Post by Major Xeno on Jun 20, 2011 19:39:02 GMT -5
Fire poured from the sky, and Taris burned. Water evaporated, the decorative beaches turned to glass, and metal superheated, melting and disfiguring. People died in their billions, from falling rock and liquid metal and a million other ways as Taris screamed. Bones snapped, limbs tore, blood splattered and flesh charred.
And Taris fell silent.
Xxxx
Two hundred years later, the first of the long resettlement efforts had begun to bear fruit. A workable atmosphere had been restored, debris cleared for landing pads, and crude living spaces constructed. It was time to rebuild. Human colonists came, from Corellia, Kuat, and Fondor, where overpopulation had finally forced their populations to drift. These Humans had been dockworkers, shipbuilders, designers, and architects. Within ten years, they had reestablished contact with lost survivors. Within twenty, a proper space port and a full city. Within forty, a set of orbital stations.
Taris became an example of sheer Human determination. Progress on the surface was slow, true, but in orbit, massive shipyards had been built, churning out Thranta-class corvettes at record pace. The dockworks expanded, and trade returned to Taris. Prosperity came with it, and business boomed.
The Republic established a Navy base in orbit, to protect the shipyards and the slow terraforming effort. The military was well-respected on Taris, though some lingering harshness from the Jedi Civil War remained.
The children of Taris were brought up in orbit, dancing around laboring workers and earning half-wages by being tool-boys, apprentices, and clerks. They quickly learned the skills of work, and though their childhood was not a happy one, it was a content one.
It was here that one particularly notable child was raised. He excelled in all his classes, became a fully-qualified mechanic by age 12, and ran his own shop by age 16. At age 18, he enlisted in the Republic Army.
By age 28 standard years old, he was CO of Havoc Squad.
Xxxx
Birds and woodland animals fluttered through the shining meadow. Across a gleaming lake, the towers of the capital city of Aldera rose, like long silver stalagmites. This was Alderaan, long hailed as the soul of the Republic. It was Alderaan who first outlawed slavery, Alderaan who spoke out against the atrocities of some members of the Republic, and Alderaan who provided many of the members of the Republic Diplomatic Core.
During the Great Galactic War, Alderaan joined the fighting early, her people eager to uphold the ideals of the Republic. When they returned from long tours of duty on far-flung worlds, they spoke not of the majesty of the Republic, but of the evil of the Sith Empire. Battered war-veterans with prosthetic limbs cried out against the massacres of Republic troops committed by the Sith. The Jedi fought hard for the Republic, but the Sith of the Empire possessed numbers of the Sith more than twice the number of the Jedi, and it showed. Units without Jedi were quickly slaughtered by phantoms. There was no defense against a Force-user but another Force-user. On Alderaan, the battle-scarred survivors trained and drilled their own troops, preparing them with all the experience and knowledge of the Republic’s long wars.
“It’s a good idea, and these boys know what they’re doing. I say we support them.” were the words of Jedi General Dak Windu, when assigned to assess the unit’s program. With this report, the Jedi Council opened up the records of the illustrious Jedi Archives, giving the Alderaanians all the information on the Sith and their powers. Moreover, General Windu joined the regiment, as a technical advisor on Sith/Jedi warfare, and gave monthly reports on their progress. The regiment was over two thousand strong when it entered its first warzone.
It met remarkable success, slaying an all-Sith army of over five hundred Force-wielders. Now forged in battle, the Republic Senate gave the blessing to Alderaan to continue its training programs. Soon more worlds joined Alderaan in its unrelenting regime, creating the first of what now is known as the Special Forces division. Many different species and peoples had recruits, but they always went to Alderaan for training.
These regiments soon proved too large and expensive to field in any sizeable numbers. They were broken down into platoons of 52 men, and sent out in small corvettes that sped to and fro among battlefields, deploying them wherever and whenever they were needed.
Xxxx
The Trooper ducked under the scrap metal overhang and resumed firing, his D4A2 rifle shaking in his hands as it spat bolts of bright red. Across the wreckage-strewn ravine, shadowed figures in black and grey darted forth, igniting crimson blades and shrieking whooping challenges to the soldiers. The Trooper cursed, back-pedaling. As he watched, the lines of Sith hit the Republic forces and began carving into them, striking down troopers with naught but a laugh on their lips and a crazed gleam in their eyes.
The Trooper fired again and again, spraying the Sith with fire, but they just deflected it and continued on. He scoped in on one who was roaring as he decapitated a trooper. With a simple squeeze, the Trooper put a blaster bolt in the back of the Sith’s head. The fool was so caught up in his killing he had not noticed the Trooper. He paused, surprised at his success, then resumed firing. He fell back again and again, scampering amongst twisted metal hulks.
The Trooper heard a slight noise, and immediately dove forward, rolling to land. A crimson blade ignited right where he had just been, it’s humming loud. Behind him was a Sith Warrior, pure red skin and distorted face clenched with rage.
The Sith Warrior roared a battle-cry as he charged at the Trooper, holding his blade two-handed above his head. With a grunt of effort, the Trooper jumped aside, landing roughly as the Sith slashed at scrap metal. Before the bastard could respond, the Trooper was on his feet and running, sprinting between towering wrecks as he tried to evade the ever-persistent humming of a lightsaber. He lost his helmet somewhere, the flimsy strap holding the streamlined shape ripping.
His heart pounding in his chest, the Trooper skidded to a stop, leaning against a ruined A-wing from centuries past. The humming seemed farther off now, and hopefully that blasted Sith would be distracted by other prey. The Trooper turned, and came face to face with-
-a flash of crimson, going down, upwards, and down again-
and the Trooper’s blaster rifle fell apart into four neat pieces, melted edges cooling with a slow hiss.
The Trooper’s shocked face looked up from the remains of his gun, and met the emotionless face of the Sith Pureblood. The blood-red skin slowly split in a slasher smile, revealing rows upon rows of jagged teeth.
“You are mine, fleshling…” the Sith whispered, it’s voice deep and vaguely distorted. The Trooper noted that it’s blade was still pointing downwards.
THUD
The Sith recoiled, his face seeming to malform and twist, as the Trooper brutally chopped the Sith’s wrist with his combat blade. His head ached a tiny bit, but he didn’t dwell on it as he drove his knife straight up the Sith’s chest, lifting it off the ground. Drops of something flew off the Sith’s face, and the Trooper realized it was bleeding liquid the same color as it’s skin.
The stunned Sith’s eyes followed the Trooper, slowly mouthing something. The Trooper slammed the Sith into the hulk behind it, dislodged rusting metal debris falling with the impact. With a final wrenching twist, the Trooper pulled his blade out of the Sith’s chest.
The Trooper ran, leaves the bleeding Sith behind him as he flew back to the Republic base, to warn them of the oncoming onslaught of Sith.
Xxxx
“Let me get this straight, trooper. You headbutted a Sith to escape?”
The military handler behind the Republic Intelligence man snorted with suppressed laughter. The RI man glared at the lieutenant for a minute, before turning back to the Trooper. The bright lights of the interrogation/debriefing room gleamed off his shiny officer’s cap and neatly pressed uniform.
“That’s a Special Forces specialty, so I hear.” the RI man continued. He had not given his name before conducting the debriefing.
“It is.” The lieutenant nodded. He wore crumpled fatigues that had no identifying marks other than his insignia. No unit patches, name plates, or medals.
The Trooper said nothing, merely watching the RI officer.
“How did you learn it, trooper?” the RI man asked. The Trooper quirked an eyebrow, but did not reply.
“I said, how did you learn it, trooper?” the RI man demanded, now angry. The lieutenant placed a hand on the RI man’s shoulder, shaking his head. The RI man changed tactics.
“How many tours of duty have you been on?”
“This is my second.” the Trooper replied. The RI man considered his statement as he glanced at a chiming dataslate sitting on the table. He looked back up at the trooper, his eyes now full of suspicion.
“Then why did your DNA match that of Master Gunnery Sergeant Eugan Chelkar?”
The lieutenant’s jaw dropped, and he stared unabashed at the Trooper, now Master Guns Eugan Chelkar.
“You joined the Republic Army illegally after you were refused to enter a fourth tour of duty. Why?” the RI man asked. Chelkar’s face took a look of puzzlement.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked the RI man. The Intelligence officer paused, not quite sure how to answer that question.
“For psychological reasons, the Republic refuses to let anyone serve more than three tours of duty in an active war.” The RI tactfully refrained from stating the obvious.
“This is above me. It’ll have to be re-routed to higher authority.” with that, the RI man left, shutting the metal door behind him.
The lieutenant moved over to the table from his position by the wall. His face was contemplative.
“You know, when I was in SpecOps training, our DI commented a couple times about his instructor. He called him one of the greatest soldier he had ever served under.” the lieutenant said, sizing up Chelkar.
“That’d be Jarvis, wouldn’t it? Always hated that ass-kissing little frakker.” Chelkar dismissed. He looked at the lieutenant, and scowled.
“Don’t ever let anyone tell you what to think, son.” Chelkar instructed. He stood up, tucked his chair under the simple table, and walked out.
“That’s how they get you to commit massacres.” He growled as he left.
The lieutenant leaned on the table, taking up the leftover dataslate.
----GENETIC MATCH CONFIRMED----
-- MASTER GUNNERY SERGEANT EUGAN CHELKAR—
-- PREVIOUS ASSIGNMENT: DRILL INSTRUCTOR, REPUBLIC SPECIAL FORCES
-- PREVIOUS ASSIGNMENT: PLATOON SERGEANT, 3TH PLATOON, 1ST COMPANY, 88TH ATTACK BATTALION
Xxxx
As Chelkar left the room, MPs rushed in from the end of the hallway, handcuffing Chelkar and escorting him to the brig. As they proceeded, they passed by the noisy, packed infirmary. A gurney ripped past them, flying on repulsors as the doctors struggled to save the life of a soldier with a small graze from a lightsaber on his neck.
As the MPs led Chelkar to the brig, they passed multiple soldiers lying on the floor, slumped against the walls, or curled into a corner. They all had large symbols plastered on their chest plates, marking them as walking wounded. The medical supplies were being reserved for the more desperate cases, so these soldiers simply tried to sleep and rest as best they could.
It was a nightmarish scene, with blood spilled everywhere from the speeding repulsor-gurneys, the wounded moaning and groaning on the ground, and the base lights dim to preserve power.
And Taris fell silent.
Xxxx
Two hundred years later, the first of the long resettlement efforts had begun to bear fruit. A workable atmosphere had been restored, debris cleared for landing pads, and crude living spaces constructed. It was time to rebuild. Human colonists came, from Corellia, Kuat, and Fondor, where overpopulation had finally forced their populations to drift. These Humans had been dockworkers, shipbuilders, designers, and architects. Within ten years, they had reestablished contact with lost survivors. Within twenty, a proper space port and a full city. Within forty, a set of orbital stations.
Taris became an example of sheer Human determination. Progress on the surface was slow, true, but in orbit, massive shipyards had been built, churning out Thranta-class corvettes at record pace. The dockworks expanded, and trade returned to Taris. Prosperity came with it, and business boomed.
The Republic established a Navy base in orbit, to protect the shipyards and the slow terraforming effort. The military was well-respected on Taris, though some lingering harshness from the Jedi Civil War remained.
The children of Taris were brought up in orbit, dancing around laboring workers and earning half-wages by being tool-boys, apprentices, and clerks. They quickly learned the skills of work, and though their childhood was not a happy one, it was a content one.
It was here that one particularly notable child was raised. He excelled in all his classes, became a fully-qualified mechanic by age 12, and ran his own shop by age 16. At age 18, he enlisted in the Republic Army.
By age 28 standard years old, he was CO of Havoc Squad.
Xxxx
Birds and woodland animals fluttered through the shining meadow. Across a gleaming lake, the towers of the capital city of Aldera rose, like long silver stalagmites. This was Alderaan, long hailed as the soul of the Republic. It was Alderaan who first outlawed slavery, Alderaan who spoke out against the atrocities of some members of the Republic, and Alderaan who provided many of the members of the Republic Diplomatic Core.
During the Great Galactic War, Alderaan joined the fighting early, her people eager to uphold the ideals of the Republic. When they returned from long tours of duty on far-flung worlds, they spoke not of the majesty of the Republic, but of the evil of the Sith Empire. Battered war-veterans with prosthetic limbs cried out against the massacres of Republic troops committed by the Sith. The Jedi fought hard for the Republic, but the Sith of the Empire possessed numbers of the Sith more than twice the number of the Jedi, and it showed. Units without Jedi were quickly slaughtered by phantoms. There was no defense against a Force-user but another Force-user. On Alderaan, the battle-scarred survivors trained and drilled their own troops, preparing them with all the experience and knowledge of the Republic’s long wars.
“It’s a good idea, and these boys know what they’re doing. I say we support them.” were the words of Jedi General Dak Windu, when assigned to assess the unit’s program. With this report, the Jedi Council opened up the records of the illustrious Jedi Archives, giving the Alderaanians all the information on the Sith and their powers. Moreover, General Windu joined the regiment, as a technical advisor on Sith/Jedi warfare, and gave monthly reports on their progress. The regiment was over two thousand strong when it entered its first warzone.
It met remarkable success, slaying an all-Sith army of over five hundred Force-wielders. Now forged in battle, the Republic Senate gave the blessing to Alderaan to continue its training programs. Soon more worlds joined Alderaan in its unrelenting regime, creating the first of what now is known as the Special Forces division. Many different species and peoples had recruits, but they always went to Alderaan for training.
These regiments soon proved too large and expensive to field in any sizeable numbers. They were broken down into platoons of 52 men, and sent out in small corvettes that sped to and fro among battlefields, deploying them wherever and whenever they were needed.
Xxxx
The Trooper ducked under the scrap metal overhang and resumed firing, his D4A2 rifle shaking in his hands as it spat bolts of bright red. Across the wreckage-strewn ravine, shadowed figures in black and grey darted forth, igniting crimson blades and shrieking whooping challenges to the soldiers. The Trooper cursed, back-pedaling. As he watched, the lines of Sith hit the Republic forces and began carving into them, striking down troopers with naught but a laugh on their lips and a crazed gleam in their eyes.
The Trooper fired again and again, spraying the Sith with fire, but they just deflected it and continued on. He scoped in on one who was roaring as he decapitated a trooper. With a simple squeeze, the Trooper put a blaster bolt in the back of the Sith’s head. The fool was so caught up in his killing he had not noticed the Trooper. He paused, surprised at his success, then resumed firing. He fell back again and again, scampering amongst twisted metal hulks.
The Trooper heard a slight noise, and immediately dove forward, rolling to land. A crimson blade ignited right where he had just been, it’s humming loud. Behind him was a Sith Warrior, pure red skin and distorted face clenched with rage.
The Sith Warrior roared a battle-cry as he charged at the Trooper, holding his blade two-handed above his head. With a grunt of effort, the Trooper jumped aside, landing roughly as the Sith slashed at scrap metal. Before the bastard could respond, the Trooper was on his feet and running, sprinting between towering wrecks as he tried to evade the ever-persistent humming of a lightsaber. He lost his helmet somewhere, the flimsy strap holding the streamlined shape ripping.
His heart pounding in his chest, the Trooper skidded to a stop, leaning against a ruined A-wing from centuries past. The humming seemed farther off now, and hopefully that blasted Sith would be distracted by other prey. The Trooper turned, and came face to face with-
-a flash of crimson, going down, upwards, and down again-
and the Trooper’s blaster rifle fell apart into four neat pieces, melted edges cooling with a slow hiss.
The Trooper’s shocked face looked up from the remains of his gun, and met the emotionless face of the Sith Pureblood. The blood-red skin slowly split in a slasher smile, revealing rows upon rows of jagged teeth.
“You are mine, fleshling…” the Sith whispered, it’s voice deep and vaguely distorted. The Trooper noted that it’s blade was still pointing downwards.
THUD
The Sith recoiled, his face seeming to malform and twist, as the Trooper brutally chopped the Sith’s wrist with his combat blade. His head ached a tiny bit, but he didn’t dwell on it as he drove his knife straight up the Sith’s chest, lifting it off the ground. Drops of something flew off the Sith’s face, and the Trooper realized it was bleeding liquid the same color as it’s skin.
The stunned Sith’s eyes followed the Trooper, slowly mouthing something. The Trooper slammed the Sith into the hulk behind it, dislodged rusting metal debris falling with the impact. With a final wrenching twist, the Trooper pulled his blade out of the Sith’s chest.
The Trooper ran, leaves the bleeding Sith behind him as he flew back to the Republic base, to warn them of the oncoming onslaught of Sith.
Xxxx
“Let me get this straight, trooper. You headbutted a Sith to escape?”
The military handler behind the Republic Intelligence man snorted with suppressed laughter. The RI man glared at the lieutenant for a minute, before turning back to the Trooper. The bright lights of the interrogation/debriefing room gleamed off his shiny officer’s cap and neatly pressed uniform.
“That’s a Special Forces specialty, so I hear.” the RI man continued. He had not given his name before conducting the debriefing.
“It is.” The lieutenant nodded. He wore crumpled fatigues that had no identifying marks other than his insignia. No unit patches, name plates, or medals.
The Trooper said nothing, merely watching the RI officer.
“How did you learn it, trooper?” the RI man asked. The Trooper quirked an eyebrow, but did not reply.
“I said, how did you learn it, trooper?” the RI man demanded, now angry. The lieutenant placed a hand on the RI man’s shoulder, shaking his head. The RI man changed tactics.
“How many tours of duty have you been on?”
“This is my second.” the Trooper replied. The RI man considered his statement as he glanced at a chiming dataslate sitting on the table. He looked back up at the trooper, his eyes now full of suspicion.
“Then why did your DNA match that of Master Gunnery Sergeant Eugan Chelkar?”
The lieutenant’s jaw dropped, and he stared unabashed at the Trooper, now Master Guns Eugan Chelkar.
“You joined the Republic Army illegally after you were refused to enter a fourth tour of duty. Why?” the RI man asked. Chelkar’s face took a look of puzzlement.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked the RI man. The Intelligence officer paused, not quite sure how to answer that question.
“For psychological reasons, the Republic refuses to let anyone serve more than three tours of duty in an active war.” The RI tactfully refrained from stating the obvious.
“This is above me. It’ll have to be re-routed to higher authority.” with that, the RI man left, shutting the metal door behind him.
The lieutenant moved over to the table from his position by the wall. His face was contemplative.
“You know, when I was in SpecOps training, our DI commented a couple times about his instructor. He called him one of the greatest soldier he had ever served under.” the lieutenant said, sizing up Chelkar.
“That’d be Jarvis, wouldn’t it? Always hated that ass-kissing little frakker.” Chelkar dismissed. He looked at the lieutenant, and scowled.
“Don’t ever let anyone tell you what to think, son.” Chelkar instructed. He stood up, tucked his chair under the simple table, and walked out.
“That’s how they get you to commit massacres.” He growled as he left.
The lieutenant leaned on the table, taking up the leftover dataslate.
----GENETIC MATCH CONFIRMED----
-- MASTER GUNNERY SERGEANT EUGAN CHELKAR—
-- PREVIOUS ASSIGNMENT: DRILL INSTRUCTOR, REPUBLIC SPECIAL FORCES
-- PREVIOUS ASSIGNMENT: PLATOON SERGEANT, 3TH PLATOON, 1ST COMPANY, 88TH ATTACK BATTALION
Xxxx
As Chelkar left the room, MPs rushed in from the end of the hallway, handcuffing Chelkar and escorting him to the brig. As they proceeded, they passed by the noisy, packed infirmary. A gurney ripped past them, flying on repulsors as the doctors struggled to save the life of a soldier with a small graze from a lightsaber on his neck.
As the MPs led Chelkar to the brig, they passed multiple soldiers lying on the floor, slumped against the walls, or curled into a corner. They all had large symbols plastered on their chest plates, marking them as walking wounded. The medical supplies were being reserved for the more desperate cases, so these soldiers simply tried to sleep and rest as best they could.
It was a nightmarish scene, with blood spilled everywhere from the speeding repulsor-gurneys, the wounded moaning and groaning on the ground, and the base lights dim to preserve power.
