.

Suddenly, the realization of what wild thing he was doing surfaced, "I'm running a Sith over with a speeder bike." When he thought about it that way, he was unable to stop a bubble of hysterical laughter to surface from under his lips. The Sith turned at the last moment; hearing the whine of the engine. His eyes opened in surprise, and he prepare to jump... A second too late. And then... impact. The Sith was thrown for a few yards, using the force to prolong the fall and allow himself to land on his feet. "Blast." He was hoping for an instant knock-out at the impact point. Never a kill. The Doctor did not kill.

Fortunately, he had stripped a blaster pistol which didn't kill either. He flicked the setting to stun, and calmly shot the Sith. The Sith, expecting a tangible bullet to block, was met with a wall of blue electricity, impossible to block with a lightsaber. He fell to the ground, unconscious.
"
He turned around to the cheering group of soldiers that he had just saved. He bumped knuckles with a few of them, then they turned back to help with the remnants of the final Sith. "And so it begins..."

Kartikeyan · Aug 4, 2013

Rain showered down on every fiber of Arai's being as he sprinted, keeping to the rear of the group taking on blaster fire from various angles that came his way. He wanted to stay in the back, providing them with a chance to make it but neither was he going to allow himself to fall, unlike his friends. Even with the rain pouring, imperials shooting at them under the sounds of war, taken lives one by one, he found away to keep in his serenity. His control in the force was no longer shaking like earlier in the day. In swift, clean motions of his arm his lightsaber was gracefully homing blaster fire soaring away into the rainy night or deflected into an Imperial. Wounding or killing, it did not matter. Arai's objective was to slow them down, so they could reach the sector, that was the true victory.

Arai was momentarily caught off guard from a malevolent surge in the force. Arai's focus was so concentrated on deflecting bolts from Imperials he left himself unaware to anything else. The dark side was close, a sith or more were drawing near. Three sith stepped out from the shadows of night and rain, cloaked in darkness with the only illumination coming from the red lightsabers each of them carried.

“This is not good.” Arai thought out loud under his breath. They're route was now blocked off and already outflanked in the rear. Just then the merc that had the strength to help another soldier while already carrying another, ordered everyone of the soldiers and mercenaries to hold off the Imperials. It was a clear indication that him and the female jedi in dark green and brown robes would have to deal with the three sith.

Arai then felt her reach out to him through the force and reached out back to her, aware of the current situation. He radiated with reassurance in the force that he washed over the soldiers and mercenaries to strengthen their wills to hold on just long enough for them to take out the sith. A sith had already fallen to his lightsaber and another killed with the combined efforts of him and his friend Ren, killed by a sith. They had taken to many jedi lives today, enough was enough.

Each of the three sith were strong in the dark side, but the one in the center was the strongest of them. His power in the force was no were near his or the other Jedi's, he could sense her power in the force too and only she would be able to handle him. They both must have realized it because both of them began to duel in arcs of yellow and red.

The other two sith had their attentions on Arai, watching as he approached slowly to the side with his lightsaber held down to the ground. He thought about Ren's lightsaber hanging at his right side, wondering if he should use it against the both of them but that thought disappeared when he was alerted through the force and became aware of an approaching speeder he saw just in time as it rammed into one of the two sith, sending him several feet through the air just for him to land on his feet, trying to look unhurt by the unexpected surprising but his body posture told Arai he had cracked ribs. The man was able to take up a blaster and chivalrously shoot the sith down with a stun bolt.

Now only one was left and Arai was more than sure he could handle him. He didn't feel as strong in the dark side as the one the other jedi was fighting but he was not as weak in it as his comrade. While the sith was distracted by the actions of the man on the bike, Arai summered deep into the force, further than he had even eight standard hours ago.

In a burst of speed, Arai took off toward the sith in a full sprint. He brought his blade in a upward arc hoping to catch him by the unorthodox attack but the blue blade was swiped away by the sith's red blade. Arai fell through the sith's counter by stepping up to the side in counter-clockwise spin while taken a two handed grip bringing his saber around to claim his head but the sith held his sword up to block.

Then the sith rushed in, slashing aggressively, fast, and low to his legs but Arai carefully backpedaled steps away from losing one or both his legs. Once he realized that wasn't going to work, he surged in the dark side of the force, violent and destructive intent oozing out of the purple arcs of lightning stretching out to Arai with a passion to hurt him. Sith lightning was nothing new to him, his own sith father used it on him two years ago and since then he been learning on ways to counter it. The released the force from inside him as an invisible barrier to protect his body as his lightsaber blade met the power of the sith's force lightning, wickedly coiling around the blue energy blade. It was not as powerful as his father's and found it easier than expected to withstand it.

Arai's confidence became more potent at the suspicion that he was fighting a sith apprentice. The sith had leaped over Arai, performing an aerial flip while bring his blade down to pierce Arai's skull dead center. He had this cover with a mighty one hand over swing with his blade to parry the sith's blade away, but once he landed, the sith went on a relentless sequence of slashes that left Arai on the defensive, having no choice but to keep blocking until he could find an opening or were the sith out but that was time he did not have. The sith's light saber was a blur of red light in its wake, no doubt added by force speed and strength hoping to shatter the padawan's defense, but through the force, he could endure for awhile longer.

Just as the sith came to the end of his display of saber skills, he switched saber hands to his right in a spin to a reverse grip, dangerously coming in to take Arai's head by neck, shockingly faster than the rest of his moves so far. Yet, the sith had gave Arai a very rare chance to end this. Arai's left hand instinctively shot away from his lightsaber, zipping up to grip the wrist of the sith stopping his attack entirely. His dark eyes were momentarily stunned with disbelief but that was because in the next fraction of a second from gripping his wrist, Arai's brought his sword up through the sith's forearm then hack through his neck with speed aided by the force that his scream didn't even have a chance to start.

“The path is all clear!” Arai called out to the group giving their lives defending their rear. They had bravely been holding off the Imperials successfully for this little amount of time but now was time to keep on moving. He looked off at the other Jedi, she had defeated the strongest of the three sith but at a small price. Two of her fingers were missing and the rest of her hand was charred black. With that she would not be able to use that hand, keeping her yellow saberstaff in her other hand while wielding a green one and the one taken by the sith with the force. Was she a master? He wondered in the small time frame before destroying the sith's lightsaber with a stroke of his own. “Lets move, now!”

Livgardist · Aug 4, 2013

As so often with combat, chaos ensued. In the rear, the Imps attacked, and the Alliance soldiers laid down a barrage of blaster fire to push them back. In the front, the two Jedi each moved to engage their Sith target. Gutterson followed suit, moving towards the third. He moved slowly, hands raised, and his right hand index finger slipped through the ring at the butt end of his karambit knife. His tired mind sharpened up, focused on the fight that lay ahead of him. He would need every last ounce of focus that he could muster, to defend against the lightsaber equipped warrior who was grinning viciously at him as he approached.

The Sith attacked. He ran towards Gutterson, launching a sideway strike towards him. Gutterson jumped back, barely avoiding it and almost feeling it singe the tiny beard stubble that had grown on his face. He gritted his teeth as he backed away, realizing he needed to move in closer, get inside the reach of the lightsaber, to have a chance. The Sith would not voluntarily give him that opportunity though. A series of quick lashes by the lightsaber followed. Gutterson managd to block each one with quick moves of his karambit. Had it been a vibroblade with physical weight behind it, he would have been unable to block any single impact with the small curved knife. But a lightsaber, the blade of which was not physical nor had any physical weight, was easier to block by the cortosis knife.

On the last impact, Gutterson used the hook of the knife to yank the lightsaber blade sideways, exposing the Sith to him. His left hand was ready when the blade and his right hand passed it by, and when the opening appeared, it went in, and the palm of his hand connected with the tip of the Sith's jaw, with enough force to cause a whiplash effect as his enemy's head was whipped backwards. The man stumbled for a moment, stunned, and Gutterson took the moment to move in closer. His left and right arm moved below and above the Sith's right arm holding the lightsaber, and grabbed his black clothes on his back, effectively locking the arm, and locking the Sith physically chest to chest with the mercenary. As the Sith was unable to back off, Gutterson kneed him multiple times, violently, in the groin. The Sith groaned on the impacts, and when Gutterson stopped, he finished it off with an elbow strike from his left arm, followed by an attack by the karambit in his right hand.

It got nasty. The karambit's hook-shaped razor-sharp blade found its way to the Sith's pasty white skinned throat, and carved a vicious, deep gash in his larynx. Blood splattered out of it and onto Gutterson's face, hitting his eyes with a stinging pain. He groaned and wiped them hard. The wheezing sound of air escaping from the severed windpipe reached his ears. It was as good of a death sentence for a Sith as for anyone else. Gutterson took another step backwards, raised his arms in the air for leverage, and planted a violent push kick with the heel of his right boot, onto his opponent's diaphragm.

The effect was violent on multiple accounts. It knocked the wind out of his opponent. It shattered his ribs. And it pushed him backwards so violently that he stumbled on a dead Alliance soldier's body, and fell to the ground, splashing into the mud, where his blood mixed with the brown dirt and water around him. Just as he fell backwards, though, his hand used the last ounce of energy in his body, and lashed out at his opponent. Gutterson felt the seering pain as the lightsaber blade cut a shallow horizontal gash across his face in level with his nose and eyes.

He clutched his face with his left hand, trying to catch his breath while dealing with the stinging pain. He took a stumbling step, and then leaned against the wall, barely aware of his own move to sheathe the karambit. Slowly, he looked around to supervise the situation. The soldiers were still somehow managing to hold back the Imps, while the medic worked on the wounded soldier. The two Jedi had dealt with their respective Sith. The situation was still salvageable. At least, so he thought until his eyes caught sight of a red lightsaber appearing to the side of the soldiers. He felt a cold hand grasp his heart as he saw their doom in the appearance of the outflanking Sith.

But then something unexpected happened.

A man appeared on a speeder bike. Everything seemed to happen all at once, while in slow motion at the same time. The man ran over a Sith. He ran over a Sith. With a speeder bike. Gutterson managed a quick and barely noticeable smirk, very unusual for the cynical mercenary. Then, the man got off the bike, and shot the Sith with a stun blaster. Gutterson recognized the circular blue energy patterns of stun mode. The Sith was taken by surprise, of course, and knocked out. He exhaled in relief.

An explosion nearby tore him from the temporary victory. The Imps had called for air support. It would be difficult to hit them as long as they kept moving, but nothing guaranteed a lucky hit wouldn't wipe them out. They needed to get the hell back to Quadrant G80, and fast. Gutterson gritted his teeth as he shouted:

"The way is clear! Set up the last defensive charges and move out!"

The soldiers planted several troop mines with motion activated detonators, hidden in the rubble, and began to retreat along the road towards Quadrant G80. The explosions behind them that followed a few minutes later alerted them to the fact the Imps were taking up the pursuit again. Hopefully the defensive charges would slow them down, Gutterson thought as he heaved the wounded soldier back on his shoulders, and began to move as best he could.

Tribunal Power · Aug 5, 2013

The Jedi padawan dispatched his Sith nearly simultaneously with Kendra, and so she turned to see the mercenary entangled with the final acolyte. She began towards them at a brisk walk, conserving her energy as the two struggled with the crimson lightsaber held out to the side. Kendra's viridian blade trailed behind her like a tail, the blade parting the mud as the tip touched the ground with each step, suspended with an invisible hand. Her yellow saberstaff lied dormant in her right hand, both blades retracted, and her left hand was tucked tightly under her arm to try and hold the bleeding. While the wound was mostly cauterized, the skin was cracked and burnt and raw, and blood seeped through the fissures in the cauterization where the bone was flush with the skin itself. The pain was unimaginable, more than anything Kendra had ever experienced, more than anything she ever could have imagined. Here and there, the world seemed fuzzy, her feet unsure; she staggered once or twice, but would take a deep breath and push herself, calling on the Force to keep her moving. She would not fall.

As she neared the mercenary and the Sith, she saw the remarkable site that took place there. The merc was able to move just right and bring the blade across the Sith's throat. As blood spurted from the gash and painted the mercenary, Kendra's stomach turned; she'd seen horror in lightsaber combat, but never so much blood. It reminded her of the civilian man she'd seen torn apart when she brought down the battle hydra, some poor civilian fool that wasn't fast enough getting out of his speeder. She wanted to look away, but her eyes refused; as disturbed and disgusted as she was, she was also fascinated by the mercenary's capabilities. She'd never seen someone win a lightsaber duel without a lightsaber before. Impressive.Then, in proper style, the mercenary booted the dying man forward-- but was surprised when the blade flashed up. For a moment Kendra's heart lurched as she thought the blade might have cut clean through the merc's head, but as he recovered, she saw it was a near miss.

Thankful, she turned about to see a speeder fly past, wiping out with a Sith she hadn't even noticed. How did she miss that? It occurred to her that she was spending so much of her focus on keeping herself standing that her Force Sense was lacking, and she'd not noticed his resonance in the Force. Thankfully he was dealt with by the man who piloted the speeder, dismounting to elated troops.

The mercenary, who seemed to have taken charge in the power vacuum of the retreat, urged that they move on. Some ran back to set charges, some forward to keep moving. Kendra tried to run, but staggered; she wasn't sure how much longer she could keep this up.

She reached out with the Force-- a weak, frail hand in comparison to the strong and decisive one she wielded earlier-- to find the Jedi padawan. If he sensed her, he would sense her unbearable pain and her inability to go much further. Consciousness was getting more and more difficult to hold on to as agony scraped at her mind, and she knew she wouldn't make it to their rally point without help.

Not Logan · Aug 6, 2013

Logan awoke, disoriented, and unsure of how long he had blacked out, in the carcass of the transport he had been on. In his half-capable ears he heard the sound of blaster fire and lightsabers. The smoke of the transport was burning his nose and as he started to pull himself up he realized that his squad was gone. As he stood up, a spike of pain tore through his right leg and proceeded to burst up into his spine. It was obvious to him that something was wrong, but this was war, and the only chance he had was to find his squad. He pulled himself out of the wreckage and lifted his blaster carbine. Seeing imperials in the distance he thought about firing some potshots, but decided that his only chance of survival was to find a squad. He continued to limp out into what he recognized as usually being a busy area, but now was abandoned and scarred by the battle. War was nothing he believed it would've been, he thought it'd be glorious, that he'd be a certain hero, but it was hell, and now he was a victim. As he pulled himself forward he grabbed his radio and attempted to contact someone out there.

"Mayday! Mayday! Soldier Down! Soldier Down! Private Logan Jones, Combat Demolition Specialist attached to 2nd Squad, Foxtrot Platoon, Delta Company, 212th Infantry. My squad is missing, our transport was downed, Is anyone near Quadrant Golf Eight-Zero? repeat, Golf Eight-Zero, is anyone in the area surrounding Golf Eight-Zero?"

Seeing an imperial position he made sure his carbine was set to automatic and attempted to open fire, He pulled his trigger...

Nothing...

He took his carbine and checked the tibanna gas. perfectly full. he checked the trigger, undamaged absolutely nothing about the carbine suggested that it shouldn't be able to fire. His carbine had just jammed, no real reason behind it, it just happened to decide to lock up at the time he needed it most. He cursed under his breath. This is exactly the kind of thing that would happen to him. He armed his explosives, just as a last resort. He was going to make it out of here, or at the very least he was going to take down some of these sith *******. Suddenly he saw a mercenary, what he assumed to be jedi, and fellow soldiers moving quickly towards his position. He attempted to wave them and and started simply yelling out. "FRIENDLY! FRIENDLY!"

Kartikeyan · Aug 6, 2013

If anything to describe it, Arai felt more alert. Something about his engagements with the sith were given him a stronger focus. Even in his exhausted condition, the struggle from earlier today still had its toll on him and only had little rest in the Black Series. He was trying not to use so much of the force. The dark side was growing on Coruscant, eating away at the light and corrupting the force to something tarnished by evil. It was everywhere and creeping in. If they did not hurry, all of them would perish.

In the aftermath of the groups minor setback of a sith obstacle, all four of the dark siders were defeated. Two of which by non-force users. They had no skills with a lightsaber and could not use the force. They did not need to, non-force users have their own set of skills and abilities that make each of them a singular individual of recognition. The mercenary fought toe to toe with a sith and came out victorious. The other man came out of no where and managed to run over a sith and stun him, jt was genius. The men who also covered their flank against the Imperials were also astonishing. One soldier ran out of ammunition and flung his blaster rifle into an Imperial troop's head, cracking his skull. No one was going to give up until they returned to the force.

Now they all were once again using every ounce of strength they had left to make it to Quadrant Eighty. Arai could feel several of them starting to weaver, give up but Arai did would he could to help nudge some courage in to those who started to become tainted. It was just then that the mines placed down just minutes ago began to catch prey in violent explosions straight to hell. He could feel a little relief come over them but the mission was not over yet, they still had three hundred meters to go.

Something touched at him in the force like a frail hand in so much pain even he felt wounded by it. His eyes widen at the realization of who it was coming from, the other jedi. The rain was pouring down so hard Arai had to narrow his eyes, fixing his deep grey eyes over to her. Her pace was slowing down as she staggered, know doubt her wounds were taking a large toll on her. He quickly ran over to her side. “We're almost there Master, just hold out a little more. You here that? Those mines they set down are slowing down the Imperials. With that buying us time we will be able to make it.” He said to her, taken her uninjured arm over his right shoulder and left arm wrapped around her back under her arm, supporting her by her armpit to help her run as fast she could with his aid. She was not his master, but he got the feeling that she was a knight or master, either way, he respected her with the title. He had to do what he could for her, especially now that Imperial bombers were dropping bombs down on them, trying to destroy them now with everything they had. Just who was giving them these orders? Despite it appearing to be desperate, Arai's analytical mind saw something of a tactical plot, carefully orchestrated in a sequence pattern, a game of escape. At least if they can keep running they have a chance to outrun and avoid the blast from the bombs, hopefully.

"FRIENDLY! FRIENDLY!"

Arai heard someone yell out, looking over her head he saw a man in a black Alliance uniform waving out and in front of him was a imperial troop taking up aim. No! From that distance, Arai knew he would not make it in time. not enough to cut back to save him and return to his fellow jedi. One of them was going to be killed by as blaster or explosion. This was the second time today he was feeling what it is like to hold the lives of others in your hands. He wanted to distract the imperial some how but he was already taken up aim. The imperial was quick to pull the the trigger to kill the Alliance official, but not before a smoldering blue bolt of energy destroyed his neck fired by a fellow GA soldier. Arai grinned, he liked how they took care of each other like that. The determination to see this through was growing strong, they knew they were close.

Nothing could stop them now.

Or could it?

Arai heard an explosion go off close by that made him stumble in his pace, keeping a tight hold around her. Then it happened again, this time it was closer to where he saw the flash of the explosion as it fell from the sky thirty meters in front of the group. The bombers were making another round when they suddenly exploded from artillery cannons posted at Quadrant 80. He smirked triumphantly as they had finally made it. The rest of the bombers retreated, daring not to be in range of the cannons. Arai let out a sigh of relief. "I am padawan Arai Munkaira, I just want to let everyone know that just in case something happens to me, its been a honor fighting along side each and every one of you." He said out to the entire group in a casual, tired tone, but on the inside he was truly glad.

EnderM5 · Aug 8, 2013

Emile listened to the rather depressing words of the Jedi, and then moved on with the rest of the group. As he walked with the now utterly exhausted soldiers, he thought about any rewards these poor troopers might be getting from the GA. "I wonder if I would get any awards?" he thought to himself. Then, he grinned. It would be pretty ironic if the people who he was fighting against most of the time were the ones to give him an award.

They crossed out of the path in the woods that they had been following for most of the time, and stepped out into a sprawling neighborhood. "Or rather, ex-neighborhood," he thought grimly to himself. The entire area was completely leveled, offering almost no cover. The entire group hesitated, each thinking the same thing, "Death trap."

Emile raised his hand and called to the man who seemed to be in charge of the group, "Ehh... Forgive me, but I don't think we should walk through this area..." The man sighed and called back, "As do I. We have to go through here to get back to base, as dangerous as it is." Emile nodded, and turned back to looking at the plain. Any people walking through that would be subject to mines, snipers, and ambushes from the treeline. It was not going to be a cakewalk.

The man called out, and they began moving forward. Single-file, to lessen the chance of walking over mines. That man, chivalrously, took the front. A good idea. The demoralized men needed to see that their captain would fight with them, not just sit back in safety while the soldiers did the fighting.

They were about half-way through when Emile heard it. He saw the Jedi perk his head up as well. Probably a result of the Force. The soldiers seemed to notice nothing. It was faint at first, a faint whining, similar to the one you heard in your ears while you were trying to sleep. It was steadily growing louder and deeper in pitch, and it was coming from the east.

Emile racked his brains for what it reminded him of. Suddenly, he had it. The Jedi, however, beat him to the punch, and called out exactly what was in his mind already. "GUNSHIP!" Just in time, as the gunship loomed up over the treetops.

Instant action.

The troopers hit the ground, spreading out, screaming to get to cover. It was obviously a move that they had learned in training. One soldier was unfortunate enough to land on a mine when he dived. It exploded, taking 3 other men with him.

The gunship was similar to the ones that the clones used, back in the days of the clone wars, except highly modified. It was painted jet black, and it seemed that the place where normally troops would sit, was transformed into a gun rack. There was only one pilot, but 2 wingtip gunners. They passed over the line of soldiers, dropping a bomb. There were fortunately no immediate casualties, but some were hit by shrapnel from the blast.

The ship turned back, its guns blazing paths of fire towards the soldiers, sending troopers flying into the air. Some moaned when they landed and clutched the stumps where their limbs used to be. Others lay ominously still.

Emile crawled over to where the Jedi lay. He yelled to be heard over the noise, "I'm going to try to take it out!" pointing at the gunship, that was now circling around for another pass. "Wanna help?!" He grinned fiercely and nodded. And then Emile screamed what it is he wanted the Jedi to do.

As the gunship passed overhead, the Jedi stood up, forming his hands into a step that Emile jumped onto. The Jedi threw his arms up, and Emile jumped up; simultaneously boosting his height with the force, while the Jedi did the same.

He grabbed onto one of the gun turrets. The Imperial soldier inside yelled and glared at him. But he could do nothing, because Emile was hanging onto the gun barrel itself. Emile took his crossbow out of its holster, pressed a button, and it "un-collapsed." He fired point blank through the glass, a meter long bolt which broke thorugh, and pierced the gunner's right arm, pinning it to the wall behind it. He screamed in pain, and collapsed in his seat, grabbing at the bolt which protruded out of his limb. Emile calmly said, "Sorry about that," and continued climbing toward the cockpit.

He finally got there, just barely. The pilot, by now, had figured out what was happening and was now jerking wildly in the air, hoping to throw Emile off. Emile climbed up, until he was on the rim of the glass, plastered completely against it for balance. His hand dropped towards the holster in his belt, hoping to pull off the same thing he did with the gunner. No such luck. The pilot was ready for him, and fired a few bullets at Emile, through the glass. Emile saw what he was doing and dodged the bullets. However, as the glass shattered, the place on which he was resting all of his weight on disappeared, and Emile fell through the hole and onto the floor of the cockpit. The pilot, who was standing, between the chair and the control panel, turned around, his blaster sights ready to swivel onto Emile...

He never got that far.

Emile was quicker, and pulled out his crossbow just in time to send a dart through the helmeted person's gun arm, pinning it to the control panel, forcing the pilot to drop the gun from nerveless fingers. Thankfully, the arm and the bolt both missed any important buttons. He had been playing a nightmare scenario in his head where the pilot's arm jerked against the controls, and the ship immediately spiraled downward, doing a nosedive into the ground.

The pilot yelled, cradling his arm. As Emile moved closer to the control panel, he swung his other hand wildly, managing to clip Emile in the bony ridge above the eye, drawing blood. A red rage took Emile over. "You're going to wish you hadn't done that!" It wasn't a life-threatening injury, but it hurt like hell. He shot another dart into the other arm, pinning it to the seat where the pilot normally sat. He was forced to his knees in front of Emile, one arm higher than the other on the control board, and one lower on the seat.

Emile tore off the helmet. Behind the helmet, he turned out to be a she. And a remarkably pretty one at that. She glared at him, yelling, "If I wasn't pinned like this, I'd-" He leered in front of her face, "You'd what?!" She stopped, hesitated. Emile continued, "You know, you're quite the looker!" She spat in his face. "I'd normally take you with me. I happen to know a Hutt who likes his dancing girls..." Emlie smiled, "But, you know. As they say, a good pilot goes down with his ship."

Her defiant expression paled. "See ya! Woulnd't wanna be ya!" Emile disabled the chip that, as a fail-safe, if the pilot went away from the console without turning on autopilot, caused the ship to hover in the air. He then aimed the ship downwards, and fired the accelerators. As the ship neared the ground, he went out the way he came in, out the window. Emile jumped to the side just as the ship slammed to the ground. He was met with raucous cheers.

He waved them all away, saying, "Get back to base alive, then you can give your praise and adoration..."

Livgardist · Aug 8, 2013

The group had reached an open area filled with rubble and debris - and probably landmines. Quadrant G80 was on the other side. It was a sniper's wet dream, a death trap for the soldiers. Gutterson gritted his teeth hard. Somebody spoke up:

"Ehh... Forgive me, but I don't think we should walk through this area..."

Somebody else who thought himself suitable to be in command, an Alliance captain, replied:
"As do I. We have to go through here to get back to base, as dangerous as it is."

Gutterson closed his eyes for a moment, heaving a sigh. Soldiers... The man took charge as the soldiers formed a single file and began to move out into the open area, rifles raised and aimed at the surrounding buildings. Gutterson's entire body resisted when he forced it to join the soldiers. He picked up a pistol from a dead soldier, and raised it. It wouldn't do much againt a sniper, but it was all he had. He let it sweep the surroundings together with his eyes as they moved. Each step was nervewrecking, each of the soldiers just waiting to step on a landmine.

And then, a sound reached their ears. A cold hand grasped the pit of Gutterson's stomach as he realized what it stemmed from. Somebody yelled out:
"GUNSHIP!"

The entire group, despite their exhaustion, reacted instantly by doing what they were trained to do. They scattered. On a minefield. An explosion shook the ground, sending limbs flying everywhere, as an unfortunate soldier landed on a mine. Then, like a giant black hornet, the gunship appeared above them. Gutterson, having crouched next to a ruined concrete fundament with the body of the wounded soldier next to him, looked up, teeth gritted. He knew he couldn't do anything with a pistol. Not against a gunship. He watched as a bomb dislodged from the ship, falling towards them almost as if in slow motion. When it landed, a violent explosion tore apart the ground, sending shrapnel flying in a fifty meter radius. Gutterson crouched, pulling his head down as he heard shrapnel hit the concrete.

Screams followed. Horrible, agonized screams. Soldiers clutching bloody stumps of limbs they no longer had. Burning, charred bodies. Gutterson gritted his teeth so hard they screamed with pain. A charred arm was lying in front of him, its owner being the wounded soldier he had dragged with him throughout the entire retreat. Slowly, almost in disgust, he picked up the arm and shoved it into a backpack. He wanted to throw up. Then he watched a Jedi and one of the random people they had picked up along the way, as they launched the latter upwards to an impossible height, to the gunship. His brain caught on quickly. The Force...

His attention was pulled elsewhere by a sudden scream from a soldier. The Imps were attacking again, coordinating with the arrival of the gunship. Gutterson raised his pistol and fired several shots as he yelled:

"To the left, Section 1, to the right, Section 2. Section 1, retreat! Section 2, suppressing fire! Move on top of obstacles as much as you can!"

The soldiers caught on. Those to his left spun around and began to run, dragging those wounded with them that they could, moving from stone to stone, to concrete lump, to wrecked speeder, avoiding the ground as much as they could. Those to the right, including Gutterson himself, remained in position, opening fire on the approaching Sith with such ferocity that the Imperials were taken aback, and ducked for cover. Gutterson exhaled in relief at this. Behind him he heard somebody shout:

"Ready!"

"Section 2, move!" Gutterson growled, heaving his wounded protégé up on his shoulders in a fireman's grip. The group spun around and began to run backwards, using the same mine-avoiding tactics as section 1 had. Gutterson shouted: "Veer to the left! Make distance between yourselves!" Ugh... Micromanaging roughnecks in the middle of a mine field..., he thought to himself. Could this day get any worse? The soldiers, however, did as he had told them, gaining distance both to each other and to section 1 sideways, so that nobody would take other soldiers with them if they stepped on a mine, and so that section 1 would have a clear cone of fire to suppress the Imps. He had to hand it to them - the Alliance soldiers caught on quickly.

Suddenly, an explosion caught his attention. He watched as the gunship crashed into the ground, and was swallowed up by an enormous cloud of fire. One of the civilians they had taken along was moving away from the gunship. Cheers erupted from the soldiers. He waved at them, and said: "Get back to base alive, then you can give your praise and adoration..."

Gutterson barked at them, cutting the cheers short:
"Focus!" The soldiers slid into cover behind whatever they could find, and Gutterson shouted: "Ready!" Section 1 began to move again.

This maneuver continued, slowly, towards the other end of the minefield. Snipers began to take hotshots at them, but the Imps were holding back when they realized they were moving through a minefield. But they were running out of ammunition, and they were exhausted. It was a thoroughly beaten-into-the-ground unit that stumbled out of harm's way when they reached the other side of the large minefield, their force decimated to half during the process of crossing the area. Once they reached relative safety, or at least cover, of buildings, Gutterson growled:

"Squad column!" The soldiers did just that, moving into a column. Gutterson growled again: "Those of you who carry wounded, move, do not stop until you reach the Quadrant! The rest of you, firing positions. Retreat in corridor formation!" Military commands he hadn't used in a long time began to come back to him out of sheer necessity. The two soldiers in the front caught on quickly, as did those dragging wounded with them. Those with wounded unceremoniously began to retreat towards Quadrant G80, now in sight less than fifty meters away, marked by a high concrete wall with an open gate in it. Those two in the front held up their weapons and ran through the center of the column to the rear, where they took up firing positions towards the sides and rear. Meanwhile, those now in the front turned towards the enemy and opened fire, until a "Ready" came from the rear, telling them it was time to move.

The group moved slower now, but there was no real threat any more. With the Imps still stuck on the other side, afraid to cross the minefield, and the snipers having no line of sight thanks to the buildings they were now in the cover of, there was little that could threaten them. Soon, the first of the soldiers stumbled into Quadrant G80, where they were greeted by Alliance soldiers fresh and well-rested. The soldiers took over the burden of the wounded, offered the exhausted soldiers rested shoulders to lean on, handed out water bottles and hot field rations.

"Who is in command here?" A Bothan officer suddenly called out.

"I suppose that would be me." Gutterson muttered as he limped through the gates, one soldier on his shoulders, and another leaning against him for support. Somebody took care of the two soldiers. Gutterson stumbled slightly when the weight was taken off of him, but a pair of soldiers quickly helped him stand straight. Now with the adrenaline withdrawing, he realized finally how thoroughly exhausted he was, and found that he didn't even have the energy to remain standing straight by himself. Then he realized one of his legs were bleeding profusely, a piece of metal shrapnel sticking out of the thigh. The pain hit him like a sledgehammer, and he wobbled, again forcing the soldiers to support him. He managed to shoot the Bothan a look, mumbling shortly in a haze of bloodred pain and exhaustion: "You are...?"

"Kaeton Flak, Alliance Military." The Bothan replied. "Well done, mercenary! If you had arrived minutes later, we would have been forced to abandon you and your men. Orders from Command are, we're pulling out, and fast! Sergeant, take this man onboard one of the ships. Make sure he gets some food and water. The same for all of them."

"Yes, Captain." The soldier replied mechanically.

Gutterson, with the help of the two soldiers, moved forward up the ramp into a shuttle, where he was sat down. Before he realized it, he had a hot meal in the form of a field ration in one hand, and a bottle of water next to him. Alliance soldiers were packed like sardines around him. Some were dirty and wounded, those that had worked with him. Others were clean, well-rested, part of the team that had upheld the security of Quadrant G80 to allow for their evacuation at the very last minute. The sun disappeared as the ramp closed, and soon after, Gutterson felt the ship take off.

Moments later, he was asleep, snoring loudly, the field ration spilled out on the floor in front of him.

Tribunal Power · Aug 8, 2013

The Jedi came to her aid when she needed him. Wrapping her arm around his shoulder, she could hear his voice amidst the gunfire, reassuring her and telling her they were almost there. She wanted to believe him.

For some time, she staggered with him, clutching her charred and bloody hand under her armpit. Gore was soaking into her tunic, tinting black-red into the green fabric, soaking through it the way the agony was soaking through her mind. He spoke his name, Arai Munkaira, and declared what an honor it was to fight alongside those present. She might have said something, had she not been focused on maintaining her meditation.

It was difficult, with the pain so intense; she could see the world around her through the Force, but it was distorted and faint, and it felt like tunnel-vision. The Force flowed strong through her, the only reason she still stood, but she wasn't ready to give it up just yet-- she needed it. There were still people dying.

They came to the minefield, and Kendra began to support her own weight again. She would not have the Jedi stumbling into a mind because of her own inability to balance. Leaving her arm around the Jedi, she walked wearily forward, stepping onto the rubble-strewn field that had been laid out before them-- and then came the gunship.

Everyone dropped prone, faces to the dirt. Everyone huddled down, some landing on mines and others waiting for the ship to pass. Kendra didn't. She knew that if she went to the ground, she would not have the strength to get back up; instead, she took a deep breath, and remained perfectly still as her will in the Force stretched out around her. The ship opened fire, and Kendra knew that if it targeted her, she was defenseless... But she wouldn't go down without a fight.

The dirt and the sand and the rubble began to sift away, displaced by a vibration beneath them. Mounds began to rise as holes appeared in the earth, perfectly circular and evenly spaced. Then, one by one, landmines began to lift from the ground. A soldier gasped as one rose beside him, dirst still falling from its edge, and another two within ten feet of it.

As the ship loomed overhead firing down on the squad, Kendra staggered to her knees, bowing her head. Her eyes rolled closed as she hunched down, the incredible use of energy overwhelming her. The slender and petite frame of the Jedi Knight trembled beneath the weight of dozens of landmines, which rose meters off the ground. Then, liek a giant top, a mine hurdled toward the ship. It whizzed past, landing in the background with an concussive blast. Then came another, which clattered along the side of the gunship, detonating in the air behind it; the ship shook, but was unharmed, lucky to have been spared the devestating blow.

Before she could end another, she was shocked to see a man hurdled into the air nearby. His signature was unique, that of a Force-sensitive who knew of his abilities but lacked formarl training. But nearby, Kendra felt another Jedi, apparently assisting the man in his suicidal endeavors. The man closed the discance and boarded the ship, and Kendra stopped the spinning landmines with a wince.

Gunfire erupted behind them. The Imperial forces were pushing them deeper into the field, hoping to scatter them into the mines. Pushing to her feet, Gendra grabbed a fistful of dirt in her right hand and squeezed it, finding an odd feeling of focus from it. She staggered to plant her feet on the ground again and turned around; as everyone faced the ship, Kendra turned to face the Imperials. With a deep breath, a drawn hollar and a feirce push, Kendra sent all of the mines she had toward the Imperial advance.

A dozen explosions ripped through the earth at once as Kendra stumbled back, reaching for her padawan ally. Now was the time; the group followed the merc's orders, and she was no exception, hurrying toward their evac quatrant as the rest of the troops covered them. She wasn't sure how long or how quickly she moved, but when she stopped, she was surrounded by friendly soldiers tending to the wounded, and the Imperials were nowhere to be found.

Kendra watched as the mercenary, along with the majority of the soldiers, were taken to the exfiltration ships. Someone came to her, reaching for her shoulder, her arm, her hand, and she didn't pull away. But as they urged her onward, as she neared the ramp, she felt a sick feeling in her gut-- a familiar feeling.

The other ships began to lift away as Kendra turned to peer back into dusty minefield. A figure strode forward, covered in dark metal armor and wreathed in a black hooded cloak. Long, confident strides carried him toward the exfil ships, and in his hand was a long metal hilt. His face was obscured by dust and shadow, but Kendra knew the presence of a Sith Crusader when she felt it.

Her heart sank into her stomach. She had to challenge him, or he could do unspeakable damage to the ships-- he could even bring them down. These men had seen too much, fought too hard, to suffer a Crusader now.

No, this was her affair. Hers, and hers alone. If, by the Force, she still lived when the fighting was done, she would find another way off this world.

Solemnly, she stepped off the ramp of the ship and fell to the dusty ground, landing to her one knee and slowly dragging herself to stand. The hilt of her master's lightsaber filled her surviving hand, and she began slow, agonizing steps toward the threat. The sound of shouts behind her, sounding out "No!" and "Stand down!", were drowned out by the ships lifting away.

She reached out for her padawan ally. Part of her hoped that he had found his way aboard one of the ships and was evacuationg, and yet... Part of her hoped he followed her off the ship, feeling the evil as well.

The wounded Sentinel watched as two crimson blades crept from the Crusader's hilt, one from each end, and took a deep breath. Kendra would strike at him with everything she had, and she would certainly die, but it would keep him away from the evac ships. Those men would live...

And that was worth dying for.

Kartikeyan · Aug 9, 2013

Arai moved along with the group, his lightsaber no longer activated as he helped the other jedi. Being this close to her he could smell blood and cooked human flesh over the moister in the air. He could even feel the palm of his left hand wet with her blood. When they came to an area that had been wiped out by what appeared to be explosives, Arai took a close look at the surrounding rubble, the hollow silence in the air. He got the same feeling that many of the soldier's were feeling. It was obviously a trap but they didn't have the time to find another way.

In a single file they moved forward, the female jedi gained the strength to carry her own weight through the field but Arai kept his arm around her, didn't want her to fall onto a mine given her condition. He used the force to give him balance and helped him find stable places to land his feet. They were good, the whole idea was working without a problem and then his force sense tingled.

Just as he heard someone yell out gunship, he saw the assault vessel in the air. Soldiers began to drop down or run out of formation, their stupidity causing them to trigger mines blasting body parts into the air. Instinctively his lightsaber was already alive, taken up a defensive stance in front of the wounded jedi as the gunship started firing at group.

Arai deflected away blaster fire that came at him and fellow injured jedi in a rapid succession so fast his blade was only a blurred motion of neon blue streaks fanning in the air. One bolt even managed to find its way back to one of the gunship's cannons and dispose of it, causing smoke a thin smoke trail from the destroyed cannon but one was still firing.

As it passed by, Arai felt a powerful surge in the force coming from the other Jedi. He watched as she used the force to pick up the landmines out of the ground and start hurdling them at the gunship. The gunship was shaking and swerving as mines detonated around it. No doubt the pilot was having a difficult time evading them from hitting their ship.

He was wrong to think that he was done seeing anything spectacular but even while mines were in exploding in the air, a man was tossed into the air aided by someone who could use the force, another jedi was nearby assisting them with the gunship. 'Excellent' he thought to himself. She had ceased to throw anymore once the man boarded the gunship but they had even bigger problem on their hands once again.

Under the sound of the explosions going off from soldiers triggering a chain reaction of explosions, Arai could hear through the force the sound of armor clad soldiers approaching from the back. The Imperials had caught up to them and he was quick to face them, but in front of him stood the wounded jedi. He watched and hear as she furiously yelled out while sending the rest of the mines like a wide net at the Imperials and in an instant, Arai felt all them disappear in a single violent explosion.

“Even with her injuries and exhaustion she can still use that much power in the force?” He questioned to himself before he went back to her aid, completely stunned. At hearing the command of the mercenary to move on, Arai moved quickly as he could with the other jedi in his grasp. Soon, he found himself able to relax at the sight of Quadrant Eighty, still roaming with soldiers. “Good, we made it.” Flak kept his word about not leaving them. Arai sighed out with a pleased smirk.

When the other jedi was taken away by medics, Arai began to head to his starfighter. The black crystalline coat of Black Series left the vessel almost unnoticeable in dark places, but coming close to it one might catch the red photoreceptor of S3. The droid gave a sad long wooing sound as it noticed his master arrive with his head down. “I'm alright S-3” Arai said as he leaped onto the ship as the cockpit hatch opened up.

He was about to drop down into the cockpit but then he felt her, the other jedi, reach to him in the force. His head quickly turned around to see that she was not on any of the transports but was heading away from them. Just what in the world is sh--, he stopped thinking than closed his eyes to focus. There was a presence close by powerful in the dark side, stronger than anything he faced today and was even more potent than the one that was able to injure her.

“Blast!” Arai cursed as he hopped down off the starfighter and ran towards her. He was frustrated, not at the arrival of another sith but that she would stay behind to challenge the sith, even in her condition. Alone she would die against the sith one on one, but with Arai's help they might be able to get lucky. He slowly walked up beside her just as the sith ignited two red blades in each of his hands.

“You made it all the way back here alive just to stay here and die. Sorry, but I didn't carry you all the way here just to see you die. Forgive me master but,” Arai said to her while looking at the sith with a serious expression, feeling his hatred and cruelty growing. Taken hold of his and Ren's lightsaber, holding his blue blade in his right hand and green in his left, Arai had a plan to start off mirroring the sith in Jar'Kai. “you're not going to die out here and we can take him together.”

His chest felt heavy as if he was under a great burden, but he ignored that to concentrate on mustering up the force inside him. His body felt lighter and did not ache so much. Pain was put to the side along with his discomfort and doubt, but he was not afraid to face the dark side, not while he still had the light to show him the way.

Ten10dix · Aug 9, 2013

Damn Alliance.

Captain Jonas K. Leroy, formerly of the Heroic Star Destroyer "Justicar", took a couple of steps from his crashed escape pod. He hated escape pods. Ironically, he had a major fear of heights, though he would never admit such a thing, and shooting towards a burning planet which was probably, by now, in enemy hands, was not at all good for his mental health. He looked around, glancing briefly at the three men that managed to jump into the escape pod with him before the ship went down. Ensign Lory and two marines, Patterson and Jor. Lory looked as if he would be sick, as pale as snow and was shaking far too much. The marines started checking their equipment, he guessed such a thing relieved the pressure of being behind enemy lines with no certainty of escape.

He shrugged off the initial shock of the fall, berating himself for hesitating and immediately started barking out orders.

"Marines! Scan the area for any Imperial or Sith forces, lay low. Recon only, and stay close. Ensign!"

The marines nodded and went on their way, one went north of the pod and the other south, hiding behind debris and using their equipment to scan the area. Lory, however, was still shaking and sat on the ground, mumbling to himself.

Captain Leroy sighed, and walked over to the quivering ensign. He grabbed him, and pulled him up.

"Ensign! Look lively now! We have work to do! Look at me! Hey! Hey!

Lory looked up, the fear overly apparent in his eyes.

"You got that datapad of yours?"

Lory nodded.

"Good. Now, I need you to find out where we are and locate the nearest Alliance position, got that? Hey! Got that?"

Lory nodded and, his hands still shakin, took out his datapad. He begun pressing buttons, and Leroy nodded. He turned back to the marines.

"We got anything?"

Suddenly an explosion rang out. Patterson quickly whispered for everyone to get down, and get down they did. Leroy looked over at Patterson. Jor came up from behind, giving the all clear sign.

"What did you see, Marine?"

Another explosion rang out. And another. Not artillery, too random for that.

"Gunship sir, was all I could see. My guess is some of the Alliance is hold up north of our position, and the Imps are trying to dislodge them."

Leroy was about to issue orders, but Lory spoke up.

Uhm, Sir? I... Well, that is, I've found the nearest Alliance outpost. According to this, they set up an evacuation point nearby. Northeast of us.

"Good work Ensign. That means the Imperials must be targeting more stragglers like us, who like us must be trying to head to an Alliance place and evacuate. Engisn?

"Sir?"

"You and the marines head to the Alliance base. I'll head north, catch up with the stragglers. They may need help getting back. When you get to the base, try and get them to send reinforcements.

Lory nodded, and a few minutes later the trio departed. Leroy didn't want to get them killed, they were his men after all, but the commotion up north sounded bad, and the soldiers their may need help. The battle was already lost, no point in denying that. The only to to harm the Sith now was getting as many Alliance personal off planet to cause mayhem for the Sith later on. Leroy nodded, seemed like a plan to him. It wasn't as if he had any family left to go to, or anything waiting for him in the aftermath. Might as well make himself useful.

He drew his blaster pistol and jogged up north. He managed to get their in time to see the Alliance forces retreating. His mind drifted for a second, noting how shabby the retreat was, but he quickly came back to earth. Seemed like the Alliance didn't need his help after all. Then he heard a moan. He glanced to his right. An Alliance soldier, a sergeant by the looks of it, was bleeding on the ground, a nasty piece of shrapnel stuck in his leg. Again, Leroy sighed, knowing he should really just take off east and rejoin the evacuation center.

If I survive this, and I don't rescue that guy, I am really going to regret it. If I try and rescue him, I risk being killed. Quite the conundrum...

Another explosion ringed out. A few more scattered blaster shots.

To hell with this, lets get it over with.

Leroy rushed over to the Sergeant, immediately ordering him to "Shut his mouth". He tried lifting him up, but found he couldn't. He was momentarily confused. This guy seemed like an average male, why isn't he being lifted up? He glanced over his shoulder quickly, then looked back at the sergeant. He scanned around the wound, until realizing the shrapnel wasn't shrapnel, but a post of some sort going right through his leg. He must of been blown to the ground and then got impaled in the leg somehow. The sergeant took out a knife, and looked Leroy in the eye. Leroy took the knife, ripped the sleeve off of his uniform and tied it around the upper leg.

"This is going to hurt, but please don't make too much noise, ok?"

The sergeant nodded, and Leroy began cutting.

Blood spurted everywhere. Leroy, while being used to blood, was feeling sick. It just seemed to go on and on, the blood spurting out here and there, covering his uniform in bright red liquid. The sergeant screamed and screamed, which drove Leroy to cut faster, which lead to more blood and more screaming. He really had to work through the bone, but he eventually managed to cut right through it. The leg rolled to the ground, and the sergeant had passed out. Leroy stood up, ever so shocked by what he had just done.

Come on! You are Captain Leroy! Stop this pathetic nonsense and pick this guy up!

He grabbed the sergeant's back and remaining leg, heaving him up and grunting as he made his way towards the Alliance base. Thankfully no Imperials had stuck around to see what had happened, probably discouraged by the minefield they had run into, or what he guessed was a minefield. Whatever the reason, Leroy didn't care. He just started directly ahead, not noticing the sounds of fighting elsewhere, or the explosions which seemed to infest the planet. Some fighters zoomed by overhead, one crashing into an already burning building, bringing it crashing down. Leroy just moved on, knowing if he hesitated for even a second, he would never get to the Alliance base.

Eventually he made it. The last few Alliance soldiers rushed out, some medics relieved him of the unconscious sergeant. A commotion was going on by a nearby building however. An argument. From what Leroy could tell, people had been left behind and no official search parties would be sent off. Leroy looked over at the ship. He looked back at the men. After a slight hesitation, he approached the men.

"You need any help?"

EnderM5 · Aug 10, 2013

Emile was in line, getting ready to board one of the last evac shuttles. He sighed as the line proceeded slowly, stop, go, stop go; then got back to the task at hand.

"How do I get out of here?"

Emile somehow had to sneak aboard the ship, without giving out his identity to any officials. His name would be entered into a computer, his crime record would pop up with dozens of red flags, and they'd be onto him like flies to bantha fodder.

The line proceeded, until he was on the ramp, coming into the ship. Sure enough, there was a soldier there, checking off names on his clipboard, and entering them into a nearby computer to ensure they had everybody. Emile rummaged around in his backpack he always had with him, full of the chemicals and toxins he frequently used. He quickly found the chem he was looking for: Yttrieqium. Just his luck. He still had one more Pad that wasn't ruined by the fall he took.

As his turn neared, he stumbled and fell against the person asking for names. As he "stumbled," he slid the Pad onto the palm of the other person's hand. "You all right, soldier?!" He asked Emile. Emile said, "I'm fine, just tripped, thanks." "You're the one who's not going to be fine pretty soon..." he thought.

Suddenly, the other person's eyes rolled up in his head, his knees buckled, and he fell to the ground; unconscious. He would remain that way for about 3 minutes. Emile yelled, "We need a medic over here!" and then sprinted into the ship, yelling, "I'll get some water." He did no such thing, however, and as soon as he was out of sight, he ducked into a nearby cargo compartment, sealing the door shut behind him.

It was cramped and uncomfortable. Most of the space was taken up by a large box, open at the top. Emile decided to climb in, to get some more space for himself. He stuck his arm in, and immediately drew it out, muttering savagely, "Shit!" For that was what it was. Bantha poodoo. "Why the frak are they even hauling this stuff?!"

He stayed in the cramped compartment area, resigning himself to a long and smelly voyage...

Livgardist · Aug 13, 2013

Music
EPILOGUE

Hammer of Beltran
Galactic Alliance Starcruiser
Ten days later

Gutterson wasn't one for tears. But when he saw the dozens of empty coffins lining the docking bay of the Hammer of Beltran, the coffins of soldiers fallen during this last mission to safeguard the Galactic Alliance's evacuation, he couldn't help but feel a heavy lump in his stomach. Soldiers, jedi, mercenaries. They were all the same when they were dead. And most of these poor men were not even present at their own funeral. Their bodies had been left behind on the battlefield, their comrades unable to bring them and their government unable to retrieve them. The sniffles and suppressed crying of the families of soldiers lost stabbed at his heart as he lowered his head.

Colonel Harkett of the Galactic Alliance military was wearing a dress uniform full of medals for everything from valor to bleeding for the Alliance, as he walked up to the podium. He cleared his throat as he began to speak:

"We have gathered here today to take our final farewell to brave soldiers and knights who willingly risked their lives in this final stage of the war, to protect their brothers and sisters in arms, their friends and families, and the innocent civilians of Coruscant, who have been caught in the crossfire of this great conflict." He closed his eyes for a moment before continuing: "I would not be here today to honor our fallen had it not been for these very fallen soldiers. None of us would have. Merely attempting to leave Coruscant would have left us scattered as burning debris over this once so beautiful ecumenopolis. For this I will be forever grateful." He took a deep breath. His voice trembled slightly as he pressed on:

"I do not now pity the parents of the dead who stand here; I would rather comfort them. You know that your dead have passed away amid manifold vicissitudes; and that they may be deemed fortunate who have gained their utmost honor, whether an honorable death like theirs, or an honorable sorrow like yours, and whose share of happiness has been so ordered that the term of their happiness is likewise the term of their life. I know how hard it is to make you feel this, when the good fortune of others will too often remind you of the gladness which once lightened your hearts. And sorrow is felt at the want of those blessings, not which a man never knew, but which were a part of his life before they were taken from him."

"To you who are the sons, daughters, brothers and sisters of the departed, I see that the struggle to emulate them will be an arduous one. For all men praise the dead, and, however preeminent your virtue may be, I do not say even to approach them, and avoid living their rivals and detractors, but when a man is out of the way, the honor and goodwill which he receives is unalloyed."

"Finally, I would like to say to those brave men and women who still stand here before us today. I would like to say only one thing - thank you. And to my fellow citizens of the Galactic Alliance, in this hour of apparent doom, I will say this. Steel your hearts for what is to come. But be ever hopeful. There will come a time when we once again may openly call ourselves citizens of the Galactic Alliance. Until that day, let us carry the courage of these our finest men and women, as something to aspire towards. Let us never be content with being anything less. Let us never be content with calling ourselves second-rate citizens in a second-rate empire. I for one would rather die on my feet, than live on my knees, an ideal I share with these great men and women that we, today, bid our final farewell of."

He put down the paper he had read from, offered the gathered crowd a final nod, and stepped down. The orchestra began to play another melody, marking the end of the ceremony.

Gutterson felt a single tear trail its way down his cheek as he watched the coffins being carried away one by one by family members to be incinerated. He felt sick in his stomach. He felt as if, when the captain had been blown to pieces leaving him to take command, he had somehow failed them. Far too many had died that day. Far too many brothers and sisters in arms. It had not been a battlefield. It had been a killing field. Gutterson was used to seeing blood and death. But he had never before survived a suicide mission like this. He had never before seen such death.

He walked unsteadily up to the bar that had been set up for the surviving soldiers, and nodded to the bartender.
"Whiskey." He muttered.

As soon as the bartender had poured him the glass, he emptied it instantly.

Tribunal Power · Aug 17, 2013

The medication Kendra was on helped to numb the pain in her hand, but it did nothing for the agony she felt inside when she looked on the boxes of the dead, some filled and some empty. There is no death; there is the Force, she would tell herself each time she felt another stab of grief in her chest. The officer got up and said his pretty words; very moving, but it didn't do the men justice.

Hour of apparent doom. The Sith kicked in the front door and took their home. The Alliance was falling apart now, its cornerstone removed and the foundation crumbling. The Order was scattered and dispersed. Kendra barely made it off the war-covered world alive, hitching a ride with Master Novan and following him on a rescue tour she spend most of unconscious. She didn't remember a lot about the last ten days, but she did remember the condition of the space they were squatting in now, and the rumors of not only the Alliance being fractured and disbanded, but the New Jedi Order as well.

When the memorium was done, she turned away from the crowd dizzily with a foul taste in her mouth. At least the military had the good sense to put a bar up for the survivors. Wandering her way to the counter, one arm slung in a bandage with her hand wrapped in linen that was spotted with red, she used her good hand to tap on the bar and get the tender's attenton. "Corellian vodka," she asked, and the barkeep nodded and went to prepare it.

Beside her stood a familiar face, one she couldn't quite place at first. After a moment of consideration, she remembered the slashing of a Sith throat and an impressive fight against a lightsaber-wielding foe. He was the mercenary she'd fought with, the one who filled the shoes of the field commander and led the survivors to evacuation. She remembered the last-effort slash that caught him unexpectedly on the cheek, and how amazed she was that it was seemingly his only injury.

"How's the eye?" she inquired matter-of-factly, as the bartender laid the tall shot of clear alcohol in front of her. She downed it harshly and let out a hot exhale, expelling the unleasant vapors of the alcohol. It wouldn't mix well with her medication, but one shot wouldn't kill her-- besides, the drugs made her a lightweight, so she doubted she'd need more than one.

The alcohol helped numb the dull and distant ache in her hand, and the effects were quickly felt. Thank goodness for potatoes.

EnderM5 · Aug 19, 2013

One week and 3 hours later, Emile stood listening to the somber words of the captain he had so briefly served under. Good words, in his opinion. People needed to see that life has to go on. "Not for the dead, though..." He thought rather wryly.

Once the service was done, and the soldiers began to move away, leaving the families of the dead to mourn by the caskets, or in some cases, nameplates where there was no body found, Emile moved closer to one casket in particular. "John Tartak," the name said. John had no family or friends to mourn for him, and so the area around his casket was empty.

John Tartak was the poor soul that Emile had dragged most of their brutal escape. He had died of his wounds the day after the retreat. How depressing, to work so hard for something only to have it destroyed...

Emile laid his palm on the casket near the nameplate, as a silent, final farewell. Then, Emile turned, and walked out the door.

He gently peeled off his face, and tossed it into a nearby waste bin. He hated the feel of those masks.

That's correct. Emile had sneaked in through GA lines, a Wanted man, simply to pay testament to those brave men who died out there. Just because he was against the authority most of the time, didn't mean that he was with the Imps...

Those brave men died out there.

On that road.

That road through hell.

Road to Hell

Livgardist

Royal Henchman | Forum Drifter

Kartikeyan

Returned Soul

Tribunal Power

Hand-to-Hand Wombat

Livgardist

Royal Henchman | Forum Drifter

Tribunal Power

Hand-to-Hand Wombat

EnderM5

That Guy

Kartikeyan

Returned Soul

Livgardist

Royal Henchman | Forum Drifter

Tribunal Power

Hand-to-Hand Wombat

Not Logan

Kartikeyan

Returned Soul

EnderM5

That Guy

Livgardist

Royal Henchman | Forum Drifter

Tribunal Power

Hand-to-Hand Wombat

Kartikeyan

Returned Soul

Ten10dix

Frenchie

EnderM5

That Guy

Livgardist

Royal Henchman | Forum Drifter

Tribunal Power

Hand-to-Hand Wombat

EnderM5

That Guy