Commodore Rivejer Tullius
The Botajef system was a storm of activity and we were under scrutiny from the moment we arrived. Sitting at the interception of the Hydian Way and the Celanon Spur, I had expected some Imperial presence. Unlike Corsin or Champala or the many other minor worlds we passed on our way here, the world was a major aspect of the Empire's trade lifeblood from the Corporate Sector and Outer Rim.
The world was defended even beyond those expectations. Every planet and planetoid in the system was being fortified - great Golan platforms being built or dragged into position. Cavernous hangar stations orbited Botajef itself, by a veritable sea of anti-fighter laser cannon satellites. Were I so inclined, I suspected a scan of the planet's surface would unveil Ion Cannons and planet-based Turbolaser batteries galore. Also, if such an action would not lead to my immediate and violent death, as the paranoid fleet lashed out. Botajef was being rapidly entrenched, doubtlessly to repulse anything that might come slithering down from the Outer Rim.
While we were both ostensibly loyalists, the Admiral in charge of the system and I, we still regarded one-another with suspicion. An Imperial Star Destroyer shadowed our movements, trailed by a motley assortment of supporting craft but with reinforcements close at hand. My conversation with the Admiral was cordial - I told him where I was going and he ran my orders against the expected traffic he received from the Core. It matched, so I was free to move to the other edge of the system and enter the Celanon Spur.
Mines - both your regular fare of explosives and the more advanced seeker variants - covered the common entry points into the system and any easy pathway toward its planets. Were I a betting man, I would wager that somewhere in the system's heart a set of interdiction mines waited, ready to lock the system down and cut off any escape.
The mines remained inert as we passed, the Glorious' bulk making us slam into a few and knock them away. I knew, though, that a single line of code sent from the local fleet would turn this silent field of weapons into a fiery, void-borne tomb.
Fortunately, then, the local Admiral had no interest in me or my death. He seemed as glad to see the back of us as I was of seeing this system. Once we were free of Botajef and I was given time to relax and think, I appreciated its presence more. Of the ways to enter the Ciutric Hegemony, Botajef was one of the most direct when coming from a southerly direction. Of course, any fleet that could bypass the system would be far greater than what I had at hand to deal with, but I hoped it would not come to that.
As seemed to be worryingly common now, the next planet proved a far more difficult crossing.
Vinsoth was another of those minor, underdeveloped systems that so often served as the backdrop of these Outer Rim hyperspace lanes. I had become too used to the Core in my time as a Star Destroyer Captain, too used to those dense worlds in the Arrowhead. On those worlds, space was at a premium, and overpopulation was an ever present concern. Every world seemed to be fast approaching their own ecumenopolis event horizon, eager to become the next Imperial Center and already planning how they will start stacking their cities on top of each other.
These recent months, I had been reminded of the backwaters I had spent the early days of my career dealing with. Most barely had an orbiting trade station, little more than space travel infrastructure in their system. Iego was decidedly an outlier, even if the majority of that space junk had been actual scrap.
All this was to say that Vinsoth was almost developed relative to many of these worlds, at least in terms of the system itself.
The system namesake was a temperate world, nice as far as the more terrestrial planets came. In its orbit were two space stations. The first was a trading outpost of some kind, the usual generic and modular assembly that could be found in every system with even a little traffic. It was joined by the flat, spoke'ed shape of an X-Series space station - an XQ4 if my memory was correct. Pitiful relative to even the Carracks in my fleet, but for a trading outpost it was powerful indeed. Vinsoth, sitting directly west of Axxila and at the intersection of several hyperlanes, was the perfect location for such a station. Of course, as I learned later, the lack of a formal government on Vinsoth meant taxation was a purely Imperial affair - and out here, enforcement was arbitrary and easily avoided at best.
The system would not have been worth mentioning beyond that, except our arrival was followed by an immediate and desperate request for a communication from the space station.
"This is the Glorious." The communications officer said, before making a face. He turned to face Milgern, who then turned to face me. Evidently, the problem was something I needed to handle, so I nodded at the men. "Understood. One moment."
He gave me a thumbs up as the communication connected to my holotable. I activated it, watching a hologram flicker to life in place of the Glorious' diagram. A younger man, with a shock or poorly kept hair, greeted me - his expression at once grim and tentatively relieved.
"This is Commodore Rivejer Tullius, Arrowhead Command. Who am I speaking to?" I asked, not needing to bother affecting the annoyance I felt at this latest distraction. With no fleets to fight, I also suspected my involvement into whatever was happening would be a messy affair.
"This is Lieutenant-Governor Isaac Verus. I put in the request, I am relieved with your arrival, Commodore."
I blinked, caught flat footed by the declaration.
"Request? What request?" I asked. Immediately, Verus' face seemed to drop as he almost deflated on the spot.
"The request I put in with the fleet at Botajef? To assist us with the Rebellion?"
"I'm afraid not, Lieutenant-Governor. I am passing through enroute to the Ciutric system."
"Ah, well-" The man spluttered over his words for a moment, any decorum or Governor veneer forgotten in his desperation. Soon enough, he found his words: "Be that as it may, it was fortuitous that you came along when you did, Commodore. I still must request your assistance."
I was tempted to refuse out of hand. The mere thought of dealing with another rebellion - slave or not - put my mind ill at ease. I was brought back to N'zoth - compounding disaster that it was - and did not want to see it repeated even at this much smaller scale. However, another thought stayed my tongue.
This close to the Hegemony, out-and-out refusing to assist may well follow me into the region and do me few favours with my new commanding officer, whoever that might be. A cursory scan of the world showcased little in terms of development, and so I slowly convinced myself that this would be an easy operation. Menace a few primitives, have Maab knock some heads around, easy as.
"Very well, Lieutenant-Governor. I will need to speak with your superior, or whoever else is in charge of your forces in the system. To coordinate our efforts."
He made a face, and seemed to sink even deeper into himself.
"Well, you see, Commodore…" He swallowed thickly, then pressed forward. "Governor Illan-Bell left two weeks ago, a vacation with his wife at the Wheel. Colonel Barran Barrak - that is, Lieutenant-Colonel… Well, he… Is leading the rebellion."
Oh. Joy.
Colonel Barton Maab
It had to have been fifteen, sixteen years since I had last been on an AT-AT. I had forgotten how damned cramped the things were.
Harsh overhead lights served as my only illumination in the walker's cockpit, the area outside the viewscreen nearly pitch black. We were being transported by a trundling Theta-Class Barge - a massive transport dedicated solely to its purpose of transporting walkers. Unfortunately, relative to a Sentinel or Lambda Shuttle, it was a shaky and violent ride down. The self-stabilising equipment on the AT-AT was not rated for high-magnitude seismic quakes, which was what I suspected this shaking was roughly equivalent to. The drivers were unbothered, dressed in their grey and white uniforms. Of course, their seats shook with the movements of the walker - I was stuck standing behind them, holding on to a pair of handles to keep myself from falling over. I regretted not finding a way to stick a chair in here first, but I never accounted for how bumpy the Theta was.
Yet, for all my complaining and belly-aching, it was overshadowed by my excitement. I'd left the Army a lifetime ago, but I was only now just realising how much I missed the excitement of that life - the danger of it! It was almost enough to make a man smile, if I was not currently trying to keep my lunch down.
"Thirty seconds!" A voice came from the communicator built into my small command station, coming from the Barge's pilot. Not trusting my voice at the moment, I quickly pushed a button on the console. Two quick pings went back to him, serving as a non-verbal affirmation. I quickly moved my hand back to the grip, counting down those last agonising seconds.
Despite the unsteady ride down, the Barge landed with relative grace - at last opening its doors and flooding the internal compartment with natural sunlight. The viewscreen automatically polarised, but I still had to blink and let my eyes adjust.
"Safety harnesses away." The main pilot, Rallon, noted - his helmet turning slightly to read a display.
"Get us out of here." I grunted, forgetting discipline for a moment as I tried to get my head to stop spinning.
"Aye, sir." Rallon grabbed his throttle and pushed it forward, a dull hum filling the walker's cockpit as it came to life. It lurched forward, moving swiftly out of the transport. Unlike the ride down, this march was far smoother - the AT-AT was designed to limit the shaking its occupants would be subjected to. Probably one of the few intelligent decisions made in its blasted design.
I was being unfair. It was a perfectly serviceable walker, when I was not in one.
My walker - Judge-I - was followed onto the planet's surface by two others, the aptly named Judges two and three. Speeder bikes, ridden by the hastily created and flash-trained Marine Scouts, jet away across the forested landscape.
Given the lack of permanent or developed infrastructure, anywhere we landed would be difficult to traverse - which was why the troop transports were still waiting to be deployed. They lacked the firepower to engage the local resistance groups and so would wait until we had engaged them first.
The Chevin, the local dominant species of the world, were nomads - pastoral and mobile. From the reports I had read, they moved in great trains representing entire tribes and the smaller clans attached to them. In light of the civil war, these tribes had broken apart more to engage and skirmish with each other.
These smaller groups were not my concern - they could be swept up by the local garrison. The true issue was the largest rebellious tribe, as they were supported and escorted by a traitor unit of Armytroopers and their armoured support. A pitiable force, but one concerning enough to the still-loyal but minor Imperial presence on the world.
"Right, let's hop to it." I said before activating my comm unit for the walkers. "Walkers, forward."
I sent them the heading and we set off, the deceptively fast walkers plowing through trees and other flora without issue. We were moving to intercept that tribe, the scouts racing ahead to watch their movements while we received reports from orbit. The Chevin would not be eager to engage us, that I knew. This larger clan had been busy fighting their Loyalist opponents and were perhaps the best armed force on the planet. I suspected that they wanted time to rest, recover and train new fighters. Colonel Barrak was likely to be the driving force, as fighting a trained Imperial force was a taller order than the rabble wielded by his usual fare.
Hours stretched by as we gave chase and as night began to fall the first scout reports came in.
"The tribe is moving east, Colonel." A young voice informed me. I frowned, thanking the soldier before changing to my channel with the fleet.
"Judge to Maestro." I said, contacting the loyalist elements nearby. We were not tracking this tribe alone, for while I had little doubt that my walkers and those Marines we carried were more than a match for the disloyal Barrak, it would be difficult to catch them. As such, two other groups were moving in concert with us. A fast moving force of speeders and light tanks skirmished with the tribe from the east, we were moving to intercept from the west and a smaller loyalist tribe marched to cut the advance off. Engaging any one of these forces would buy the others time to support, something Barrak seemed aware of.
"Judge, Maestro - go ahead." The tired voice of Captain Starn - now the ranking ground officer of the loyalist Imperial forces - spoke up.
"Chevin Tribe One is turning your way, where are you?" I asked. The tribes had names, but given how often they mingled and split I didn't care to learn them.
"CT1 engaged us, we are moving back into position." Starn reported and I had to fight back a curse.
Unfortunately, Starn's forces were the least of the operation. While he had speeders and light tanks, Barrak had taken the two Juggernauts with him when he defected. Even outdated, they would make easy work of Starn if he chose to engage with them. Even the Chevin Loyalist tribe, though lacking tanks, had numbers enough to buy time. It also didn't help that Starn, from what little I've deduced from our brief conversations, was flighty and nervous. His superior defecting right over his nose had made Starn cautious, not eager to surrender what resources he still had at hand.
"Good, keep me posted - Judge out." I quickly changed channels to our Chevin allies.
"CT1 is moving east." I informed them. A deep, almost growling voice responded.
"We see them. Shall we proceed?" The loyalist tribe had been moving to intercept the larger CT1 - sliding along the foothills before the mountains to the North. The goal, we suspected, was a series of ravines between the peaks, where their rearguard could better hold us off and avoid being outflanked. On the other side of the mountain range was the base from which the rebellion supposedly began, a massive temple complex. This force joining with that one would make ending their rebellion even more challenging.
"Move east, keep shadowing them." I agreed, listening to the alien's affirmation before muting my mic.
So, the status quo continued. The loyalist tribe lacked fast movers and so could not skirmish with CT1. CT1 could not deploy their own skirmishers - the Juggernauts or otherwise - as doing so would leave the greater tribe vulnerable to attack from Starn. For the better part of a day and half, we gave chase - but time was not on CT1's side. The last pass big enough to accommodate their numbers was coming up - there would not be another opportunity according to the fleet and loyalist Chevins for another four day march at current speeds. Given how fast the tribe was moving currently, I doubted they could last that long. Civilians on a forced march tended to not last all that long - the current rate itself was a testament to their hardiness.
"The Chevins are strong." My loyalist comrade would claim, but strong did not mean invincible. They would need to take that opportunity, or else risk my walkers catching up. Despite the petulance the loyalists showcased, they had made their way to the large pass and dug their heels in.
When CT1 turned north once more, they crashed against the loyalist lines in a great infantry duel. Barrack, though, was absent.
"CT1 has deployed its rearguard." A scout reported as I looked through my periscope. I could not see them yet, but the rolling plains we were now in would soon betray their positions.
"Chevin?" I asked.
"No, Imperial." Or Imperial traitors, but I did not correct the young man. I pulled away from the scope, frowning, but soon enough I realised what Barrak was doing. He was confident, or at least hopeful, that his allies could break the loyalist tribe and survive Starn's skirmishers long enough that they could enter the pass. He, meanwhile, would buy them time by presenting what he must assume was a desirable target: himself. Infantry, armour and the Juggernauts dug in and prepared to meet us - but I planned to disappoint them.
"All stop." I ordered the walkers. "Deploy infantry."
I couldn't hear anything through the closed blastdoors and thick armour, but I imagined the Marine and Stormtrooper officers barking orders to their soldiers as the doors on the 'belly' of Judge-I opened up. It was a fast process, despite being reliant on a series of ropes for the troopers to slide down. The longer part was organising them again, but soon enough we set off..
I was tempted to just plow through Barrack's line and make way for the tribe. Destroying the Juggernauts was the priority, but theoretically there was little the armour and infantry could do to slow us down. However, Generals with more accolades than me had died for such an action.
"Walkers, forward. Infantry speed." The walkers moved far slower now, acting like the lumbering beasts they appeared to be.
I saw the Juggernauts first - squat pillboxes with massive wheels. They were beautiful, I wished I were on one of them instead.
The infantry had hastily dug a trench line and set up turrets - but it was clear even from a cursory glance that they lacked the experience in such entrenching. A glorified PDF - even against my green Marines they would be easy prey. They lacked any long range batteries, as the Juggernauts appeared to be outfitted more as troop transports than dedicated super-heavy tanks. I had to assume they were A4s, though so few of the original unmodified class existed now that it was hard to tell at a glance.
I, on the other hand, had three sets of long range weapons. The moment we had line of sight, the AT-ATs opened fire with their chin-mounted laser cannons. Our initial targets were not the Juggernauts, but the entrenched line - blaster cannon nests exploded and men were sent flying in every direction. One of the tanks - a squat 1-L - exploded violently as Judge-II focused it down. The remainder panicked and scattered, trying to put some distance between themselves as Judge-II sighted down his next target. I wanted to order a full stop, but we were on a time table. I had hoped to bait Barrak into counter charging - his Juggernauts could not do much to our front armour, but getting to our sides could be dangerous. The exposed necks of the walkers were an infamous chink in their otherwise durable armoured shells.
I got my wish, both of the Juggernauts lurching forward over the uneven terrain and rapidly getting up to speed. At last, I gave the order to focus on them. Our heavy laser cannons roared to life once more, but many shots went wide. The crew were ill-prepared for moving targets, flash training had not made them especially experienced. One managed a hit, sheering off a section of the tank's armour. The tank shook, but continued forward at speed. They went wide, trying to outflank my walkers using their superior speed. One - I assumed it to be Barrak's command vehicle - went wider still, trying to avoid my infantry. The other was not so clever, charging toward my right-most walker, Judge-II. Rockets and missiles hurtled out from the men marching alongside us, some impacting the armour. One seemed to find its mark as the suspension detonated at the vehicle's front, shearing off two of its wheels on the left side. The tank careened wildly, its front dipping down as the remaining left wheels were overtaxed. Its chin dug into the soft dirt of a nearby hill, smoke rising from its hull. As we moved by, the infantry swarmed it like insects.
The other Juggernaut continued to try its flank attack, but clearly Barrak had not accounted for the fact that I had three AT-ATs and was willing to leave one behind.
"Judge-III, keep him under control." I ordered. A glance at my periscope and I could see the AT-AT stop and start turning to face the Juggernaut making its wide circles. I was certain the comedy act of a Juggernaut driving round and round while an AT-AT spun would have been fun to watch, but I had a schedule to keep.
Judge-II and I gave the remaining infantry and tanks a few cheeky volleys as we passed; the Marines would be able to clean up the survivors easily enough.
Back to full speed, we were rapidly catching up with the rest of CT1. I could not yet see the battle, but from the reports pouring in it was brutal. Starn had finally engaged as well, his speeders harassing the civilians and baiting more Chevin forces into chasing him off. Barrak's gamble had not paid off as the few Chevins that were spared as a second rear-guard were faced with trying to stop a duo of walkers with blaster cannons.
Unsurprisingly, they were unsuccessful. We were headed toward the main battle to assist the Chevins, but the civilian convoy came into sight first. We had seen smoke rising over the hills, caravan vehicles in flames on the far side of the group. Large transports - some drawn by beasts, others far more modern - were scattered among tents and other temporary abodes. I could see small little figures - small relative to the walker, in any case - hurriedly moving away from the edge of the camp.
"Gunner, take some potshots. Let's put some pressure on this lot." I ordered. The gunner hesitated for a heartbeat before gripping his controls and turning the walker's head toward the nearest of the camps. The anti-infantry cannons came to life, but at my prodding he fired with the larger guns.
One of the larger caravan vehicles detonated violently as we passed them.
Hopefully that hurried this group into surrendering: I wanted to take a crack at that temple.
Wing Commander Nas Ghent
The Chevin did not have starfighters. They were nomads without regularly permanent infrastructure. Fortunately, the treasonous garrison did - and so I was given the task of hunting down those rogue TIE Fighters. Some ground attack variants, so they had been running roughshod over the loyalist groups while avoiding actual air engagements.
I had little care for why we were here or for what, the Crucible had been sitting in peaceful systems for too long in my opinion. I wanted to get my hands back on a yoke and get into a dogfight, work off some of that nervous energy. Unfortunately, with Millavec now commanding the Star Destroyer alone, I had a lot of nervous energy to work off. And anger.
My squadron was patrolling a region where one of the fighters had been spotted - they were working along rather than in their full group of four. To reduce the risk of them all getting caught, I suspected, but it meant patrols were scattered over the world trying to find them. The Chevins lacked dedicated anti-air and Maab couldn't be everywhere at once.
My squadron, Black Eight, was spread over a wide area - scanning the forest for any sign of the TIE Fighter we were hunting. My flight was at the front and center, the second and third to our right, and the fourth on our left. We were coming up on a mountain range, maybe twenty minutes north Colonel Maab was finishing up with the largest of the tribes.
"Black-Nine, anything on your end?" I asked, addressing the leader for the third flight.
"Nothing and more nothing, Commander." The man grunted, annoyance clear in his voice. There was an edge to it, but we were all on edge. This entire campaign had been an endless game of hide and go seek, only the hider was perfectly content never leaving his bolthole.
"Alright, we've reached the end anyway." I muttered. "Black Eight, fall in and RTB-"
"Contact, eight o'clock, low. Five hundred meters and closing." My wingman, Black-Two, suddenly cried. Reflexively, I looked down to the left, trying to spot the hostile fighter. Nothing - my display seemed to be working fine, but I couldn't see anything. I brought my fighter around, allowing a direct line of sight through the cockpit window - at five hundred meters, I should have been able to see it skimming over the trees. Nothing.
"Where?" I asked, scouring the sea of green for the familiar shape of a TIE Fighter. Nothing.
"At your twelve, low." Black-2 repeated urgently, but I still saw nothing. My TIE Fighter suddenly screamed a warning, I was being targeted! Reflexes were faster than my mind registering the face. I pulled on the yoke hard - I could feel the TIE Fighter shake violently at the sudden change of direction as I was pushed back into my seat. Flying in-atmosphere was a completely different beast to the empty void, something I was reminded of immediately as my vision swam. Laser fire hurtled under me, visible through the forward viewscreen as twin green bolts. The position… Black-Two. I swung left just as hard, spinning as Black-Three followed up. He didn't cut his speed and so hurtled by me, directly into my targeting sights. I didn't bother locking the target, I didn't bother asking questions - I just pushed in the trigger. A stream of bolts hurtled forward, spraying the left wing of Black-Three's fighter. It was shredded, the cockpit taking a direct hit and exploding outward as the fighter plummeted. Black-Two had overtaken me as well, but was smart enough to bank away and avoid my retribution.
The other three flights were closing and I didn't need the deafening silence over comms to know that they weren't here to help me. I slammed the throttle forward and shot off, thrown back into my seat as I raced for the mountains.
The fighter continued to display warnings as the other flights closed in, forgoing subtlety and locking my signature immediately. I sent out a distress signal before cursing at my stupidity. There was no mistake, I knew Millavec had to be behind this. I shut the squadron communications off, hoping I could delay them calling reinforcements before I could escape, or else destroy them.
My attention was moved, however briefly, to my left. I felt a laugh bubble in my chest, a ground-attack TIE Fighter took off from its hiding place amongst the trees and ran.
The moment passed as I moved into the mountains. Gorges and ravines surrounded me, forcing me to navigate them. I kept close to the ground, daring my traitorous squadron to come after me. One flight followed me in while another flew overhead - tracking my movements and waiting for me to run out of room. I lost track of the third.
I had given myself some distance, but the members of Black Eight - loathe though I was to admit it - were fair pilots. They kept on my tail, though only the leader had room to fire. A narrow gap was up ahead, the TIE Fighter warning me that it was too narrow to safely navigate. I had gone through tighter with larger and so I sped up.
My fighter slipped through with maybe a couple inches on either side. Two of the fighters broke, climbing and not wanting to follow me in. The leader was more bold, but he was slightly off. His fighter crumpled as its wing skimmed the ravine walls and was ripped leftwards into a crash. I entered a larger section and yanked up on my controls. The two that went over the gap were racing to meet me on the other side and, not expecting me to jump in front of them, broke off and lost their speed.
I spun my fighter to go back the way I came, forcing my followers high above to change direction as the closer pursuers tried to bring themselves around. I needed to get back into the protection of the gorge - damn! The missing flight appeared on my right, skimming the mountain side and letting their lasers come to life. I cut right, spinning high and above them. It was narrow - one of my wings had carbon scoring, it was so close. I lost all my speed, I was stuck in a manoeuvre fight with eight other TIE Fighters and I had no room to fight back.
Damn, damn, damn! I cursed myself for losing sight of the last flight, I cursed Millavec and his vendetta against me, I cursed myself again for ever joining the Empire.
New sensor contacts, reinforcements no doubt sent by the Crucible to finish what my squadron could not. I grit my teeth and prepare for the end… Only for Black Eight to break off. Two of them stayed on me, but that was infinitely preferable to all eight. I dared to glance to my left and spied a squadron diving in on Black Eight - Crimson Squadron. I recognised the fighters - squat compared to the TIEs they faced. Howlrunners.
Black Eight had no formation, they hadn't had the time. Two of them were turned to scrap as the Howlrunners blitzed by, before climbing back up above the gorge. I couldn't watch for much longer as I took to my original plan. My pursuers followed me into the ravine once more, laser cannons blazing in a wild attempt to finish what they started. I was still running out of room and it was then that one of the Howlrunners joined the fray. It slid over the lip of the ravine and almost seemed to fall in, slightly wider than the TIE Fighters but still fitting. Its cannons destroyed one of my pursuers, forcing the other up to escape. The Howlrunner remained on my six for a moment, only to climb and give chase to the escaped hostile. After a moment, I allowed myself to sink into my seat and let out a long-held sigh. I pulled up and out of the ravine, daring a glance back.
The two sides were locked into a dogfight now. One of the Howlrunners had taken a hit and was smoking as it fled, but it was clear Crimson was trading favourably with Black Eight. Despite the situation, I felt a hint of shame at that before looking forward.
Millavec had played his hand, making it clear he would try to kill me openly now. He obviously had not taken my words to heart and continued to play his games. I was tempted by the thought of going up there and educating the man, but logic got the better of me. I doubt I would survive that approach and the allied Crimson Squadron would quickly prove to be my executioners. No, the best course was to vanish. Abandon the fighter and disappear, hope I could find passage off this backwater.
Unfortunately, I had not gotten to this point in my life by taking the best course of action. I glanced back again, watching my old squadron fight.
No, I swore to myself that I would teach Millavec a lesson - even if it meant wringing his scrawny neck with my bare hands. I couldn't do that by running away.
I brought my fighter around again and raced back to the melee - joining Crimson Squadron in finishing off these traitors.
Colonel Barton Maab
My previous success against CT1 had given me a false sense of victory. I underestimated Chevin stubbornness. After all, how could such a backwards species really offer any form of real resistance against us?
With copious outside help, I soon realised.
The Mons Temple, cleverly named and founded by one Ephant Mon, was a large complex nestled in a dense forest - difficult to reach for walkers or other such vehicles. We had to cut our way through, because while the AT-ATs could move without much issue the rest of the army could not. Though, I would be against the idea of bringing the walkers closer. Captain Starn had sent his speeders patrolling around the temple when they had gotten too close. The temple revealed its heaviest defenses, a pair of single-barreled turbolaser towers. One on the north side and the other on the south, covering the easiest approaches in their wide range. Where the Chevin had received such weapons was anyone's guess - though it indicated this Ephant Mon had some benefactors for his rebellion.
We had tried to render the temple into so much debris through the light artillery procured by the loyalist Imperials, infantry mortars and the like. That was unsuccessful, though I had not expected much in that case. The temple was clearly well constructed and strong and that was before we considered its shield generator. Bombing runs were warded off by flak hidden within the courtyards of the temple - Matread soon proved that he would rather keep his blastboats intact than help us on the ground. Genuine flak, with air-bursting rounds and everything - I had not seen the sort since the Empire took down the Separatist holdouts.
This all meant a good, old-fashioned infantry assault.
From my forward operating base, I watched on a hologram display as the assault began. Starn's men came from the north - bringing to bear roughly equal numbers to ours though of a far lower quality. From the south, my Marines and Stormtroopers pushed. Probe droids had scouted out the approaches, marked the defenses - laser and blaster cannons of several types scattered along the walls and entrenched in the shadow of the temple - and spotted pre-prepared explosives to harry our advance. The Chevin, given their size and odd shape, were unable to use regular blasters. Their preferred weapon was a massive modified blaster cannon that was held by an assembly they carried on their backs. Dangerous, but cumbersome - difficult to use against light infantry such as Marines and Stormtroopers once they got into the trenches or on the walls.
But that was the problem. Starn launched his attack first, meant to be the distraction. His men were slaughtered, but it was my hope that enough of the garrison was pulled that way so as to make my job easier. It was not to be. There were only two easy approaches and both were covered entirely. Thankfully, my troopers were smart and skilled enough to pull back before their casualties climbed as high, but it became obvious that taking the temple would be a difficult task. The Chevin had proven to be more than willing to defend this location to the last and so they doggedly turned aside a second and then a third assault. I hoped their losses were at least as bad as ours, but the probe droids confirmed they had numbers to spare. This would need to become a protracted siege, something I did not have the time for. I would also not waste more Marines in foolhardy attempts at unseating the Chevin, especially now that the loyalist Armytroopers were expended and broken.
"Someone get me the fleet."
Commodore Rivejer Tullius
"Judge, Glorious - go ahead." The voice joined the many softly speaking on the bridge, though I tuned most of them out. I was looming over my holotable, watching the movements of the Vinsothi - Chevin, I had been told - tribes as they roved the planet's surface. Those that had surrendered had already been released into the care of their fellows, there wasn't really a way to hold such large groups given the lacking infrastructure. The loyalists had made it clear they had their own methods of controlling their people, though given that this rebellion happened in the first place I somehow doubted that.
At the moment, I was listening to a report from Matread.
"No survivors?" I asked, repeating his words.
"None." His voice responded, it was an audio-only communication. "Whatever else they were, they fought bravely and to the last."
I clicked my tongue, cursing the name Mentz once more. Even now, I was still cleaning up the mess that was his ship. Fragging, as my peers from Eriadu had once called it, wasn't as rare as it should have been in the lower officer ranks, but an entire squadron turning against their leader? It smelled of a planned assassination, though on whose part I did not know. That the target had not only survived, but killed several of his former squadmates himself before reinforcements could respond to his distress signal was impressive. Matread seemed impressed at least and he was the figure by which I judged the quality of pilots.
"And Ghent had nothing to say about it?" Hamne asked, disbelief colouring his voice. He stood to my side, having less to do now that Crimson Squadron had returned to the Glorious.
"Nothing. Though, I suspect he knows more than he is telling me." Matread said. "He may even know who is behind it."
"Just what we need, an intrafleet conflict." Hamne bemoaned, shaking his head forlornly at the thought.
"Intraship." I corrected him. "Still, I would rather my staff - new or old - not spend their time trying to kill each other."
"You may need to send Cardon over early." Hamne advised, but he was immediately countered by Matread.
"Let's not be hasty with unleashing CompForce on them. The current security has not fully integrated."
Footsteps drew my attention, Milgern had approached.
"Commodore, Colonel Maab has requested a point target saturation bombardment." I blinked, surprised, ending the call with Matread and giving him my full attention.
"Saturation?" I repeated, before then turning back to the holotable. I adjusted it to show the battle at the temple. The display did not give much detail, but the temple was still clearly marked as being in enemy hands. It was perhaps the only permanent location that was.
"No luck in breaking it, then?" I asked, clicking my tongue. I sighed and nodded at Milgern. "Approved."
Milgern saluted and walked off. Ordinarily, he would be well within his rights to approve bombardments himself, but a saturation bombardment was as final as the regular fare came. It was the sort of order meant to entirely obliterate a location, not soften it up for capture. Poor bastards, but I didn't start this war.
Minutes later, the Glorious pitched over sideways - presenting its broadside to Vinsoth. The trio of heavy turbolasers turned to aim down at the world. There was little fanfare as the first fired - a ranging shot to gauge accuracy. It landed on the center of the citadel and once confirmed, the rest let loose. Five shots each across three guns plus the rangefinder, sixteen in total. Mons Temple was leveled and the hill it stood on turned to a crater, the underground storage collapsing under the weight and destruction.
In those few minutes, the Vinsoth Civil War was over.
With this victory under his belt, Isaac Verus wanted to throw his little parade. I wanted to leave, but seeing as it was my men that had achieved this victory and - again - not wanting to offend someone on the border of my new posting, I attended.
We were on the planet, in the reclaimed garrison building for the Imperial Army. Armytroopers marched in formation, the parade being perhaps the only thing they achieved competently throughout this entire affair. Maab's Marines followed and the walkers behind them. Next came the prisoners - former Imperials and Chevin - brought before their loyalist kin and their families from the surviving tribes.
The Imperial Anthem was playing, but the onlookers were deafeningly quiet - it was all deeply uncomfortable and I wished it would end. I spied the man that had been identified as Colonel Barrak, hands bound behind his back and his mouth muzzled.
"What, are they afraid he will bite someone?" A neighboring officer asked with a chuckle, pulling the question right out my mouth.
"No, he has been screaming all morning. A bunch of tribes were under that temple, or something."
"The Captain wanted to cut his tongue out I hear, but the Lieutenant-Governor wants him still capable of speech for the inevitable tribunal." I had to remind myself that most of the Outer Rim was not as progressive as Eriadu. Such base forms of punishment were seen as gauche on that world - better a quick death, though I'd never been party to such executions.
"It's their own fault." A third grunted. "Shouldn't have been under a fortress."
I stilled, my boredom gone as those words washed over me.
"Their warriors?" I asked, raising my voice to the conversation. I could not claim that I was unaware the smaller tribes were moving toward the temple, but I hadn't considered that they were all going to be there in the same place.
"Their whole tribes. Three smaller ones, at least- Er, sir." The officer added quickly when he saw my rank and, more importantly, who I was. "Um… Good work, sir."
He nodded awkwardly then looked ahead, evidently not a fan of meeting my stare. The other two did the same, silence returning to the stands. I looked forward once more, at the crowds of Chevin. I did not know the species, nor how to read their expressions, but could only shake my head at the pointless waste of life. Why make such a foolhardy decision, why keep fighting when my fleet arrived? Maybe Barrak was gripped by revolutionary fervor, but were the Chevin so suicidally brave that they would face a foe with complete orbital supremacy? In the end, the bombardment was a necessary step to take - one I did not have to like taking to accept. In the exchange between the lives of my men and those of these rebels, there was no question. I did not start this war, but the Chevin were the ones that forced me to end it.
The Chevin prisoners passed, followed by what appeared to be more humans - not Imperials, or at least not Armytroopers. I was curious as to who or what they were and asked one of the officers accordingly.
"The Chev, another native species to this world." He explained.
"Native? They look human." I noted absently.
"Near-Human, damned if I can tell the difference though. The Chevins keep them as slaves. The whole reason for the war, that Ephant Mon chap was very vocally against it."
I felt my lip curl at the mention, slavery. Like a poison, it infected the mind and made these hopeless radicals do foolish things. Did droids not exist for a reason? First N'zoth, now here. I kept my disdain for the practice to myself; I'd be viewed as some indulgent fool whinging about the morality of such things.
Still, my distaste in being involved in this mess was justified. All slavery ever did was create problems.
Wing Commander Nas Ghent
The fleet left Vinsoth without much fanfare. The battle was over and it was clear to everyone the Commodore wanted to be as far from the system as he could get. I was allowed to return to the Crucible after Commander Matread and his lot had finished grilling me. They wanted answers - something I didn't blame them for - but I was not going to let bureaucracy get between me and Millavec. Even the CompForce interrogator - though the man had reiterated several times that I wasn't being accused of anything - had failed to make me name my presumed would-be killer.
"Commander Ghent, you return to us." Millavec said as a greeting, hands behind his back as he considered me. His expression was split between exasperation and the barest fear - no doubt, my words from our last encounter lingering in his mind.
"Despite my squadron's best efforts, yes."
Dorin Millavec, the scrawny blonde moron, had been a thorn in my side for years now. Ever since Lord Vader had forced us to cooperate, I had been made to suffer his disdain and repeated attempts to discredit me. Unfortunately, that had expanded to assassination attempts - though, thankfully, there was only one before now.
He was joined today by his usual toady, Resjin Resjic, though that man seemed decidedly less eager to speak or even interact with me. He had come to take Millavec's old position as Fighter Commander and seemed less willing to insult me now that he had to interact with me directly.
The last of their trifecta was a new officer, one given over by Tullius. Lieutenant Robald Cherrian, an effete gentleman with a soft-spoken voice. Indeed, were he not most assuredly an agent reporting directly to Tullius, I might have even found him pleasant standing next to these two. It was why Millavec was being so reserved as usually he was more direct with his insults. There was little question as to why Cherrian was here, joining the crew alongside the security officers Tullius sent to 'keep the peace'. The Commodore claimed Cherrian was merely here to help the Crucible integrate with the fleet, but I heard some of the bridge officers tag him with a different title: Commissar. He was here to keep Millavec in line, they claimed - and were it not for the presence of CompForce on the Glorious, I might have been tempted to call their words exaggeration.
Cherrian had little interest in me though, so I got to enjoy watching Millavec squirm - whatever the truth was.
"That is a shame. I will strive to find out what caused them to turn on you so suddenly and completely, of course." Millavec promised, his concern a dishonest mask to hide his annoyance at my survival.
"The Commodore is quite concerned as well." Cherrian chirped, adding his voice to the conversation. "That betrayal went unnoticed until it was nearly successful."
Millavec looked as if he had bitten into a lemon, his concern now clear. Unlike under the former Captain, Millavec was facing far more scrutiny. He couldn't pretend this murder attempt was another test from Lord Vader, Millavec now being the highest authority on the Crucible. If it was revealed that my squadron turned on me under orders, he would be the first suspect. It meant killing him would be difficult.
Good, I'd hate for it to be easy.