If the manufactories could have been built anywhere on the surface of Quermia, one would have assumed they would have been built away from the tropical belt of the planet, where steady rain and lush vegetation dominated the landscape, yet, for a resource-hungry, self-contained, clanker-dispensing manufactory any location with combustibles, proper mixtures of aggregate stone, iron, and the presence of silicate served the purpose, here the natural cover was just a bonus.
The Jedi Guardians moved with relative ease through the thick underbrush alongside their Marine counterparts, waiting for sight or sounds to give away the location of one such manufactory. The last several days had run them ragged with confrontations, sparse conflicts with B1 Droids alongside Sephi commanders, attempting to make a push toward Camp Tython, at least it seemed the jungle terrain had confused both sides of the conflict.
“Maybe we should stop for a rest here, Knights?” A tired sergeant piped up to one of the Jedi who had advanced ahead, looking through the thick underbrush.
“I’m inclined to agree with you, it should give the rest of the platoon a moment to catch up too.” The Jedi Knight agreed as he doubled back to the Marines who had begun to strike up a rudimentary camp.
“It’ll be good to get some Caf.” A lance corporal chuckled, before the low buzz of repulsor lifts could be heard.
A trio of Armored Assault Tanks sailed through the dense foliage, carving a path toward the Army Encampment.
“Maybe that Caf will have to wait.” The Sergeant whispered as the sound of marching B1s soon followed.
Seeing their initial advance unopposed the Droid Tank Company scanned the dense woodline for signs of O.U.S.C. Marine emplacements or Jedi reinforcements, finding heat signatures on the horizon matching the exhaust patterns of known hostile vehicles and living beings with no IFF tags, the AAT company came to a halt.
“Prepare to fire on coordinates.” The Droid Sergeant commanded, pointing out a designation to the others, a formation of individual B1 Droids marching up beside and between the tanks, their rifles at the ready.
The high-pitched whine of the repeaters on the tanks, charging and enriching the plasma in their batteries with Tibanna gas could be heard even at distance. Support droids covered their non-existent ears in preparation of the first volley.
“Fire!”
The first shots of the battle rang out as the tanks unleashed a volley towards the Jedi and Marines working their way through the thicket of the woods. Blaster fire sliced through the tree line, burning trees and foliage, dissipating into nothingness. The heavy barrage from the tanks overshot their target, blinding the heat vision sensors of the droids for at least a few moments.
“Incoming. Take cover.” Sergeant Corr Felis of 2nd squad felt the command more than he heard it. Even before he had time to register what he was doing, his body moved on its own and took cover behind a large tree. His squad, with little input, did the same as best teh could. The barrage came in hard and furious, shattering branches and splintering trees along its path. His quad sounded off no casualties, as did several other squad leaders in their company along the same axis of advance. He chalked it up to luck, but more than likely it was one of his Jedi allies who helped.
“Advance, take cover in the ditch.” Again he moved, but this time, it felt like, on his own. There was a palpable sense of urgency but also hope, surety in his actions, and precision in execution. He ordered his squad forwards and found the ditch where his company formed a firing line. Blasters blazed from the ditch.
Vorsa’s crinkled brow gave her Padawan a moment’s pause as she felt the turmoil and intense concentration the Neti was going through. Battle meditations was rarely easy, especially in the back of a transport vehicle moving across harsh terrain.
“I am alright, Larun,” Vorsa said, sensing her Padawan’s discomfort, “it has simply been a very long time.” The sound of Separatist tanks firing, the rumble of their repulsorlifts, and the connection to the soldiers fighting and dying on the field brought about the worst kinds of memories. Ones she would rather had stayed buried. “I will remain here. Go. They need you.” She finished and smiled, her eyes closed all the while.
“Yes, Master.” She nodded, opened the side hatch of the transport and dashed out towards the front lines.
In the near distance, somewhere unseen on the other side of a dense canopy of jungle trees, a volley of AAT blaster fire sounded. Frenek gritted his teeth. With every passing moment, he was bringing the military transport closer to the front lines of battle. His mind wandered ahead to what he might face there. Delivering medical supplies could be a dreadful job, and he still couldn’t shake some of the things he had seen in medical tents. Presently his eyes refocused just in time to swerve out of the way of an imposing tree, causing a rather uncomfortable bump. Better focus on what’s right in front of me, Frenek thought. The O.U.S.C. Marines would be needing these medical supplies, and he couldn’t afford any accidents. “Almost there. There’s too many trees in this damn forest,” he said, with a glance toward Syrena, his pink-haired confidant, who was sitting beside him. As they continued through the jungle, he weaved in and out of the trees in a practiced slalom. He reached for sealed metal flask of Caf. Briefly he wondered if the soliders would appreciate the extra sack of roasted Caf beans he had decided to load into the cargo bay of the transport when his boss hadn’t been looking. Every bit helped. Despite himself, he cracked a grin, leaning into the accelerator a bit.
A few minutes later, Frenek cut the engine as he arrived at the site where the second squad was supposed to be. Squinting, Frenek scanned the environment ahead, until he noticed a ditch that cut into the forest floor. He turned to Syrena, pointing at the ditch. “That must be our spot. Hope you enjoyed the ride,” Frenek smirked. He flipped a switch to open the main hatch of the cargo bay, stood up, and maneuvered to the back of the transport. There he flagged one of his coworkers and the two began to unload crates of medical supplies. They approached the ditch cautiously, not knowing when to expect another volley of blaster fire.
With her silvery gaze transfixed on the front window of the transport vehicle, Syrena was mentally preparing to leap into action at any given moment should they veer off course. Though the ride was fraught with turbulence and unexpected turns, she had faith in Frenek’s piloting capabilities. The familiarity of sitting beside him in the passenger seat brought her an instinctive sense of comfort, despite the chaos of the environment. After all, it had been Frenek alone who had personally journeyed her to freedom all those years ago, a deed which the Zeltron female had never forgotten.
“Too many trees? It may make for harder navigating conditions…. But once we land, you may be thankful those trees are there. More coverage,” Syrena couldn’t help but explain, glancing over at Frenek. “Plus, y'know… Trees. Trees are pretty,” She added with a shrug, doing her best to keep an uplifted mindset before they were to reach the challenges that stood before them. At the sudden acceleration of the vehicle, she instinctively reached out to steady herself– Which in this case, happened to be her grabbing hold of Frenek’s arm. “Ah… My bad,” She said rather quickly, slowly letting go of him and averting her gaze away, her face rosier than usual despite it’s usual warmth.
As the transport lowered itself into a clearing between the mass of trees, Syrena took a deep breath, steadying herself. Her lavender gaze turned icy, now holding a look of focus. “The ride was… Bumpy,” Syrena finally remarked to Frenek, quickly reminded of the real reason she had made the journey, aside from wanting to help those on the front lines… There was absolutely no way Syrena was going to allow Frenek to venture here alone, even if it was what his job called for. She quickly leaped out of the transport vehicle, clad in a formfitting white-plated combat suit and a pale cloak that flowed behind her shoulders, her cascade of light pink hair woven into an ornate braid for the sake of practicality. Syrena protectively stood before Frenek and his crew, dropping into a balanced stance, white volts of electricity dancing on the fingertips of her clawed shock-pulse emitting gloves.
Mihoshi sat in the command tank, her violet eyes snapping as she watched the advance of the battle droids. The casualty reports were flowing in as they began to move out, attempting to force the approaching army back. The bursts of fire from the AAT, Padawan Larun heading towards the Frontline, the feeling of an overmind helping to direct everyone.
“Some of you ensure the safety of Master Vorsa’s vehicle. Cover the advancing troops.”
She shifted her gaze to another screen which displayed an image of Syrena defending the landed craft and a crew. “Someone get some troops to cover that transport!”
The battle wasn’t going well, but it wasn’t going bad either. There was an ebb and flow to the movements and it almost felt like neither side could create a break so desperately needed.
“No wonder you were minted first, you’re obviously defective. Adjust .4 degrees down and fire again, you can’t miss twice, surely.” The command droid shouted as it stared down field through optical visors through the fading heat sources, the figures of the Marines and Jedi coming into clear view against the dense jungle foliage.
“Second volley. Fire.” It commanded as the droids along the field began firing, much closer to target. After the B1s on the field opened fire the artillery would follow, lobbing shots that landed almost entirely on top of the combined Odanite forces, scattering many.
A few were unlucky and either took grievous injury in the blasts or were left as little more than charred plasteel remnants as bits of armor scattered, leaving little organic behind. While a majority of the forces managed to avoid the volley, the enemy’s advance was drawing closer.
Frenek clambered down into the trench with his cargo just as another volley of artillery fire landed dangerously close. “Typical droids,” he said aloud to his coworker, a grin flashing across his face, “Overshootin’ their targets. If only they’d just hire some real folks for a change…” He adjusted his crate to hold it in one arm, flexing his bicep with the now free arm and forcing a laugh. His feelings about droids aside, he meant only to lighten the otherwise dismal mood. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to him, in the next trench over, some “real folks” were being vaporized by B1 blaster fire.
Wiping some sweat off of his brow, Frenek turned his attention now to navigating the rugged terrain of the hastily hewn trench. Before long, he encountered a Marine who was standing on tiptoe, peering over the lip of the trench through macrobinoculars at what Frenek could only assume was the approaching army. Frenek stopped in his tracks, hesitating for a few moments to weigh the consequences of his next action. It occurred to him that, at the moment, his delivery might be a less pressing matter than that of the Marine’s current focus. To interrupt him now might be the difference between life and death. For a brief moment, his role in the galaxy seemed to be just one pawn in some grand game of holochess, where this man’s piece controlled much more space on the board. Then another round of blaster fire disrupted his trepidation and spurred him forward.
“Hello, sir!” Frenek called, after the blaster fire faded, “I have a delivery of medical supplies for you and your men. I hope my journey here proves to be a waste of time, but I have a suspicion that by the end of the day, I will have confirmation otherwise.” Frenek raised up the crate slightly toward the Marine, in offering.
Out of her peripheral, Syrena kept track of Frenek. Eventually, she had to remove her full attention, forcing her her gaze to shift to the trajectories that lay ahead. In this fleeting moment, she began to focus on the bond that her and Frenek shared, something they both hadn’t yet fully discussed with one another, despite their mental awareness of that fact. Suddenly, Syrena felt something snap into place, a mental link connecting the two of them. “I have to go on ahead. Be on your guard, don’t do anything stupid, and keep your blasters at the ready,” She began to telepathically state to Frenek as she moved forwards.
Her acute sense of hearing caught wind of the oncoming sounds of blasters. Instinctively, Syrena’s willed herself to react. Her form curled in the arch of an acrobatic flip as she propelled herself downwards into a ditch, moving in a blur of speed. Landing lightly on her feet, Syrena braced for impact and utilized the concave as a natural shield to avoid fire, twisting her protective armored white cloak around herself for additional defense from falling debris.
Once the volley of blasts came to a momentary standstill, Syrena rapidly clawed her way up from the ditch, weaving her way forwards. Spotting the closest droid, in one fluid motion she sprung towards the back of it, a hidden stiletto-shaped dagger lashing out from her gauntlet. Syrena drove the blade towards the center of the mechanics, the blade radiating with sparks of discharged ions, specifically intended for the destabilizing of hardware systems. With a quick pivot, she leapt towards two more droids, aiming focused strikes directly at their cores, blade extended.
.
Following the bombings of Camp Tython and the escalation of propaganda at the hands of the Vauzem Dominion — apparently, in under a fortnight, she’d gone from Thief and Saboteur to an attempted Assassin — Artemis Suoh-Werd'la had been pulled back into the fray to burn off some steam.
At the moment, secured in the top of a tree with decent visibility and being covered by her wife Ruana, the Huntress reached out with the Force toward the nearest group of battle droids, following the circuitry to their fairly simplistic (in comparison to other models, anyway) droid brains. Rather than shutting them off, Artemis cut them off from receiving further orders from the enemy and breathed some small amount of sentience into the B1-models before giving her own orders.
Your fellows have been taken over by an invading force. Destroy them.
As one, the five droids turned and opened fire whilst the others were still registering the possibility that the small squad had malfunctioned.
“It’s still weird to see you do that, love,” the Pantoran at her side commented, eyeing the unfolding chaos through the scope attached to her bo-rifle.
Artemis felt her lips twitch into a small grin despite their situation.
As one of their number turned and opened fire upon the rest of the squad, immediately incapacitating two others, the remaining members of the squad attempted to converse with the malfunctioning droid. A failure to respond to the Droid Overbrain signaled a kill command, initially causing confusion in the squad before they righted themselves and immediately returned fire on the rampant droid.
Artemis’ gambit paid off, cutting the effectiveness of one droid squad in half and forcing droids from the central column of the tank support to shift to the flank to cover their losses.
-# <@248237225202941964>
.