NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: Want an invite? TG me. Please indicate what your general intentions are as to which side you want to support, as well as the extent of your involvement. I reserve the right to limit participation on either side primarily to keep one side from getting dogpiled. I will make a separate OOC thread if it becomes necessary.

Current nations with permission to post:

CoreWorlds
Gaian Ascendancy [Please observe TG]
Godular
Free Woody Thoughts [Light Side rebellion puppet]
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So, today is the day when the stroke of darkness falls.

Jedi Knight Whitfield shuddered when he entered the Parliament building to observe today's session. He had done this daily, for the last month or so, ever since the premonitions (http://www.forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=452678) had started. However, today, Parliament would vote on military appropriations. Rumors swirled around those with connections that the Parliament suspected possible purges (http://www.forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=452394) in the military, and thus would seek to narrow its influence today.

Yes, very suspicious indeed...

Whitfield, dressed in his Jedi cloak, took a seat in the balcony of the Parliament chamber. He did not want to be noticed until circumstances dictated otherwise.

Whitfield watched the current Prime Minister, Mike Frazier, call the session to order and take the quorum call...

The Jedi's back tingled, but all he could do for the time being was wait. Finally the inevitable came. "And now," the voice of Mike Frazier echoed through the chamber, "we shall consider Appropriations Supplement Number 48, a measure to fund the Ministry of Defence for Fiscal Year 2078."

Like clockwork, the sound of blaster fire could be heard from just outside the chamber. Whitfield fingered his lightsaber. Seconds later, the Sith Lord that had for two months plagued his thoughts entered the room, followed closely by four columns of stormtroopers. A hush fell over the Parliament session.

Wait, those aren't stormtroopers, they're clonetroopers.

The Sith Lord, whom Whitfield could not yet identify, approached the podium. Whitfield drew a small transmitter from his pocket and recorded a message: "I have made contact with a Sith Lord in Evil Woody Thoughts Parliament session. Live broadcast on Holovid channel 2,029." He then transmitted the message to the Jedi Council in Jurai system.

As he transmitted the message, the Sith Lord ascended the Prime Minister's podium, and filled the chamber with an evil, crackling voice that Whitfield should have recognized, but didn't. "Regrettably, the Parliament meets today to consider a bill that would weaken national security and deliver us right up to our enemies. I am here today to ensure that does not happen."

Immediately, shouts of protest filled the building, for the MPs saw this event as nothing more than a military coup, which was, in the eyes of Whitfield, exactly what it was. If ever there was any doubt, bolts of dark blue cracks in the Force issued from the Dark Lord's fingers.

Whitfield, stood up on the balcony and sent his original lightsaber forth from his hand. It flew towards the podium, waiting until the last minute to do anything else, until Whitfield, through the Force, remotely depressed the activation button.

A purple-white blade flashed before the Dark Lord, intercepting the deadly stream of Force Lightning before it could do serious, permanant injury. Whitfield leapt down from the balcony, fingering his newly made spare lightsaber, keeping the original one activated and suspended in midair. As he drew closer, he recognized the face of the dark figure...

Bielski. Memories flashed through Whitfield's mind...the young sergeant, who, at the time he discovered his abilities, was afraid he would be corrupted by them. He would be but an obscure figure had he not been the first citizen of Evil Woody Thoughts to set foot on this planet. But now...none of that mattered. Admiral Bielski was now his own worst fear from thirty years ago.

Whitfield said as such. "Admiral Bielski, how ironic it is that you have become your very own worst fear. You refused Force training because you were afraid that you would be corrupted by it. You have become your own worst fear."

"That name no longer has any meaning to me. I am now called Darth Ebolus." Ebolus snapped his fingers, and the doors leading into the Parliament chamber locked themselves, then ignited his lightsaber.

BREAKING NEWS! LIGHTSABER DUEL IN EWT PARLIAMENT!!

"Ladies and gentlebeings, this is HNN (HoloNews Network) bringing you a special report from the planet of White Diamond in the nation of Evil Woody Thoughts." The announcer announced on the Holonet. "An amazing and deadly sight in the EWT Parliament occured today as Members of Parliament were debating a defence bill when just moments ago, a lightsaber duel broke out in the middle of the session..."

A camera crew managed to catch some of the action.

Whitfield couldn't help but wonder what the clonetroopers were waiting for as he continued to approach the Prime Minister's podium. As Whitfield approached, Darth Ebolus demanded that the Prime Minister yield his position on the podium.

Prime Minister Frazier made a point of speaking directly into the microphone. "Today is not the day that this great nation yields itself to tyranny." Thunderous applause greeted this last statement, but Frazier found his throat constricting, and the microphone amplified the sickening choking sounds so that the entire chamber could hear them.

By now, Whitfield had ascended the steps to the raised platform that housed the Prime Minister's podium. "You will release him. Immediately."

Ebolus let out an scornful, contemptful laugh. "You have no power over me."

The purple lightsaber blade that Whitfield had kept between Ebolus and the Members of Parliament deactivated itself and returned to Whitfield's hand. Ebolus threw Frazier aside and slashed at Whitfield with his cyan blade.

Whitfield jumped over the slash, and landed behind Darth Ebolus, and as Ebolus turned around to strike again, Whitfield reignited his own lightsaber. Ebolus' lightsaber bore down upon Whitfield, who quickly intercepted the chop. Ebolus attempted to force it through sheer strength, but the cackling lightsabers did not budge...

"Surely you must know by now that you have already failed to protect those weaklings you hold so dear." Ebolus snickered as his head turned towards the unconscious Prime Minister.

Whitfield stepped back and pulled his lightsaber out from underneath from Darth Ebolus' blade, which cut through thin air before reaching the floor.

Whitfield made a quick thrust, but found that Ebolus' lightsaber could rise just as quickly as it had fallen. The former Prime Minister staggered back as the uppercut managed to knock his lightsaber out of his hand.

As Lord Ebolus raised his lightsaber again to slice Whitfield neatly in half, Whitfield's second lightsaber flew from utility belt to right hand, and more sparks flew as Ebolus' cyan blade collided with Whitfield's new amethyst blade.

Darth Ebolus responded by hacking and slashing at Whitfield's lightsaber, attempting to use his greater size, reach, and physical strength to overwhelm Whitfield's defences. Whitfield parried and counterthrusted until, to the gasp of the Members of Parliament in attendance, he was finally overwhelmed and knocked down.

Ebolus let out an evil cackle as he raised his lightsaber to impale the old Jedi Knight right there. But his split-second of overconfidence and hubris was all that Whitfield needed. Ebolus flew backwards into the wooden podium, which collapsed under his weight. His lightsaber clattered to the ground, and rolled off the raised platform.

As Whitfield got up, Ebolus let loose with a terrifying jolt of Force energy, most of which Whitfield caught on his blade. However, a draining shock managed to reach Whitfield's shoulder, and he found himself momentarily distracted by the pain...

He willed it away and charged Darth Ebolus, who responded by sending Whitfield flying into a wall at such force that Whitfield felt a couple of vertabrae fracture. As Ebolus got up, he hobbled to the microphone, obviously injured by crashing into the podium. He found the microphone on the floor. "Commander Number 580923, open fire on Whitfield!"

The clonetroopers present responded by firing their blasters at Whitfield, who had just gotten up. While Whitfield artfully deflected the blaster bolts back to the clonetroopers, it bought Ebolus the distraction he needed...

Above Whitfield's head, cracks appeared in the vaulted ceiling. Whitfield looked up, still using the Force to guide his lightsaber, but it was too late...

The Members of Parliament watched in stunned silence as half the ceiling crashed upon Whitfield's head.

OOC: CoreWorlds and I have discussed this post over M$N IM.

IC: Darth Ebolus straightened his back and forced away the pain from the blunt trauma of crashing into an inanimate object. As he walked up and down the aisles, he reveled in the fear and despair that ran rampant among the trapped MPs. But, before he could carry out what he had in mind, he realized, it might be a good idea to seek out any camera crews that might be hiding somewhere in the room...

He could smell the fear of the two camera crews. As he reached the back of the chamber, he found one of them, hiding under tables.

"You fools. You cannot escape your fate. Eric, Ron, and Mindy, you will die. You will succumb to the Dark Side. Now." As the EWT-SPAN 2 television crew trembled in fear, dark bolts of energy slammed into its members and filled the room with a rank stench of dying and burning flesh. Ebolus made sure to fry the camera equipment, as well.

As the international crew trembled in fear under another table not thirty feet away, it did not take Ebolus long to find them and move on. "Jack, Richie, and Selma, you should know better than to think you can escape your destiny..."

The CoreWorlds camera crew could only briefly wonder how Ebolus knew their names before they started writhing in unbearable pain, as a few thousand volts of electricity fried their bodies for about thirty excruciating seconds. Moreover, as their cameras went out, so, too, he thought, did all knowledge the outside world would have of what the hell Ebolus was doing.

Now comes the pleasurable task of wiping these hundred weaklings from the world...

Darth Ebolus selected his first victim, Chris Lauzen, one of the most experienced Members of Parliament, and one of the very few to have voted upon the space colonization program some thirty years ago. Darth Ebolus took great pleasure in crushing his trachea and snapping his head back, breaking his neck...

As the other MPs realized they were to die one by one, in one last attempt to save their skins, they tried to overwhelm Darth Ebolus. But the clonetroopers would have none of that, and cut the forty or so who attempted to jump Ebolus down with blaster fire.

What a shame. Forty less victims for my personal pleasure.

The other Members of Parliament despaired, resigned to their fate, and were extinguished one by one. After his work was done, Ebolus left the building with his clonetroopers to oversee the consolidation of his power.

The Council had watched in stunned silence as the duel went on, and as the camera went out, they knew what was to happen to the members of the EWT Parliament.

"What do we do?" Master Rydo asked.

Alexander leaned back, rubbing his hundred year old eyes. "We wait. The Dark Lord would be consolidating his power about now and to try and reach him now is to invite death. Soon enough, resistance to this Sith Lord's power will rise up. Once it does, we will have an opportunity to restore the light to them. Until then, we can try other channels."

"Very well. That will be all." Master Elendil said, getting up. "This meeting is concluded."

*two hours later*

When Whitfield's eyes blinked open again, four things immediately became apparent:

1) He was trapped under a few tons of rubble.
2) His entire body was in immense physical pain; he probably had at least twenty broken bones.
3) Whatever physical pain he was in, the outcry of terror and panic felt through the Force drowned it out.
4) The place reeked of death and decay.

Unfortunately, I need to be able to get up before I can heal myself, and my failure has already plunged my country into a new Dark Age...

As Whitfield lay there, nearly paralyzed, he started the process of using the Force to move the rubble, piece by piece. After about a half hour of doing this, he could see up again.

Whitfield felt a thousand pricks of pain pierce his broken body as he sat up. He surveyed his health using the Force and set broken bones as best he could unaided and with no equipment, but he was no Force healer. He would need medical treatment very soon.

Of course, finding medical treatment while now considered an enemy of the state was another matter entirely.

Slowly, he coaxed his stiff body into standing up, and as he turned towards the rest of the chamber, he saw dead bodies everywhere. He surveyed the faces of the victims. Some of them he had known personally.

As he looked over the fallen and the fried, more than a hundred flashbacks forced themselves into Whitfield's mind...one for each victim. The fear, the helplessness, the despair...

Jacob Whitfield saw so much suffering that he could not help but feel crucified.

Failed I have. Into exile I must go. Whitfield silently apologized to those whom he had been unable to help, knowing full well there would be many more victims. He forced himself to reach out with the Force to see the events transpiring outside of the four walls that bound him, and found only more death. Rioting. Rioters mowed down by anti-infantry weaponry, mostly pulse lasers. He caught a glimpse of the millions trying to flee the chaos...and saw the same face of a five-year old boy that he had seen two months ago. He meditated helplessly while, a hundred kilometres away, this boy saw his father disappear in a blinding flash of green light, to become a forgotten heap of ash, while "police," and not in the public-servant sense of the word, grabbed him and his mother, shoved them into the back of a speeder, to be taken to some nameless gulag.

And he wept.

Somehow, Whitfield brought himself to stand again. He sensed a news blackout...not that anyone within the nation of Evil Woody Thoughts would not know what happened, but the rest of the universe would only be able to predict the horrors of events based upon seeing the coup d'etat on the news before the cameras cut off. He used the Force to search for his X-wing fighter, and, in about the only shred of good news from this dark day, found that it was still there, because the government, or what remained of it, had more immediate concerns.

He hobbled to a back door. Locked. Well, my lightsaber can take care of that...no, wait, where is my lightsaber? The one he had used in the duel, he discovered, had been crushed by the falling ceiling, but he looked down at his utility belt to find his spare. He cut the door open, and snuck around deserted back alleyways to his X-wing.

"Artoo, prepare for takeoff...better start calculating a hyperspace route to some random sector now." The droid warbled as the cockpit canopy raised itself. Whitfield could feel his broken vertebrae as he climbed in the cockpit, but forced the pain away for the time being.

Thirty seconds later, the X-wing lifted off. "Artoo, shut down all weapons completely and dump the power into propulsion and shields." Yes, getting out of the planet's gravity well without being shot to space dust first was going to be interesting. A few compliant beeps issued from the droid as the X-wing's laser cannons went off line and the ship suddenly gained a bit of acceleration.

The moment the ship blasted out of the exosphere, the turbolaser fire from hordes of capital ships, and the four orbital batteries that had a line of fire capability on the craft, started...

Whitfield closed his eyes, hand on the joystick, using the Force to anticipate the weapons fire, as the ship threaded its way through a labyrinth of turbolaser fire.

Finally, the droid indicated that it was safe to jump to hyperspace, and Whitfield was more than happy to engage the hyperdrive.

A minute or so later, Whitfield dropped his craft out of hyperspace, having little idea where he was. Other than, of course, the middle of nowhere. Fighting off exhaustion, he thought, or tried to think, of where to go next, but the voices of the Force tore his attention away from the matter at hand...

Earth...no. Ebolus might already have established a foothold there. He thought about going to the Gaian Ascendancy, but ruled that out, for he had not had contact with their government in several years. What remained on his mental capacities seemed to point to Jurai, so he instructed Artoo to recalculate the course.

*a couple of hours later*

Another random X-wing dropped back into realspace about ten lightseconds away from Jurai. Whitfield reached for the transponder controls as quickly as his broken and bruised arms would allow and managed to speak only in a cracked, tired voice. "This is Jedi Knight Jacob Whitfield requesting permission to land, preferably near a hospital..."

Permission was granted immediately and the way was cleared for the Temple's healing wards. Emergency vehicles were on standby just in case anything happened while on approach to landing.

When approval for landing clearance came over the intercom, the words spoken by the traffic controller blurred together in Whitfield’s head. “Thank you.” His voice sounded even coarser than it did a minute ago.

The X-wing gradually turned into a course consistent with a Jurai Prime, the only naturally inhabitable planet in the system, for Whitfield had become through exhaustion so weak that he could only manage a weak tug on the joystick. He managed to push the throttle forward by using the Force, but what should have been second nature seemed to take an excessive amount of energy…

His eyes started to close, but he forced them to open again. His head started to sag as he struggled to maintain consciousness. Just a few more minutes…

The droid’s frenzied warbles jarred Whitfield from his semiconscious stupor. He saw in front of him a planet that now filled his entire view of space, and strained to reach for a panel of instruments two feet in front of him. Just when the temperature started to inch up in the cockpit due to atmospheric friction, he managed to reach the panel to activate shielding. His right hand still on the fighter’s joystick, he slowly pulled up to a more favorable entry angle, i.e. not perpendicular to the planet.

The Force guided him to the medical docks, for Whitfield by this point lacked any sense of direction other than the big green thing that was the ground. The astromech had by now figured out that the pilot was only marginally conscious, and switched on the autopilot when the docking bays came into view. By this point, all the pilot could see was the green blur that was the ground against the blue blur, the sky.

Artoo guided the craft to a reasonably gentle landing on the docking platform and raised the canopy. The slight jolt of landing lessened Whitfield’s stupor somewhat, and he managed to climb out of the X-wing, albeit with a lot of effort.

Character information from the next paragraph obtained from Coreworlds in advance.

The person meeting Whitfield was a young Padawan, only eleven years of age, but emergency personnel also waited on standby. As Whitfield turned around after disembarking from his X-wing, young James Revan saw something he would not soon forget. Whitfield had several large gashes on his head, some running the entire length of his face, which also happened to be caked in dried blood, and his eyes were only vaguely open. His Jedi robes were tattered, ripped by the falling debris from the Parliament’s ceiling. His arms were noticeably dislocated; even a creature who had never seen a human before would notice this.

Jacob Whitfield’s facial expression had essentially frozen in time, with the exception of the half-closed eyes, hours ago. His countenance carried a heavy burden: anguish, despair, helplessness, utter exhaustion, and shame, all rolled into one blank stare.

Whitfield opened his mouth to attempt to speak, but the noise the paramedics made as they came forward to render aid, the ambient noise of the surroundings…of generators, of spacecraft and speeders coming and going, of birds chirping…all faded into one distant rumble of background noise, and all sight became a total blur again…

He staggered forward a couple of steps, and then fainted. His broken body crumpled to the ground in front of the shocked eleven-year old.

A Master came by to console the boy as the paramedics expertly put Whitfield on a stretcher and wheeled him to the intensive ward unit of the Temple, where he was stripped of clothing and dunked into a bacta tank and serviced by a team of doctors, human and 2-1-B droids. The prognosis wasn't good, but he had the best doctors working on him. His wounds would take several days to fully heal, less if he's skilled in Force healing powers. Now all everyone had to do was wait...

Several hours after the disbanding of Parliament, Lord Ebolus summoned Commander Number 580923 for an update on the traitorous insurgency.

The clonetrooper commander answered with a rapid precision that could only come from a machine. "Our garrisons on White Diamond have successfully subdued the traitors. The rebel remnants flee to the mountains, only to be cut down or arrested. We are setting up the proper slave-labor and re-education camps to turn the surviving rebels into productive citizens of your new Empire. Only scattered protests continue in the cities, where the streets are filled with millions of former traitor swine."

Ebolus looked down from the window of what had been the forty-second story of the Douglass Federal Building, upon the streets of Great Woody City. The military had assumed control of the building in the last three hours, and stripped it of its name. Darth Ebolus saw thousands of corpses piled on the street, all either half-burnt by energy weapons or blown to pieces by more conventional kinetic weapons. No pavement was visible. And he saw that it was good.

The clonetrooper continued. "However, the news from our territories on Earth is not so good. The garrisons there are more sparse, and a few report being overrun by traitors wielding small arms and Molotov cocktails. While the garrisons there are following the same orders given to the White Diamond garrison, it appears that they lack sufficient numbers to completely crush the local insurgency. If the Earth garrison is overcome, we must be prepared to retake it by force."

Darth Ebolus considered this. "Impose immediate twenty-four hour curfew across the entire New Empire. If a traitor violates it, shoot him on sight. If a villiage resists on large scale, burn the villiage to the ground. Leave no traitor that is not already in protective custody alive."

"Yessir."

Several of the Parliamentary security guards on duty watched the duel break out over their closed-circuit surveillance screens of the session. As they were in a seperate room, they remained hidden from the Dark Lord Ebolus, who seemed intent on killing everything that moved. Apparently the military had not warned him of the CCTV cameras.

Multiple guards called the Parliament security dispatch, but nobody answered, for every dispatcher had already been killed, and the guards were left wondering what to do. They continued watching, their jaws agape.

Of course, the general public could not view the CCTV feed, and thus could not see what happened after the news crews were killed and their cameras destroyed. However, unknown to Lord Ebolus, closed circuit cameras continued rolling, sending feed to a control room that the military did not have authority over, unless it seized it.

So far, however, it had been overlooked.

The guards watched Ebolus' clonetroopers seal off the Parliament chamber, then watched the party leave. But, before the end of their shifts, something happened that they did not expect.

They watched as the boulders of building material that had fallen upon Whitfield's head spontaneously moved themselves away, and their eyes glued themselves to the surveillance screens. The guards watched in further amazement as a man got up, briefly meditated, and cut himself an exit with a lightsaber.

One of the guards realized the significance of this event. Darth Ebolus had not killed Whitfield as everyone had believed. The guard knew that this must be publicized. He secretly created another recording of the footage, and slipped it into his pocket, unknown to the others.

Now, he just had to find a hyperpulse generator that didn't have the army swarming all over it, so that these images could be transmitted throughout the galaxy. And he thought he knew where to look.

Fadi abu-el-Elam, the security guard who had copied the recording of Whitfield's miraculous escape, knew that the Ministry of State maintained an office in the Parliament building. The only problem was getting into that office. Fortunately for him, the inside of the Parliament building had emptied of everyone except the security guards of his shift.

As the others left the building, only to be killed for violating curfew, Fadi went instead to the main security office. There, he found a heavy blaster with which he could blast his way into the MoS office.

Blaster in hand, he walked to the MoS office, not encountering a single soul along the way. He had already seen the dead bodies of the MPs on the CCTV, and could only assume that everyone inside the Parliament building but outside of his post had met their death. When he reached the MoS office, he found a door that had already been blasted open, and several dead bodies inside.

The diplomatic transmitter, however, was still intact. He only regretted that it could not transmit news directly onto the Holonet, but it only transmitted to frequencies normally reserved for diplomatic communication. But it would have to do.

He transferred the data from his tape to the transmitter, then added a notation:

TO ANYONE WHO RECEIVES THIS TRANSMISSION:

PLEASE DISSEMINATE THIS INFORMATION BY ANY MEANS POSSIBLE TO THE
CITIZENS OF EVIL WOODY THOUGHTS. THANK YOU. RELEVANT FOOTAGE
ATTACHED.

He hit the TRANSMIT button, then left the building, only to die for "violating curfew," a martyr that no one would ever know about.

For the sake of clarity, this is an EWT puppet, created to RP the resistance. Jedi Knight Whitfield will later be RPed under Free Woody Thoughts.

Sol System, Earth
Woodymanjaro Island
Great Woodytowne
Four days later

Dead people littered the streets. But, on this day, in this one little slice of what was once Evil Woody Thoughts, the guns fell silent.

Protesters and insurgents cheered as the last BattleMech on the 1,700 square-mile island fell backwards, its pilot having ejected after a lucky direct hit on the 'Mech's cockpit by an RPG. However, for every 'Mech destroyed, a few thousand citizens gave the ultimate sacrifice to their old, legitimate government...

...not to mention the two hundred thousand that the more traditional land garrison had killed before it had finally been overwhelmed twelve hours earlier.

Albert Mendelez, a retired diplomat, was in that crowd. He was among the lucky few to have a diplomatic transmitter/receiver, and had watched the footage of what happened in the national Parliament after the cameras went out. He fingered the data disc in his pocket. As he looked at the dead bodies strewn across the streets of Great Woodytowne, he knew that in a few weeks at best, a few hours, at worst, reinforcements would arrive from White Diamond. However, he could not be more thankful that Evil Woody Thoughts had disbanded its "wet" navy for the most part, abandoning oceangoing ships in favor of space cruisers and orbital batteries.

A weakness, Mendelez had found, if only a new government could be raised to acquire a few naval transports, escorts, and heavy equipment, with which to liberate the neighboring islands.

He undertook the twenty-minute walk to the City Council building, hoping the other people would follow him. When he arrived, he discovered that a thousand or so had followed him, sharing common goals but not really knowing how to act upon them. Mendelez had ideas, and they did not involve a lust for power, for he did not wish to replicate the fate of Parliament.

He found in the crowd a City Council member who had survived the attempted purges. Councilwoman Mindy Wiesen quickly agreed to unlock the City Council Building, and as the two entered, many of the crowd followed, wondering what they were up to.

The two entered the City Council Chamber, intent on starting a new government, and when the chamber filled with a few hundred people, and could accomodate no more, Mindy called the session of the Great Woodytowne City Council to order. A random person with a camcorder started filming.

Albert Mendelez set up a projector, inserted his disc into the proper slot, and the security footage from after the Parliament duel played. Albert showed Darth Ebolus and his henchmen leaving the building, and then fast-forwarded to the scene where the chunks of ceiling started removing themselves.

The crowd gasped as Jedi Knight Whitfield stood up, sat down again, meditated, and then left the building, seriously injured, obviously, but not dead as had been thought.

Following this footage, the stunned crowd listened as Councilwoman Mindy Wiesen announced the agenda for the ad hoc meeting: to reinstate a democratic government. When Mindy stated that those present would have emergency voting powers to re-establish the government, the crowd broke into thunderous applause.

Albert Mendelez proffered a Statement of Secession to those assembled for a vote. A loud chorus of YEAs could be heard, and when the NAYs were called upon to make their vote heard, none did.

The Council of Great Woodytowne hereby declares that:

1) The City of Great Woodytowne, and surrounding areas, hereby declares the severance of all ties with the nation of Evil Woody Thoughts, until such time as democratic rule is restored to said nation;

2) That in its place, the People's Republic of Free Woody Thoughts is proclaimed, this 21 July 2078;

3) That the Constitution of Evil Woody Thoughts, as it was immediately before its annulment on 17 July 2078, shall be the operative governing document of Free Woody Thoughts, as much as practicable in this time of national emergency;

4) That all mention of 'Evil Woody Thoughts' in said document shall be struck out and replaced with 'Free Woody Thoughts';

5) That the People's Republic shall, in accordance with its new Constitution, admit any territory formerly belonging to Evil Woody Thoughts to the Republic upon the request of said territory,;

6) That the Government of Free Woody Thoughts shall hold, and if necessary, act upon, all war powers granted it under the Constitution, but not exceed the limits therein;

7) Elections shall be held as soon as practicable among the entire population of Free Woody Thoughts to elect a proper Government.

PASSED by unanimous voice vote, in the City Council Chamber of Great Woodytowne, this 21 July 2078.

All present in the chamber came forward to sign the document, a process that took approximately one hour, after which they spent another three hours electing a temporary government and agreeing to a very tentative national election.

After the session concluded, the random guy with the camcorder agreed to turn over the tape, so that its contents could immediately be broadcast throughout the galaxy.

Albert Mendelez, Mindy Wiese, a large crowd, and the random guy with the camcorder walked together to the City Council Press Conference room, where they set up camera equipment for a live broadcast. They hooked up the equipment to the City Council hyperpulse generator, capable of transmitting information on a wideband frequency across galaxies.

When the camera equipment was ready, Mendelez spoke to the camera.

"Attention! Resistance to the tyranny of Darth Ebolus lives! Jedi Knight Whitfield, former Prime Minister of Evil Woody Thoughts, was observed four days ago leaving the Parliament building.

Moreover, the Citizens of Great Woodytowne have overthrown Ebolus' local stooges and proclaimed the People's Republic of Free Woody Thoughts, governed under the same constitution that Evil Woody Thoughts had before Darth Ebolus annulled it. Freedom lives! Join the resistance!

We have footage of what happened after Darth Ebolus killed the camera crews, brought to us by closed-circuit television. We will also air the meeting of the Citizens' Council, so that you may see the ressurection of freedom in the former territories of Evil Woody Thoughts for your own eyes."

*broadcast of the security footage of Whitfield leaving Parliament and of the Council meeting*

The transmission would be received on many public service channels on the neighboring islands, and many foreign public-service cable networks...

Sol system, Earth
170 nautical miles NNE of Great Woodytowne
Olde Woody City, Former National Capital
Seven hours after Secession

The former national capital had far greater defenses than Woodymanjaro Island, with a garrison nearly three times as strong. As such, resistance in the first two days had resulted in a number of corpses in the streets, higher than even the military could count. Puddles of blood abounded, and the water treatment system removed a higher volume of blood cells and blood plasma than it did storm runoff sewage during a typical summer rain.

As such, by the third day, the local denizens, their spirits crushed, retreated into their homes for the curfew. However, they did so in ignorance of events elsewhere...

Then news that another city had thrown off its garrison and seceded reached the "underground" radio stations. Public access television, which the government had not gotten around to disbanding yet because it was too busy killing people, showed a recording of the formation of the People's Republic of Free Woody Thoughts, as well as the security tape, over and over. As news of this development spread through way of text message, the collective consciousness that had attempted to assert itself in the first two days rose from the ashes...

The earlier riots had been diffuse, with some taking to the streets and others hoping that they were living in some horrible nightmare that would go away tomorrow. Now, however, a single clarity of purpose prevailed.

A few lucky ones who had scavenged weapons from dead military personnel before escaping inside when all had seemed hopeless cleaned their new weapons, and made them ready for war again. Others manufactured a new batch of Molotov cocktails...

Ten hours after secession

Somebody had to be the first to step outside. A young male stepped outside, and when the infantry patrolling the area turned to shoot them, he threw the Molotov cocktail in his hand before taking twenty rounds to the chest.

Upon hearing the gunshot, thousands more took to the streets, weapons in hand, and as angry mobs could be seen from several blocks away, more people heeded what could best be describes as a call from a hive mind. The call to join brothers-in-arms. The call to die for freedom, because if you didn't, you would be killed for being a dissident in a few months anyway.

Within half an hour, five million enraged citizens threw themselves against a garrison of twenty-five thousand. No longer were there protests with a few stray bombs. No, this was total war to restore the legitimate government of old.

The garrison died to the last man, while the water treatment system handled another two-inch rainfall of blood.

After the garrison fell, a few thousand sloshed through the blood to reach the old Parliament building, unused for thirty years. They blasted open the locked door with a few remote mines, then proceeded to spontaneously convene a session of Parliament in much the same way that the inhabitance of Great Woodytowne had. The session passed a nearly identical Article of Secession, and shortly thereafter, the new local government, or what there was of one, rendered a transmission to the People's Republic, petitioning for admission.

The old navy veterans of Olde Woody City then moved towards the spoils of war...the drydocks, where what remained of the mothballed Evil Woody Thoughts Navy could be recommissioned and put into service for the People's Republic. Two old battlecruisers, six light missile cruisers, and a few transports to be exact. Yes, the equipment was half a century old, but it conferred upon the rebellion a tactical advantage that Ebolus did not have (because he was too busy tightening his rule over White Diamond at the moment)...a navy on planet Earth. A navy with which other cities might be liberated before the inevitable counterattack. A navy with which to disrupt the inevitable counterattack in any way possible.

Aboard the Star Destroyer Dominion
Orbit, White Diamond Prime
Eleven Hours after Secession

Ten junior officers aboard the Dominion debated amongst themselves in the chief navigator's living quarters. Somebody had to deliver the bad news.

None of the lieutenants or captains indicated a willingness to die at the hands of the Dark Lord. Death by lightsaber was quick and painless; death by internal organ constriction or electrocution most certainly was not. Darth Ebolus had proven most unpredictable in execution methods.

As no volunteers came forward, it fell to the task of Ensign Hagen, the lowest-ranking individual in the group. He shuddered as he grudgingly took the datapad of doom.

He had difficulty deciding whether to prolong his life as much as possible, or whether to get it over with. After a few moments of internal thought, he decided to get rid of the datapad as soon as possible, and hope to escape the Dark Lord's wrath long before he actually viewed its contents.

Ensign Hagen found Lord Ebolus on the command bridge, not surprisingly. Dripping in sweat and fear, he approached him. Ebolus turned around to face the young ensign.

Ensign Hagen bowed and spurted out, "I have something that you might be interested in, my Lord."

"And what might that be?"

"The latest reports on the Empire's progress, sir."

"I sense that you are nervous, and that you are hiding something from me. The penalty for concealing information from me is death."

Ensign Hagen's face twisted into a contortion of pain as his internal organs tied themselves in knots, then collapsed upon themselves...and a few excruciating seconds later, seconds that seemed like an eternity, his body crumpled to the floor. Darth Ebolus reached down and picked up the datapad.

Upon viewing its contents, reports and footage of events on Earth, Ebolus became even angrier, hailing the Earth garrison commander and then killing him from seven hundred light-years away, without comment of any kind.

He then summoned Admiral Galvin, one of the three admirals that had been one of his supporters before the purge, and one who now had nearly no capacity for independent thought due to Sith brainwashing techniques. Not half an hour later after the summons, Admiral Galvin met Lord Ebolus in person aboard the Star Destroyer, and both dispensed with the pleasantries.

"Admiral Galvin, how soon can the fleet mobilize for a ground invasion of this traitorous upstart rebel scum 'republic' on Earth?"

"Well, our ground units are busy completing the purges. We would not be able to provide full ground support for an invasion for two weeks. After that, it's just a matter of loading equipment on DropShips--maybe a day extra, my Lord."

"Very well. I want this done right, unlike those bungling incompetent commanders on Earth who failed to put down the rebellion. You are dismissed, Admiral."

"Yessir." The admiral bowed, then left.

Thirteen hours after secession

Darth Ebolus still fumed over the founding of Free Woody Thoughts. He fumed over how weak fools had overwhelmed the even weaker military commanders on Earth. Apparently, they weren't bold enough in pacification.

No, Ebolus' lust for blood still remained unsatiated, even after the deaths of the incompetents. He ordered the preparation of a Lambda-class shuttle as he contemplated where to find the victims.

Meh. The traitor scum in the gulags could use some death.

Therefore, it was settled. As soon as the transport was ready, Darth Ebolus boarded it, and instructed her crew to take him to the makeshift gulag established near the capital. It would have, by far, the most potential victims.
------------------------------------
Five-year old John Watsen shuddered in fear as he watched the guards select prisoners for execution. The guards picked the cell that he, his mother, and five other random people shared, for no apparent reason. At least none that the little one could detect.

Daddy got shot down a couple days ago, and now I get shot, too? What did I do? He huddled close to his mother, for all it was worth, before the guards yanked them out of the cell.

As the human cattle were lined up at gunpoint, Darth Ebolus entered the room, lightsaber in hand. John heard the thrumming and hissing of the weapon, and as he looked down the hallway, he saw a terrifying figure, bigger and probably stronger than anyone else in the room, with a blue light sword.

He watched in horror as the dark figure swung the blade, and a slew of people fell to the ground. As the Dark Lord approached, he froze in fear. He watched in terror as the dark one killed anyone in his way.

The blue thing swept over his head by about six inches. However, his mother's head, suddenly cut off, fell right in front of him as the Dark Lord moved on.

Fourteen hours after Secession

Help me! The guards are taking people away to be executed! I'm gonna be one of them!

Daddy got shot down a couple days ago, and now I get shot, too? What did I do? Will Mommy die?

Who is that big, scary dark guy coming down the hallway? He has a blue light sword that scares me...

Why is he killing all those people? What did they ever do to him?

That blue thing missed my head by six inches! Is this guy crazy? NOOOOOOOO! Mommy's head got chopped off! What will I do now?

You are destined to survive this war. Do not worry about the death that surrounds you, for it shall not come to you during the course of this war.

Who are you, and who is that guy who is killing everybody?

You shall learn of my identity later, for you must learn patience. The person who is killing everybody is Chris Bielski, though he now calls himself "Darth Ebolus." He is the one who took over the government a few days ago.

Why does he kill so many people?

Because he is greedy. He can never have enough power; he always wants more.

Why should I trust you?

Because I tried to prevent this war. Unfortunately, I failed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Jedi Knight Jacob Whitfield felt life in him once again.

His eyes fluttered open as his head bobbed to the top of the bacta tank. He treaded water to keep it there, so that he may breathe gases like a normal human again. Once he caught his breath, he started coughing up the fluid that had backed up in his lungs over the last few days.

More importantly, he knew that he had spoken with the boy of his visions through the Force. However, guilt and shame still plagued him because of his failure at Parliament...

...but at least the overwhelming despair of five days ago was no more. For through the Force, he sensed something he hadn't before that gave him at least a shred of hope, a possibility of redemption...

...but he couldn't put his finger on it. Yet.

"Hello there." A kind female voice said to Whitfield. Before him was one of the members of the High Council, Tsunade. She had long blond hair and despite her age, few wrinkles, probably due to a technique or something. A diamond is on her forehead, for reasons unknown.

"Hello, Master Tsunade." He recognized her from the Council meeting two months ago, the one where he had sought advice regarding his premonitions leading up to this war. She had given him a mission (http://www.forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=9894106&postcount=15), and he had failed. "You wouldn't know what the council intends to do with me, would you?"

OOC edit: I should have posted this as FWT, but didn't catch it until it was too late.

"First of all, just keep healing." Tsunade smiled. "Secondly, you haven't completely failed."

She pointed to a TV set, where the HNN news was showing rebellion in EWT-now Free Woody Thoughts.

"Someone managed to catch you surviving the Sith Lord and your actions have stirred up rebellion against him." Tsunade said. "The rebellion will need a leader..."

So that was that faint glimmer of hope in the Force...

But such consolation did little to wash away Whitfield's guilt and shame.

"Nevertheless, my failure has led to, and will further lead to, the deaths of millions, a collective cry so strong that I felt it even as I lost consciousness. It most certainly aggravated my physical injuries in sapping my strength.

After I have the oppurtunity to gather more information on the resistance, I shall like to speak with the Jedi Council."

"By all means." Tsunade answered with a smile, then she moved on to the diagnosis on his clipboard. "Let's see. You have several broken bones and a concussion to the skull, and on top of that is moderate to severe blood loss. I had the MD droid pump calcium to help heal the bones, but you aren't getting out for another couple of days, I'm afraid."

Whitfield groaned at the pessimistic diagnosis, and the fact that he would be impotent for another couple of days, but accepted it. He could meditate to pass the time.

He closed his eyes, allowed his body to submerge completely in the bacta tank fluid, and just let go.

The fires of revolution spread on Earth. Blood now runs in the streets across half of the island city-states, and on Woodyeen Island.* The liberation movement seizes the few mothballed warships left from Evil Woody Thoughts' earthbound days and presses them into service within hours, largely using former navy veterans for crew...

A sense of urgency there is within the collective voices of the Force, an urgency almost strong enough to drown out the calls of distress, the calls of anguish, the calls of suffering, and the mass death emanating from Earth...the cries of despair from Earth have all but ceased, as terran rebels realize that most of Evil Woody Thoughts' military is preoccupied elsewhere...

The navy shells coastal military installations from the outer limits of bombardment range, also using swarms of old, outdated, but still functional missiles to just barely tip the balance in contested areas in the liberation movement's favor.

The interim Parliament in Great Woodytowne decides to move to Olde Woody City, where leftover facilities are better equipped to administer a seminational government. Its members find that, as they try to forge a new nation from the shambles of civil war, they must also scramble to admit new islands, new cities, that petition for admittance as Free Woody Thoughts' meager reinforcement capability, just barely enough to bring down that last 'Mech, that last bunker, that last guardpost, finally tips the balance in those stalemates between sheer blood and advanced slaughtering technology...

But in White Diamond system, the machinations of the Dark Side of the Force remain relatively unhindered. Defenses against the angry masses are much stronger there, and those armed only with rifles and Molotovs find that they lack the overwhelming amount of cannon fodder necessary to take down concentrations of killing machines not present on Earth. The people retreat into despair, even as rumors circulate about rebellion on Earth, for not a single success can they see. No benefit do they see in exchange for their death...they cannot see life. For they are surrounded, immersed in, and oppressed by the Dark Side in their backyard.

A fleet of some twenty Star Destroyers, not the standardized ones, but the far more deadly Immortals,** and smaller destroyers, orbit ready to rain death upon the countryside and turn any rebellious settlement to slag. Blots of red and black are visible from orbit where white cities should be, for millions die in the street, either through shedding blood or disappearing into smoldering ash. Any settlement that dare tries to secede, as Great Woodytowne did, becomes a lifeless blot on the planet.

As the fearful and despondent are either pacified into hopelessness or despair, or killed, heavy military equipment is loaded on DropShips, and transferred to orbit when it is no longer needed for immediate pacification. For Darth Ebolus is now aware of the successful Earth insurrection, and will move to crush it.

Much of the fleet jumps into hyperspace, bound to rain death and destruction on the Atlantic Ocean where the Woodian Archipelago lies...but enough of the fleet is left behind to intimidate White Diamond's new serfs when necessary. The meager defenses will be overwhelmed in days, and once the invasion force lands, the rebellion will simply run out of blood to throw against it. Death. Ebolus' reinforcements will render the Woodian Archipelago a series of lifeless islands, smoldering black.

For blood already flows in the streets...and there is only a limited supply of blood.

Even now, Darth Ebolus oversees the logistical preparations for his counterstrike...

I SEE YOU.

---------------------------------

Whitfield awoke in a terrifying sweat. His eyes flew open and darted around, and his legs bolted him to the top of the bacta tank, where almost hit his head on the tank's ceiling. As Whitfield forced his mind to calm itself, he realized that two days were come and gone during his meditation.

And he knew that he must speak with the Jedi Council immediately.

----------------------------------

*OOC: Woodyeen Island is significantly larger and somewhat less densely populated than other islands claimed by EWT on Earth because it was artificially created with the goal of creating significant contiguous landmass. More information here (http://www.forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=9853989&postcount=7).

**For those of you reading along, ship specifications can be found here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=8714167&postcount=2).

The Em-dee droid assessing the patients came over to Whitfield's tank. With a practiced eye, it scanned him thoroughly for defects. "Mr. Whitfield. I am pleased to let you know that you are over eighty percent healed and will shortly be released from the bacta tank. However, I highly recommend you do not conduct any high-intensity activity for the time being."

Soon, Whitfield was brought out of the bacta tank and onto a medical bed for further recovering.

Whitfield watched as various medical attendants moved him to a more normal-looking hospital bed. He summoned a nurse who looked like she might have some authority to expedite bureaucratic paperwork. "I need to speak to the JEdi Council as soon as possible. Preferably, yesterday."

"Shall I relay a message to you, sir?" The nurse replied. "You are still weak from that weeklong dip in the tank, you know."

"Yes, please. Would it be possible to procure what remains of my equipment, and order a new Jedi robe and have it delivered here, for maximum expediency?"

"I'll relay that." The nurse said, and left the room to relay the message. The members soon sent what's left of his equipment that survived the crash, now cleaned and everything, as well as a catalog of Jedi robes for sale.

"Thank you." Whitfield took the catalog and extracted several items from one of the pockets of the half-destroyed robe. He perused the catalog for a few moments, found an exact replacement, and summoned the nurse. "May I order from here and have it delivered?" He extracted several bills worth several hundred credits from his billfold, which, for obvious reasons, required a fingerprint or retina scan to access.

"Sure." The nurse nodded. "You can have the robes delivered here."

"Thank you. Please send someone to place the order, because I don't exactly have other means of placing it at the moment." He handed the nurse a wad of credits, enough to pay for the order, plus a little extra for the trouble.

"Very well." The nurse took the money and order and headed to the temple's robes shop where the order was placed. She came back with a tray of food. "The robes will be ready in a few hours. Meanwhile, eat some food."

"Thank you for your patience." Whitfield was more than happy to eat his first real meal in a week, even if it was hospital food.

*a few hours later*

A comissary attendant came to Whitfield's bed, box in hand. Whitfield thanked the boy, slipped him some credits, and tried the robe on. After reaching out with the Force to find out where exactly he was, he gathered his other belongings, checked out with the hospital staff, and walked hurriedly to the Council chambers, in another part of the building.

Inside the Council Chambers, there was only Masters Masaki and Elendil in meditation. The others have duties of some kind or other. The Patriarch and Headmaster noted Whitfield's coming and brought themselves out of meditation to await him.

Whitfield was surprised to see only the Patriarch and Master Elendil in the Council chamber. However, while he had hoped for the presence of the entire Council, perhaps it was best that he only had to convince two people instead of many in this case, for he could not tarry.

As the two Jedi Masters rose to greet Whitfield, Whitfield realized he had interrupted their meditation. He bowed to Master Masaki. "Hello, Masters Masaki and Elendil. Did I interrupt your meditation?"

"I have another one scheduled later." Alex smiled, then got down to business. "You're here to talk about the rebellion, I take it?"

"That is correct, Master Masaki.

For after my fall, I fell into despair. Nothing but death surrounded me. I felt my own strength in the Force itself wane as Darth Ebolus systematically crushed any form of resistance on White Diamond. I reached Jurai only a few moments before I would have been weakened unto death.

But the Dark Side blinded me to events elsewhere. While I saw the resistance on White Diamond crushed by machines of death, and the collective suffering and despair of millions slaughtered within minutes, I failed to see Darth Ebolus' fateful omission. I did not know that security footage of me leaving the building had been smuggled out and transmitted. Nor did I see this information reach Earth.

Regardless of my involuntary ignorance of these events, they occurred, and created just a tiny spark of hope in the sea of despair and shame that had haunted me...

...I felt life in me once again. Even so, the medics told me that I would need a couple of extra days in the bacta tank.

Therefore, I spent that entire time in meditation, and saw not only death, but also the rebirth of a destroyed nation. For even a galaxy away, I saw the last bunker stormed, the last guard post overwhelmed, by gun-wielding, Molotov cocktail-throwing citizens, who knew that those protestations they were accustomed to in a democratic state would result in death, and felt condemned to death anyway. But in their deaths, I saw a new state rise, and as it hurriedly recomissioned the navy abandoned by Evil Woody Thoughts three decades ago, I also saw the new state able to reinforce those places where the resistance did not have enough blood left to spill upon that last bunker, that last guard post. I saw the new resistance state reinstate the old constitution, elect an emergency government, and grow tenfold in two days.

I was also fortunate enough to receive a glimpse of Darth Ebolus' plans. The new state showed him that, even after his campaign of terror, there still remained a demand for the old republic that would not yield to despair. There is courage still in the hearts of men of the old republic. He fears this. He will not risk the peoples inhabiting the Woodian Archipelago uniting under one banner and spreading their rebellion to White Diamond, where Ebolus' position is consolidated enough to crush all resistance as it emerges.

Even now, as we speak, Ebolus pulls units finished razing rebellious towns and villages off of White Diamond, mobilizing them for a concentrated strike on Earth. These units board DropShips, which then disappear into the cavernous docking bays of the orbiting fleet of Immortal Star Destroyers, only to be rained down upon the rebellious territories of Earth in the near future. Ebolus' wrath will be terrible, his retribution swift. He will burn the rebellious city-states into the ground, and empty them of all life.

The new nation of Free Woody Thoughts is still weak, possessing only the strength to barely overtake scattered, isolated garrisons on Earth that cannot reinforce one another. The nation is only a few days old, and cannot support a space fleet at all. Even if it bought one off the open market, it could not hope to prevail against fifteen Star Destroyers and the armada of smaller ships that Ebolus will bring along to either subjugate the Woodian Archipelago or burn a black hole into Earth trying. Nay, the rebellion's resources are best deployed elsewhere. But even with the most efficient allocation of resources possible, Free Woody Thoughts will be overwhelmed, one way or another. They cannot repel these attacks by themselves.

The people of Free Woody Thoughts make their sacrifices, Masters. Yet they only have so much blood, and nearly no equipment, to sacrifice. The fleet of CoreWorlds must be made ready for war, to reinforce what few planetary defences the resistance will be able to cobble together in ten days. Otherwise, the rebellion will fail. For I looked into its future, its future without outside assistance, and saw death, and only death, only a series of blackened islands in the Atlantic, devoid of all life.

Darth Ebolus gathers his forces. He will be ready to make his war in ten days, twelve at the most. The rebellion cannot hope to gather strength enough to resist an attack of this magnitude, in that short a time, by itself."

"What do you plan to do in the meantime?" Master Elendil asked.

"The resistance does not even realize it has any sort of defence against orbital bombardment, for the equipment in question has remained in storage, unseen, for some time, nor does it know that such an attack is coming. I shall go to Earth and rally their defences. But they cannot repel this attack on their own."

"Hmm. The rebellion will fail without orbitial support..." Alex thought aloud. Then he leaned on his cane and walked to the window, as if seeing something out there. "The Fifth and Sixth Fleets are stationed near Sol. Perhaps if we can alert them quickly enough..."

"Would they be alerted faster if I sent them a transmission directly from Sol system?"

"Yes. Once they get a transmission from the system, the deployment will be swifter." Alex said. "It will, however, take time to order crew from leave and conduct other necessities. We'll be cutting it close..."

"Very well. Then I only need the coordinates that I need to transmit to, and I will be on my way. However, I will need something other than my own word to transmit." Whitfield looked at Masaki as he said this...

"Of course." Alex nodded. "I shall prepare a message to the Navy under my authority."

Whitfield bowed to the Patriarch. "I will then procure some supplies, and return to pick up your message for delivery shortly."

He waited to be dismissed, then headed to the temple commissary. He wasted little time browsing, and even though he hadn't been to the store in several years, he knew exactly where to find what he was looking for. He selected three jewels, one pale red and the other two a luminous, pale blue, some electrical wiring components, a power core, a magnetized steel ring, and two blocks of the highest-grade mithril he could find, and brought his impulse items to the cash register.

"That will be...56,290 credits, mister." The small initiate at the desk said cutely as she rang up the order. "I sure hope you can pay for it!"

----

Meanwhile, Alex wrote up an order for the commander in chief of TerraCom (Terran Command), **** Admiral Easton.

By Order of the Patriarch, you are requested to aid the Rebellion in the Woodian Archipelago against any and all forces that will seek to put it down, especially orbital assets. Be ready to defend the Earth from enemy forces.

Signed,
Patriarch Alexander Masaki

Whitfield winked as he handed the cashier his debit card. "You know that those of us who are former politicians from Earth are full of Swiss bank accounts!"

"Ah." The little girl slid the debit card through the scanner, it was authorized, and a flimsiplast receipt whirred out for him to sign then gave back the card. "Here you go!"

Whitfield signed the receipt and slid it across the counter, took his debit card, and took the new components and put them in one of the many pockets in his Jedi robe. "Thank you, have a nice day..."

Whitfield hurried back to the Council chamber to pick up the required documentation for the fleet mobilization.

Contrary to most nations, child labor age limits don't technically exist in Coreworlds. There are, however, specific jobs which children may not do under any circumstances due to enviromental factors and/or the kind of work involved. On the other side of the coin, there are jobs where it's very easy to generate income for the younglings with absolutely no risk to health. Cashiers, for instance.

Anyway, Alex has finished up writing the order and is waiting for Whitfield to pick it up.

When Whitfield reached the Council chamber, not a half hour after he had left, he bowed to Master Masaki. "I am here to receive your documented order, as you know..."

Alex nodded. "Take this paper and fly to the Dragon Mountain IDF Base at Coredia on Earth. There, you shall meet the Admiral and explain the situation."

IDF means Interstellar Defense Force, which is the official name of the Coredian armed forces.

Whitfield bowed. "It shall be done." He took the document and waited to be dismissed, then hurried out of the chamber...

...His X-wing was in the same place where he had stumbled out of it a week earlier. He instructed Artoo to prepare for takeoff, and climbed back into the cockpit. He was half surprised not to find blood on the seat, but that probably meant it had been serviced, which, considering his location, probably was not a bad thing.

After the engines powered up, Whitfield took off and brought the craft into a steep climb, transmitting necessary IFF codes to the Jurai Defence Fleet. As he blasted away from the planet, he instructed Artoo to prepare the fastest hyperspace route to Sol possible. When the droid indicated it was safe to make the hyperspace jump, Whitfield engaged the hyperdrive.

*a short time later*

The X-wing dropped out of hyperspace on the edge of Sol system. Its pilot brought the craft's sublight engines to full throttle, for he was in a hurry. Of course, he was not landing on his own spacedock...

He sent a transmission to the Coredian ground defence forces. "This is Jedi Knight Jacob Whitfield, bearing an urgent message from Patriarch Masaki. I request permission to land at the Dragon Mountain IDF Base..."

"Permission granted." The IDF base control radioed.

The Dragon Mountains was actually an asteroid impact carved into a mountain range, making a bowl-shaped valley between mountains. It does however, have a single mountain in the middle that somehow survived the impact, where the base is located. This mountain holds a large portion of military brass, charged in protecting Earth and by extension the Milky Way Galaxy, from marauding forces intent on expanding imperialist holdings.

Admiral Easton is a man in his sixties, sharp as a whip and quite the strategist. The four-star commander of the Coredian forces in this Galaxy, the Admiral has a lot of clout at his fingertips. The Patriarch himself has handpicked him after General Solomon retired to run the show, and soon, his latest challenge will be underway...

When Whitfield lands, he'll be met with a sergeant who will escort him to the Admiral's stateroom.

"Acknowledged." As Earth loomed ever bigger in the cockpit window, Jacob Whitfield idled his X-wing's engines and raised his shielding to cover atmospheric entry at a velocity that would be more than twice what it usually would be. He hoped to take care of this matter quickly, for he had yet to warn the rebellion itself, and even after that, he had other matters to attend to.

As the shields absorbed the terrifying heat of atmospheric entry, Whitfield threw the engines into reverse to slow the craft down even more rapidly. Yes, this would not be the smoothest landing. But it would be among the quickest.

Finally, at an altitude of about four thousand meters, the X-wing slowed down enough for something other than flames to be seen outside of the cockpit windshield. The military base was visible in the distance, and Whitfield turned his craft to the mountain in the middle of the bowl-shaped valley.

Not a minute later, Whitfield touched down on the assigned docking platform.

Sergeant Kynes awaited Whitfield's departure from the cockpit. He was a 30ish man with graying brown hair and a muscular body borne from years of Marine work and one of the Admiral's aides.

Whitfield grabbed the papers and climbed out of the cockpit. "You must be Sergeant Kynes." He bowed. "I have urgent need to speak with Admiral Easton without delay."

Whitfield could smell the sharpness of ozone in the air. He looked up to find a smoky-looking contrail from his approach.

"Come with me, sir." The sergeant smartly turned around and headed into the base itself. It was a bit of a maze to get through to the Admiral's stateroom, but they managed.

Sergeant Kynes knocked on the door. "Sir. Jedi Knight Whitfield is here to see you."

"Come on in!" Came the answer, and there he was, sitting in his seat. The Admiral. The Sergeant closed the door after Whitfield entered.

http://www.gateworld.net/articles/features/primer/graphics/oneill.jpg

"What can I do for you today?" The Admiral asked the Jedi, hands clasped together on his desk.

Whitfield performed the almost-required pleasantry of a bow before explaining his presence. "Admiral Easton, perhaps you have heard of the rebellion a couple hundred miles north of here against the recent Sith takeover of Evil Woody Thoughts. This is why I am come.

Darth Ebolus, the Sith Lord in question, seeks to crush it. As his military completes its consolodation of its power in the former capital system of White Diamond, he transfers units no longer needed to the DropShips attached to his fleet of Star Destroyers. These are not ordinary Star Destroyers, but are of the Immortal class, larger and a little more than twice as powerful.

He will not risk the rebellion here uniting the entire Woodian Archipelago under one banner. He will move to crush the resistance nation of Free Woody Thoughts. Even now, DropShips fill his docking bays. The resistance will be unable to muster sufficient defences in the short amount of time to repel the attack by themselves, and will be crushed if not given orbital support. Darth Ebolus will render the entire archipelago blackened and devoid of life, if that is what it takes to eliminate the insurgents.

You can expect a fleet of no less than fifteen Immortals, with approximately sixty smaller capital ships, to attack in ten days, twelve at the absolute most. I have spoken with Patriarch Masaki on this matter..."

Whitfield took the step back, the document in his right hand. He presented the order to Admiral Easton in the same way he would present a katana.

The Admiral read the orders. "So let us recap. There is a menacing fleet of nearly eighty ships that is currently readying to attack Earth, specifically the Woodian Archipelago, a fleet that will arrive somewhere between ten and twelve days. Fifteen of those ships is more powerful than a standard Star Destroyer one-on-one. And you want me to provide the Rebellion aid to stop it?" The Admiral asked, almost disbelieving.

Then he smirked. "Done. I shall begin ordering the Fourth and Fifth fleets to mobilize and prepare a warm reception for the coming party."

"Yes, Admiral, that is correct. Now, if I may be excused, I have a rebellion to warn. Some defensive capability lies hidden in recently captured military storage facilities, capabilities the rebellion does not know it has. With enough warning, the rebels shall be able to prepare a reception of their own for anything that does get through and enter the atmosphere.

Unfortunately, I cannot stay here. I hope you do understand the urgency of my departure, Admiral."

The Admiral nodded and then raised his voice to reach the trooper outside. "Very well. Sergeant! Please show the good Jedi the way back to his ship."

"Yes sir!" The sergeant nodded.

"And Jedi Whitfield?" The Admiral called. "May the Force be with you!"

After that, the sergeant escorted him out to the fighter again.

Whitfield bowed to the admiral before turning around to leave with the sergeant. Upon reaching the ship, he rushed through the takeoff procedures, intending to rush to Olde Woody City with all deliberate speed.

Sergeant Kynes watched as the X-wing lifted off and disappeared behind the ridge to the north in short order.

The X-wing roared over the open ocean, bound north, as fast as its repulsorlift drive would allow. As Whitfield crossed over the southernmost islands, he noticed a skirmish, or more like a massacre, in progress, and decided to lend a bit of fire support on his way to the new rebel capital.

As four ninety-ton assault 'Mechs rained death upon the hordes of people throwing themselves at the death machines, hoping through sheer sacrifice of blood to overwhelm them, Whitfield raised shields, primed his craft's two proton torpedo launchers, and lined it up for a strafing run.

The four 'Mechs turned to face him and splattered his shields with pulse laser fire as Whitfield released two, then another two, proton torpedoes cold, with no target lock at all. Closing his eyes, he pulled up as a particle projector cannon hit from one of the 'Mechs disabled his shields entirely, then reached out with the Force to find the torpedoes he had just launched...

...and used the Force to alter their trajectory just enough for the four torpedoes to score direct hits on the cockpits of all four 'Mechs. Four enemy pilots died instantaneously.

Whitfield sensed the wave of elation from the crowd of people, then turned back north for the last ten minutes or so of his flight to Olde Woody City.

He landed the X-wing on a heliport a block away from the old Parliament building, only recently reused by what passed for a government in Free Woody Thoughts. After he disembarked from the X-wing, he walked quite briskly to the Parliament, where he found a meeting in session as the sun set on another day. Good. This will work to my advantage.

The crowd, gathered in the assembly hall, had been considering taxation measures to fund the new government and resistance efforts, but gasped in awe as Jedi Knight Whitfield entered the old Parliament chamber. Their shocked silence was met only by a simple request: "I request ten minutes to make an urgent address."

Interim Prime Minister Mindy Wiesen, who presided over the session, quickly agreed to yield the floor.

"Members of the interim Parliament, your eyes do not deceive you. You have seen the footage of my departure from White Diamond. What you do not know is that, by the time I found medical treatment in another system, I was only a few minutes from death." Whitfield, however, did not wish to go into too much of a recollection of how he struggled to stay conscious during his descent to Jurai, so he quickly moved on.

"But four days later, as the citizens of Great Woodytowne overthrew the garrison that held them in bondage to evil, a spark of hope appeared in the Force, a spark that stood in stark contrast to the death, suffering, and despair that almost took my own life. Though I had been unconscious in a bacta tank for those four days, I felt that spark of hope thousands upon thousands of light-years away, and I felt life enter me once again."

Those in attendance broke into wild applause, and Whitfield waited a moment or so for it to die down.

"I am come to you now, with urgent counsel. For when I awoke, the doctors treating me told me I would need another two or three days of treatment. Therefore I meditated upon my fate, and the resistance that the doctors were so eager to tell me about, and I foresaw the future in this meditation.

Your brothers on White Diamond have not been so fortunate as you. For they suffer under the burden of more than eighty percent of the ground forces maintained by Evil Woody Thoughts before the treachery of the Sith. This is now turned against them, and while you were able to overwhelm the garrison with your blood, your brethren on White Diamond were not. Moreover, Darth Ebolus has successfully prevented the news of the resistance from reaching the ears of White Diamond residents, and their spirits lie crushed as their bodies rot in the streets.

However, Ebolus himself is fully aware of events of late. Your resistance has shown him that, even after the slaughter of millions, his regime is rejected by those who must be subjugated by it. There is courage still among those who oppose him. Darth Ebolus fears this. He will not risk the peoples of the Woodian Archipelago uniting against him under one banner.

As resisting cities on White Diamond are razed to the ground, and all record of their existence expunged, Ebolus pulls units that have completed their 'pacification' and attaches them to his fleet of Star Destroyers. This fleet prepares for war against the new nation of Free Woody Thoughts. In ten days, twelve at most, the hammerstroke shall fall."

Those in attendance gasped in fear, for all knew that the rebellion lacked the strength to repel an invasion. But they did not know of what defences they had...

It did not take Whitfield long to sense this fear, not only among those in the building, but also those who nervously watched the deliberations of their new government on television or listened on the radio, the government for which they had given their blood and for which their relatives had died.

"But you are not so defenceless as you suppose. In the military installations you have recently captured, the key to your defence lies. For stored there are the shields used years ago to mitigate the polar cyclones that wandered over this land, and they will serve just as well against turbolaser bombardment from orbit. You will also find a stash of thirty-year old anti-aircraft missiles, useful for shooting down incoming DropShips, some of the old earthquake-induction missiles that, if fired into low orbit, would be able to shatter a Star Destroyer into a thousand pieces if it strays too close to the atmosphere, and a deactivated planetary ion cannon. These defences must be brought out of storage and reactivated.

But, even as you mobilize these defences, do not despair, for you are not alone in this war. You will have allies that you did not expect.

I must quickly tend to other business. I take my leave. Look to my return before the battle."

Whitfield quickly left the building as the stunned interim Parliament considered what he had just said.

OOC: For sake of expediency, I shall assume that no FT claims exist for modern-day California, though someone on NS probably does have a claim to it in the late 2070's somewhere, though I remain unaware of it...I thought Theao claimed it, but he informed me he does not.

--------------------------------------------

As Whitfield left the Free Woody Thoughts Parliament to consider his words, he climbed into his X-wing. For some funny reason, the Force called his presence to a place that he had never visited before, a place from which he could not logically derive a reason for him to visit. Nevertheless, the Force compelled him to the western slopes of the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range. He checked the small cargo compartment, found a few ration bars and a canteen of water, and saw that it was good.

He brought his X-wing into a high climb, preparing for a suborbital flight path to the north as the sun set in the west. His route would take him over the Arctic Circle, where he would continue over Alaska in orbit, then start his decent paralleling the North American West Coast over the Pacific Ocean. He wanted as few international quibbles as possible, for he hoped to keep this quiet.

Thirty minutes later, as he decended to an altitude of ten thousand meters over the Pacific, he turned east into the sunrise. After another forty minutes or so of atmospheric flight, he touched down in a valley clearing, with giant sequoia stands on all sides. He stuffed some of his ration bars, as well as a small magnetic coil scrounged from the tiny X-wing toolkit, for some odd reason that would be revealed to him later, in his pockets, grabbed his canteen, and retreated into the dense forest for meditation.

He found an old-growth sequoia with spots of white bark, a sequoia clearly diseased that would soon end its long life of several millenia. A sequoia that the next wildfire would consume, and return to the soil as ash and nutrients, because its natural defences against fire had succumbed to disease a long time ago.

Looking down, for some odd reason, Whitfield found a pine cone. He reached out with the Force, using one of the first sensory excercises he had learned as a Jedi Padawan, to trace the tree from whence the pine cone came...

...and found that it was come from the old tree, the dead tree, before it fell into sickness.

I came here for this? Nevertheless, Whitfield considered it, and meditated upon it.

Fire shall this cone awaken;
From the ash new life shall spring.
For while evil your government has broken,
Restoration the fire shall bring.

Your old blade lies shattered,
But a new one shall be forged.
While fires of death he has rendered,
In your death, his evil shall be disgorged.

Whitfield looked up at the position of the sun as he instinctually stuffed the cone into one of his unoccupied pockets. A little past noon, the time was. He extracted the two blocks of mithril he had purchased a day earlier from his pockets. He cleared an area of the ground from leaves, and then lost himself in deep concentration.

Since the first days of his training, he had paid particular attention to using the Force to manipulate objects on a molecular level, a seldom-traveled path in Jedi training, but one that had its uses. Over a period of thirty years, he had become quite proficient at speeding up or slowing down molecular motion, with nothing but the Force, to raise or lower temperatures of objects, respectively. He also had learned how to manipulate chemical bonds using the Force, an ability he seldom used, but when he did use it, it usually involved spontaneous combustion of one object or another, and in a few cases, the atmosphere itself.

He concentrated solely on one block of mithril for the time being, using the Force to gradually raise the temperature of the block until it glowed bright orange, at which point he formed the near-melting material into a semicylinder sixteen inches long and two and a half inches in maximum diameter. He then hollowed out the semicylinder, for he would need a place in which to insert his new lightsaber's internal components, and formed notches in the semicylinder for things like the activation switch, safety switch, and the amplitude adjustment knob. The top of the semicylinder carved itself out to make room for the magnetic ring that would be required to arrange the lightblade in a linear fashion. He further cut out small notches that would hold the three light-focusing crystals he intended to use in his new lightsaber in the crystal chamber, for unless those crystals remained perfectly aligned, the lightsaber would be worse than useless. When the half-shell was formed, Whitfield let it cool before starting on the other half, suspending it in midair with the Force until it was cool enough to make contact with the ground without risking a fire.

By now, the sun had set again, and Whitfield took a long drink of water and ate one of his ration bars before starting on the other half of the hilt. As he heated the new block of mithril using the Force, the orange glow seemed much brighter in the lack of background light that nightfall brings. He continued to repeat the process through which he had forged the first half of his lightsaber hilt.

While he waited for the second half of his hilt to cool, he extracted the various wiring and electrical components from his pockets and started assembling.

Whitfield paid little heed as the sun rose again; he was too busy. When both sections of the hilt had cooled enough to handle, he arranged the power core, wiring, and other components within the first shell, so that the proper controls would fit in the little notches he had cut out. He then inserted the three crystals in the slots he had carved to accomodate them, blue on the top and bottom, red in the middle. They fit perfectly. After this came the fitting of the magnetized steel ring, and the magnetic coil he had spontaneously pilfered off of his X-wing's toolkit. However, it took about twenty hours to complete this seemingly simple assembly, due to the precision required in arranging the components.

After this part was done, Whitfield saw an oppurtunity to feed himself again, so he ate another ration bar and drank about half his remaining water.

Now, all he needed to do was to meld the two halves together...this would, of course, be the most difficult part. Even though he knew that this method of construction could only be undone by a skilled metallurgist in the event the lightsaber for some reason needed to be dismantled, he did not care, for after his recent vision, he did not expect to live long enough to have to replace any component in his lightsaber anyway. It would be decades before any component in the lightsaber wore out. He laid the second half of the lightsaber hilt on top of the first, using the Force to achieve the perfect precision required that would be impossible by hand. Slowly, the crease where the hilt was divided into its too halves heated themselves, or so it would seem to an outsider...but Whitfield sat in such concentration that he lost all track of time, and all but the most instinctual awareness of his surroundings. For he had to be far more careful about the welding together of the two halves of the lightsaber's hilt than he had been during their forging, lest some of the internal components melt also. However, in a day or so, a thin line of orange appeared along this crease, and the next day, it disappeared as the two halves welded themselves together into one whole.

After he awoke from this intense concentration, he ate two ration bars, for his task here was nearly complete, and drank his remaining water supply. He levitated his new lightsaber using the Force, for though the mithril hilt had cooled enough to harden, the hilt still remained too hot to safely touch. He flicked the safety switch off and the activation switch on, and a smile crossed his face as a dark amethyst blade snapped out of the new lightsaber. As Whitfield fiddled with the activation switch, the blade jumped from three feet in length to nine, then contracted to two feet, then ended up in between the two extremes. He snapped it off, and saw that it was good, then levitated the new lightsaber so that it would follow him to the nearest stream, so that he may fill his canteen with more water.

After Whitfield finished quenching his thirst at the stream, he drew the lightsaber into his hand for the first time. It was now cool to the touch. He fiddled around with it some more, engaging in a fencing duel with a mock enemy that none could see. After a few minutes, Whitfield ended the mock duel, pleased with his lightsaber's performance, and deactivated it.

Left unaddressed, Whitfield realized, were preparations half a world away for the coming war. He let himself fall into a trance so that the preparations might be revealed to him.

The storm evacuation plans of old have been dusted off, the residents of Free Woody Thoughts advised to go underground when the attack comes. Engineers have already brought the city shields online, and are wiring the planetary ion cannon with great urgency. The few captured tectonic ICBMs are now ready for launch, just in case something weird happens. The meager Free Woody Thoughts Navy is now docked, its ships having their VLS cells reloaded--antiship missiles swapped out for antiaircraft missiles to shoot down DropShips...

Thus, he learned what he needed to know. As he walked back to his X-wing, he smiled, knowing that his warnings had been heeded. As he climbed into the cockpit, he glanced at the ship's chronometer and noted that a full four and a half days had passed.

A few minutes later, his X-wing soared over the dense forests of the western Sierra Nevada, bound for Free Woody Thoughts.

Day after slow day the world spins on its axis. In the northern parts of Coredia, snow begins to fall as winter arrives, bringing with it the usual cold weather that makes people bundle up in cloaks or coats. Dinosaurs migrate to the warmer climates to escape the cold. The yearly migration is becoming a tradition.

Ship after ship begins to report in, carrying out logistical maintenance before the big battle to come. Weapons emplacements were checked and ammo was filled to the brim for the battle to come. Shields were tested. A few sensors reported problems, but droids went to fix them. Fighters and bombers were prechecked for trouble and so were the larger torpedo boats and assault shuttles. So far, the fleets reported over 95% efficiency with a broken fighter or system here and there that needed servicing.

From the Velociraptor and Mastodon Elite Star Destroyers down to the smallest shuttle with a weapon, everything was prepared to go to war.

The commanders poured over prepared plans and began debating the best course of action to take in order to deal with the Immortals. Suffice is to say that there was many an all-nighter pulled and heated debates were common. By the fourth day, the beginnings of a plan was done. Now the details merely had to be colored in.

Undisclosed location on White Diamond Prime
25 July 2078
Hours after Jedi Knight Whitfield's address to Free Woody Thoughts

"Lord Ebolus, the traitor scum Jedi Whitfield made an address to the evil nation of Free Woody Thoughts a few hours ago." The junior officer looked down nervously at the datapad in his hand, a datapad that most likely meant his death.

"How dare you insinuate the rebel scum have a nation of their own!"

"But my lord, that is how they refer to them--"

Darth Ebolus felt merciful today. A dark cyan lightblade appeared and cut off the junior officer's head, even as he spoke, for a quick and painless death, a rare luxury for those who opposed the Dark Lord. As his body crumpled to the ground, so too, did his datapad.

Ebolus reached down to recover the datapad, looked at it a moment, and pocketed it as he retreated to his private quarters. He inserted the datapad into his private computer so its contents could be read, and found that it was a recording of Whtifield's address to the new illegitimate upstart government.

He seethed in anger as Whitfield advised the rebellion on a course of action. But the news that the rebellion would have an undisclosed, unexpected ally sent him over the edge and compelled him to contact his handpicked Minister of Justice and order the extinction of another random political prison population.

After he vented a little bit of his anger, he considered the ramifications of this unexpected ally. He contacted his intelligence ministry and received a briefing:

An X-wing class ship was observed by ground-based sensor
installations on Earth landing a couple hundred miles south of Woodyeen
Island, in what would be Coredian territory at approximately seven hours ago.
Approximately twenty minutes later, the same sensor installation picked up
an X-wing class ship, likely the same one, leaving Coredian territory on a
full-throttle, northbound course. Approximately five minutes after the
X-wing's takeoff, four 'Mech units performing counterinsurgency operations
reported being fired on by an X-wing craft before their destruction a few
seconds later. Sensor records trace this X-wing to a landing at Olde Woody
City. Fourteen minutes later, an X-wing took off again from the same
location, headed northbound and rapidly gaining altitude. Last-trajectory
information suggests a suborbital flight over the Atlantic Circle, with a
destination somewhere along the Pacific Coast. However, it is impossible to
ascertain which coast, as the pilot may have made course adjustments after
leaving sensor range. This activity was recorded during a window of approximately
four to five hours ago.

Ebolus compared the timing indicated by the briefing to the timing of Whitfield's speech. That X-wing was most certainly Whitfield's. So he mentions an undisclosed ally in his speech, and speaks with the Coredians minutes before that speech. Well, then I can expect a counterattack from the Coredians.

Ebolus contacted Admiral Galvin, the admiral slated to lead the attack against the rebels on Earth, and told him to expect a counterstrike, most likely from the nation of CoreWorlds, during the pacification operation.

Olde Woodytowne Naval Base and Training Centre
3 August 2078
Nine days after Whitfield's Address to the Parliament

Jedi Knight Whitfield descended several flights of stairs on his way to the most heavily fortified underground bunker in Free Woody Thoughts territory, more than eighty metres underground. This was, in fact, adjacent to the same bunker where he had ridden out the infamous Polar Cyclone Arlene (http://www.forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=8606313&postcount=137) (picture) (http://www.forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=8591705&postcount=126) some three decades ago. The bunker had since been expanded, but otherwise gave him a nostalgia for the days when he was a politician, privy to information few others would ever see. In some ways, he still was.

An engineer walked up to him. "Master Whitfield, we have completed the wiring on the ion cannon."

"Then we shall test it."

The engineer nodded. "Yes, sir. I will have it powered up now."

Whitfield sat down in front of a large control panel, a control panel from which all the planetary defences the rebellion had cobbled together since its existence could be coordinated. He waited a few minutes for the indicator light marked ION CANNON to turn green, then aimed it at a particularly empty point in space.

"Testing ion cannon," he called out into the intercom, then unceremoniously flipped a switch several times.

About five hundred metres away, the ground opened up to reveal a large, domed weapon turret. Several orange bolts of energy unceremoniously issued forth from the cannon and raced to the void of space.

Mission successful.

---------------------------------------

In the already-devastated cities of Free Woody Thoughts, civilians prepared for the inevitable, gathering what supplies they could carry, supplies that would have to last them for an unknown length of time. Citizens filled basement floors of skyscrapers, the subway system, and any other reinforced underground place that could be found, in preparation for an orbital bombardment.

As if to cruelly magnify the sense of gloom among the populace, a cold front, the first one of the early winter season, materialized, bringing forth gale-force winds and driving rain from the north and forecast to intensify into a weak polar cylone* late during the anticipated duration of the battle ahead.

Babies clung to their mothers as they were forced to flee to dank subway tunnels. Detachment ran rampant among the populace, forced to flee, yet their fate, totally out of their control. All they could do was wait for the battle to be over...

...wait for their death, or for their celebration. There was no way to know which.

-------------------------

*OOC: Polar cylones in early August? Am I smoking crack? No! See here (http://www.forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=9853992&postcount=8). They are not unknown to Evil Woody Thoughts/Free Woody Thoughts.

A small break in the space-time continuum spits out a venerable XJ3 fighter, standard among the Order and elite squadrons. The occupant has been dispatched by the Council to assist the Rebellion in surviving the battles to come. He descends onto the Dragon Mountains base and lands on a pad marked 'Reserved'.

Climbing out of the fighter, a Jedi Knight in his mid-twenties steps down. His dirty-blond hair is tied back in a short braid. He has steely blue eyes. On his body is a dark shirt and pair of pants with a red cloak over his shoulders. His hands are laced with a special kind of white glove, for his powers. His right arm and left leg are actually artificial, despite looking real, the original ones lost in a battle long ago. And for his age, he's a rather short, boyish fellow, about 5"5' tall. But make no mistake.

He is Major Taylor Masaki, the Fire Knight.

Admiral Galvin, who owed his life to his vote (http://www.forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=9889876&postcount=5) to promote Darth Ebolus to Vice Admiral before he revealed that he was a Sith, and Vice Admiral Warren, who had not participated in the vote but who had passed one of Darth Ebolus’ infamous “loyalty tests,” watched the fleet under their command gather into formation. They both looked the other way when he promoted himself to full Admiral, lest they incur his wrath, to spare their own hides.

A fleet that would bring utter doom to the upstart rebellion and crush it once and for all. A fleet powerful enough to rain death on anything but a Death Star or a fleet of Super Star Destroyers, and if the rebels had procured an ally that powerful in less than two weeks, then someone deserved to die, and probably not the rebellion. Both admirals knew about the vague warning Ebolus had given of a counterattack, but knew little about what forces said counterattack might utilize. Nevertheless, they knew to expect the unexpected, and also, that if they returned in defeat, they could look forward to their prompt deaths at the hands of Darth Ebolus. Admiral Galvin, especially, for he knew that something wasn’t quite right with the leader, but he could not figure out what, for his mind had been personally purged by Darth Ebolus of any treasonous thoughts when he attended that fateful promotion board vote.

Both admirals looked on their fleet approvingly. A fleet of four B’rel light frigates (http://www.forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=9889876&postcount=5), eight K’vort light cruisers (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=9824204&postcount=337), four Vor’cha cruisers (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=9824049&postcount=333), eight old MC-60 Star Cruisers (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=8502823&postcount=17) one of the few starship classes that Evil Woody Thoughts had decided to retain from the colonization years, thirty-six Knossos-class destroyers (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=8733879&postcount=10), or every Knossos destroyer in the entire fleet, and of course, the fifteen Immortal Star Destroyers (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=8714167&postcount=2), for a total of seventy-five ships that would rain death of all who opposed them.

Of course, the Star Destroyers were quite well stocked with presents for the rebellion. Within their cavernous docking bays were a cumulative total of ninety DropShips, each filled to the brim with reinforcements for the loyalists to the government of Evil Woody Thoughts, and also, landing craft with which to transport these reinforcements from island to island. Darth Ebolus’ holdings would not fragment simply because of the geography of the land anymore…

…The fleet commanders smiled as their fleet jumped into hyperspace, the Klingon ships that had been purchased immediately before the coup ordered to cloak immediately upon arrival in Sol system.

Jacob Whitfield sensed immediately the arrival of the Dark Fleet. No, Ebolus is not among them. In the last two days, he had been elevated to a pseudo-military commander, because the military hierarchy had been quite thoroughly purged, and there remained no one who would defect. There was simply no one else; by default, military leadership therefore fell upon his shoulders.

He quickly gave the order for all city shields to be raised, before the fleet could draw close enough for bombardment, and ordered the ion cannons to commence charging. The hum of generators dumping power into huge capacitators filled the small bunker.

So, this is the battle of my time, the battle that defines my generation and the one after it. The battle that decides the fate of Free Woody Thoughts, the battle that will either have Darth Ebolus celebrating the death and destruction, or the battle that will have him struggling to maintain his grip on power after he loses nearly his entire fleet. The battle that is the doom of our time…

He radioed what there was of a navy, the two battlecruisers and six missile cruisers that the rebels had brought out of drydock and quickly pressed into service a few days earlier, to verify that all ships were operational and ready for combat. All eight ships reported that they were ready, and holding up well against the gale.

All Whitfield could do was wait for the fleet to come within range of the ion cannon…

The moment the enemy fleet entered the space around Earth, orbitial defenses came online, alerting the Admiral to the incoming enemy. He ordered Coredian planetary cannons and shields to activate and prepare for combat as the orbitial cannons (Golan II and III space stations, capable of dueling Star Destroyers) commenced combat operations with their long-range turbolasers. It would seem a rather valiant but pitiful defense indeed for the overwhelming enemy.

That is, until a highly secure message with a simple number, 3, was sent out to the flagships Velociraptor and Mastodon, a light-year or two away from the battlefield. This was the signal to attack in three minutes while the enemy is presently engaged with the Earth defenses.

3:00, 2:59, 2:58, 2:57...the clocks tick down as battlestations is ordered.

----

Meanwhile, Taylor Masaki and Coredia's planetary defense army prepares for battle once it gets to the ground. LAAT gunships and fighters are prepped as the battle for Free Woody Thoughts commences with scattered shots of orbital anger...

Standard Operating Procedure dictated that shields be raised immediately upon leaving hyperspace, and by now, all ships in the fleet had been programmed to do this automatically unless overridden by the ship's captain. The orbital batteries defending Sol system would have no such luck today.

The sensor officer called out the location and coordinates of the orbital batteries that splattered the shields of the great Immortals with scattered turbolaser fire. Some of the destroyers took scattered hits, but not enough to significantly degrade shielding at such long range.

Aboard the command deck of the Dominion, the first spacecraft built in a Woodian shipyard, Admiral Galvin issued his orders. "Maintain long range for now. Lock on and target Golan IIIs first with PPC and ion cannon fire. After IIIs are gone, snipe away at the IIs. We can blast the batteries to slag later, after we have nothing else to do."

Of course, concentrated particle projector cannon fire wouldn't just fry an orbital battery's electronics; it could also bring down shields in a hurry and outright melt its targets.

After about ten seconds for target acquisition and lock (accuracy would be everything at such long ranges), long bolts of superheated, charged particles made their presence known as thick blue streams racing across space, charging their targets. Bolts of orange energy fired shortly thereafter...

The space between the fleet and the orbital batteries filled with hundreds of these orange and blue bolts of energy, for once the fleet had acquired targeting solutions, it was not reserved in its fire.

The opening volley of the enemy was a devastating blow to the orbitial cannons as shields ruptured and failed and components were flash-melted under the onslaught. Five of the Golan IIIs and four of the Golan IIs were taken out already. The enemy had a weapon that appeared to be enhanced ion cannons, the Admiral noted. That could put a crimp in our fighting style. No matter, for we must succeed at all costs or lose a lot more than a new ally...

The countdown still tracked and sensors on the moon and in orbit were getting readings of enemy positions as they moved closer and closer to Earth off to the fleet for firing solutions. 2:30...2:29...2:28...

The remaining six Golan III and eight Golan II orbitial cannons increased accuracy and returned fire, but it was a decidedly smaller number of bolts. Soon, only the planetary cannons would remain, though...

The sensor officer aboard the Dominion called out the enemy casualties. "Five IIIs down, one left... four IIs down, four left."

As the sensor officer said this, Admiral Galvin noted that the turbolasers had greatly increased their accuracy, and most (but not all) of the fire concentrated on one of the Dominion's sister ships, the Assessor.

He nodded to the sensor officer. "Maintain target lock, continue firing ion cannons."

Orange streaks of energy continued to streak from the fleet at somewhat irregular intervals.

He waited another couple of seconds for the particle projection cannons to recharge before bellowing, "Fire round two of the PPCs!"

A few hundred more terrifying blue bolts of energy raced from the assault fleet towards their targets...

As the PPC fire issued forth, the captain of the Assessor reported shield strength down to forty percent.

The rest of the cannons were destroyed, ending their brave but futile resistance to the enemy. However, their final volley concentrated on at the weakest ship, the Assessor, before they fell. Now it was up to the planetary cannons, or so it seemed...

2:00...1:59...1:58...

The orbital batteries only had another couple of seconds to return fire before the bolts of blue energy melted them, whereas the previous damage had been dealt over a time interval several times as long. Nevertheless, the final burst was more concentrated, and managed to almost collapse its shields...

...but not quite. When the batteries vaporized, never to be seen again, the Assessor reported shields held, albeit at a measly five percent of capacity.

Admiral Galvin, noting the disappearance of orbital resistance, wasted no time in ordering the Assessor to recharge her shields, an order that her captain would have given anyway. Galvin paused for a moment to consider what to do next...

Expect a counterstrike.

These seemingly simple words reverberated through his mind. If I rush headlong for the ground assault, a counterstrike will catch the fleet between two hostile forces, ground batteries and another enemy fleet. Bad idea. Of course, if it gets to the point where the counterstrike is beyond our ability to defeat anyway, the DropShips must be deployed...

"We wait five minutes to see if any emergency reinforcements show up. After that, proceed slowly and cautiously towards Earth."

The Admiral was looking through screens of sensor data and visual holograms of the incoming ships. He frowned. Their commander is a cautious one. It appears he is expecting a counterstrike. Hmm...

The clock ticked down until the Admiral saw ten seconds left. "Stop and reset the clock. After this, whatever happens, we strike."

The clock was once more at three minutes and then began ticking down again...such is the game of chess played by two opposite Admirals...

Admiral Galvin waited patiently for his five-minute timer to tick down. Thirty seconds. Nothing happened. Twenty seconds, ten, nine, eight...

As the timer ran down, Galvin still considered the warning of Darth Ebolus about a counterattack, and this "undisclosed ally" the rebels had. After another moment of careful deliberation, he issued orders: "Medium fleet dispersal, proceed towards Earth at ten percent flank speed of the slowest ship in the fleet. Keep engines ready for full thrust in case it is needed; until then, you may dump the power generation into reinforcing shielding. When planetary batteries open fire, retreat just enough so that they cannot reach your ships." He emphasized his last order: "Do not assume that all is tranquil because the enemy waits to reinforce his position. I smell a trap."

The fleet maneuvered to spread out somewhat, expendable escorts on the edges of the formation, the Immortals in the center, and started lumbering ever so slowly towards Earth. It would take more than an hour to get there maintaining this crawl, but Admiral Galvin did not care, for he knew how many battles had been lost because one side or the other was too hasty...

Well, it's do or die time... The Admiral sighed as the clock ticked down to zero. Let's hope we win...

A second signal, the execution order, was sent to the fleet. Then, it began.

The last sensors showed that the enemy fleet was presently between Jupiter's orbit and the asteroid belt, and so that's where the fleet began to jump in and attack.

Fighters, gunboats, gunships, corvettes, frigates, assault cruisers, heavy cruisers, Star Cruisers and Star Destroyers began jumping in from all sides of the enemy. The bulk of the Star Cruiser squadrons jumped behind the enemy and began sending swarms of missiles of all types into the sterns of the enemy ships.

Then the big guns entered.

Four ships entered the edge of the battle. Four Artillery Star Destroyers began to power up their only weapon worth mentioning: their superlasers. With a quarter of the power of an Eclipse, the superlaser were capable of battering down planetary shields quickly and taking out or at least heavily damaging most any ship. The only drawback? A horrendously long five-minute recharge rate for the output required. The engineers are working on reducing it, but aside from designing new ships, they aren't sure how to do much more.

"Targeting solution...acquired." The gunners reported.

"Fire." Their captains ordered.

Power immediately drained from the reactor, dimming the lights as energy was sucked from all parts of the ship to collect in the weapon. A bluish glow appeared just in front of the superlaser barrels and shot out at their targets: the Immortal-class Star Destroyers that were reported to be the most dangerous targets. Four powerful blue beams of death; four enemy ships.

And last of all, the two flagships Velociraptor and Mastodon entered the system, escorted by two Imperial Mk III escorts each. They were below the planetary eclipse, 'below' the ventral sides of the enemy.

"All ships present?" Commodore Solomon asked aboard the Raptor.

"Yes sir, all sixty-eight of them."

"Very well. Let us begin..." The commodore ordered and then, the battle commenced...

As the fleet started its deliberately slow journey to Earth, Admiral Galvin's bad feeling came true as the sensors officer called out, "Sir, an enemy fleet has entered the system! I count sixty-eight ships. The two largest are directly underneath us at long range..."

As the sensor officer continued to relay data, four blue beams of death materialized. Four Immortals vanished into a cloud of debris and exploding gases, among them, the Assessor, her crew having barely managed to recharge her shields, the Piledriver, the Hurricane, and the Valor Star. Fortunately, neither Admiral Galvin's nor Vice Admiral Warren's ship had been targeted...

Admiral Galvin interrupted the sensor officer. "Captain, track where those superlaser blasts came from!" He knew that he would have at least a minute or two to rid himself of that problem, probably longer as there weren't any Super Star Destroyers or Death Stars around...

"Sir, the blasts came from four Imperator-sized ships in Sector 29, class unknown. Missile cruisers have fired on us from behind our position..."

The admiral responded to the loss of four of his best ships with a surprising degree of calm. "All Immortal and Knossos captains, prepare targeting solutions for their four superlaser ships. After you have a clear shot, target them with long-range PPC fire. Accuracy is everything, people!"

As he said this, the cloud of missiles fired by the cruisers started arriving, and a short burst of point-defence fire from the Knossos quad-laser cannons greeted them. However, the point-defense fire lacked the sheer density required to take down the entire swarm, and four ships in the back of the fleet vanished, their shielding and hulls overwhelmed by the swarm, three of them Knossos destroyers, one of them an MC-60.

"Sir, we've lost three destroyers and a MC." At this point, the admiral cut the sensor officer off. He had enough information to continue for the moment.

Additional missiles managed to nearly disable the rear shields on one of the Immortals. The Exaction's captain started the arduous process of turning the ship around to rotate the failing rear shields with the full-strength frontal ones.

"All fighter pilots, dispatch. All cloaked ships, pursue the missile cruisers under cloak, do not decloak until you can fire at point-blank. I need six destroyers to escort them, you may fire on the cruisers from long range.

Immortal captains, begin pitching your vessels down to bring your Gauss Rifles to bear on their command ships. In the meantime, hammer their two command ships with turbolaser and ion cannon fire. The Ascendant, Battlestar, and Broadsword* will maintain position to cover your sixes.

Don't let the superlaser ships freak you out. We will have a brief opportunity to take them out before they fire again."

As Admiral Galvin finished giving his orders, the targeting data on the superlaser ships finished its compiliation, and a steady stream of streaky blue PPC fire, supplemented by some dorsal orange ion cannon fire, made its way across the heavens, sent from the eleven remaining Immortals and about twenty-five of the Knossos destroyers, bound for what the Dark Fleet only knew as "the superlaser ships." Meanwhile, six of the destroyers, and unseen by the enemy fleet, all of the cloaked Birds of Prey and Vor'cha cruisers, turned around to counterattack the missile cruisers. After a few seconds to acquire lock, the destroyers fired a few preliminary PPC and ion rounds at one of the cruisers, aiming to take one out at a time, for, unless indicated otherwise, this was simply a matter of fleet doctrine.

Meanwhile, as the Immortals began their flipping maneuver, heavy turbolaser and ion cannon fire rained down upon the two enemy command ships, and only the two enemy command ships, like a horrifying thunderstorm with green rain, as the MC-60's also joined in. The great Immortals started to disgorge their thousand or so TIE Oppressors...

*OOC: All three of these ships are of the Immortal class.

As the fleet started its deliberately slow journey to Earth, Admiral Galvin's bad feeling came true as the sensors officer called out, "Sir, an enemy fleet has entered the system! I count sixty-eight ships. The two largest are directly underneath us at long range..."

As the sensor officer continued to relay data, four blue beams of death materialized. Four Immortals vanished into a cloud of debris and exploding gases, among them, the Assessor, her crew having barely managed to recharge her shields, the Piledriver, the Cyclone, and the Valor Star. Fortunately, neither Admiral Galvin's nor Vice Admiral Warren's ship had been targeted...

Admiral Galvin interrupted the sensor officer. "Captain, track where those superlaser blasts came from!" He knew that he would have at least a minute or two to rid himself of that problem, probably longer as there weren't any Super Star Destroyers or Death Stars around...

"Sir, the blasts came from four Imperator-sized ships in Sector 29, class unknown. Missile cruisers have fired on us from behind our position..."

The admiral responded to the loss of four of his best ships with a surprising degree of calm. "All Immortal and Knossos captains, prepare targeting solutions for their four superlaser ships. After you have a clear shot, target them with long-range PPC fire. Accuracy is everything, people!"

As he said this, the cloud of missiles fired by the cruisers started arriving, and a short burst of point-defence fire from the Knossos quad-laser cannons greeted them. However, the point-defense fire lacked the sheer density required to take down the entire swarm, and four ships in the back of the fleet vanished, their shielding and hulls overwhelmed by the swarm, three of them Knossos destroyers, one of them an MC-60.

"Sir, we've lost three destroyers and a MC." At this point, the admiral cut the sensor officer off. He had enough information to continue for the moment.

Additional missiles managed to nearly disable the rear shields on one of the Immortals. The Exaction's captain started the arduous process of turning the ship around to rotate the failing rear shields with the full-strength frontal ones.

"All fighter pilots, dispatch. All cloaked ships, pursue the missile cruisers under cloak, do not decloak until you can fire at point-blank. I need six destroyers to escort them, you may fire on the cruisers from long range.

Immortal captains, begin pitching your vessels down to bring your Gauss Rifles to bear on their command ships. In the meantime, hammer their two command ships with turbolaser and ion cannon fire. The Ascendant, Battlestar, and Broadsword* will maintain position to cover your sixes.

Don't let the superlaser ships freak you out. We will have a brief opportunity to take them out before they fire again."
The missile cruisers continued to smash a second volley into the enemy rears and then a hail of railcannons and turbolasers smacked into the ranks of the enemy as several Shinobi-class battlecruisers moved to cut the enemy off from Earth near the asteroid fields.

As Admiral Galvin finished giving his orders, the targeting data on the superlaser ships finished its compiliation, and a steady stream of streaky blue PPC fire, supplemented by some dorsal orange ion cannon fire, made its way across the heavens, sent from the eleven remaining Immortals and about twenty-five of the Knossos destroyers, bound for what the Dark Fleet only knew as "the superlaser ships." Meanwhile, six of the destroyers, and unseen by the enemy fleet, all of the cloaked Birds of Prey and Vor'cha cruisers, turned around to counterattack the missile cruisers. After a few seconds to acquire lock, the destroyers fired a few preliminary PPC and ion rounds at one of the cruisers, aiming to take one out at a time, for, unless indicated otherwise, this was simply a matter of fleet doctrine.

Meanwhile, as the Immortals began their flipping maneuver, heavy turbolaser and ion cannon fire rained down upon the two enemy command ships, and only the two enemy command ships, like a horrifying thunderstorm with green rain, as the MC-60's also joined in. The great Immortals started to disgorge their thousand or so TIE Oppressors...

*OOC: All three of these ships are of the Immortal class.
The Artillery Star Destroyers were hit by the PPC and ion cannon fire heavily. One of them was destroyed outright by the massive fire, a second had it's primary weapon disabled and the other two were damaged but still ready to fire in another few moments.

The Missile Cruisers knew that there were cloaked ships in the area once the Klingon-made ships opened fire on them, flaring the shields. It helped that they had CGT sensors, capable of detecting any ship even while cloaked due to gravity fluctuations. So when the cloaked ships fired at close range, point-defense lasers and missiles rained out at the enemy ships, sundering them with fire as if they were naked to the eye.

The flagships' shields flared as they recieved the firepower of the enemy, but the Mk III escorts returned fire with a massive broadside of turbolasers and ion cannons to cover the flags. Then the flags themselves opened fire as they noted that enemy fighters are pouring out. The flag's weapons aimed and fired for the hangar bays, knowing that that will cause much damage.

As for the fighters themselves, friendly fighters, an alphabet soup of -Wing craft, rose to meet the enemy fighters and support the larger, less numerous capital ships. Supporting the X-wings, A-wings and E-wings were heavier torpedo boats, Skipray Blastboats and Wolfpack after Wolfpack of corvettes and gunships (1 corvette, 4 gunships per wolfpack). Then came the most dangerous weapons against starfighters to date: Lancer-class Antistarfighter Cruisers. With a massive number of laser cannons and the speed and agility to match even slower fighters, they will quite possibly carry the day in helping defeat the enemy fighter squadrons...

"Admiral, one of the superlaser ships is destroyed, the other three heavily damaged, their shields down..."

Admiral Galvin smiled at the sensor officer's report. "Maintain PPC lock and finish them."

As the particle projector cannons completed their recharge, another swarm of more frightening blue bolts raced towards the enemy artillery ships, not twelve seconds after the first round...

Galvin, just to be completely sure that the heavy artillery was destroyed while still trying to minimize wasted firepower, ordered that the next PPC volley be split between the superlaser ships and the two command ships.

Three B'rel Birds of Prey and one K'vort Bird of prey fell to the missile cruisers' point defence fire, as well as random missiles, their shields greatly reduced in strength because of the overwhelming requirements of the cloaking generators. The remaining Klingon-built ships decloaked in favor of the protection of shields, their captains having realised that the enemy could detect the cloaked ships, and released their full load of ion torpedoes at the missile cruisers, firing their gravitic disruptors at near-point-blank range. Five more of the Klingon-built ships took varying degrees of hull damage from the missile swarm before they could decloak.

As the missiles continued, most of the Knossos destroyers had by now turned around to face the missile cruisers, a position that gave their own point defences better coverage to shoot them down. Bursts of quad laser fire again filled space as the destroyers moved to intercept another round of missiles...

One in the group escorting the Klingon-built ships, and two in the general swarm, succumbed to the fire. The five remaining destroyers escorting them added their turbolasers to the furious volley of ion cannon and particle projector cannons targeting the missile cruisers.

The captain of the Exaction, the Star Destroyer that had nearly had her rear shielding overwhelmed by the missile swarms, had by now turned so her side faced the missile cruisers, and, after her gunners acquired target lock, fired a broadside of six gauss rifle shells at the enemy missile group, in support of the destroyers and frigates engaging them.

The underside shields of the Immortals flared red as the command ships returned fire, but as the eight vessels ordered to pitch down slowly turned to face the enemy command ships, the shield stress moved more to the forward shields. As the Immortals turned to face the command ships, the fleet's collection of heavy weaponry returned online, and six of the Star Destroyers fired more blue bolts of energy at the superlaser fleet, to eliminate any stragglers that may have been left after the first round, while the other remaining five directed their particle projector cannon fire at the two enemy flagships, after an extra couple seconds for targeting purposes. After about thirty seconds of a turbolaser and ion cannon thunderstorm directed solely at the two enemy command ships, the gunners of the eight Immortals now directly facing the enemy flagships now directed another full round totaling more than four hundred thick bolts of seething blue energy at the two flagships, and as the Gauss Rifle gunners acquired a line of fire, they fired their multiton shells at the enemy command ships as well. The other three fired their ventral particle projector cannons at the two enemy command ships as well, hoping to collapse their shields, and destroy enemy morale with the first few broadsides.

Of course, the green and orange thunderstorm raining down upon the two enemy flagships continued, overwhelmed for a couple of seconds by the massive blue flash of the PPC fire.

As enemy fighters spewed forth from the enemy command vessels, the nine MC-60s remaining targeted their corvette escorts with turbolaser and ion cannon fire, while the starfighter pilots moved to engage the rebel-loving scum...

However, the twenty-five Knossos destroyers not already preoccupied with sorties against the missile cruisers had other things to do, like shooting down missiles and lending their turbolasers, particle projector cannons, and ion cannons, though fewer in number than the Immortals, to the bombardment of the enemy command ships.

As the first full broadside of the battle thundered away, Admiral Galvin ordered the three ships with docking bays still facing the enemy command to acquire tractor beam lock on one of their Star Destroyer escorts. He had something special planned for them.

"Admiral, one of the superlaser ships is destroyed, the other three heavily damaged, their shields down..."

Admiral Galvin smiled at the sensor officer's report. "Maintain PPC lock and finish them."

As the particle projector cannons completed their recharge, another swarm of more frightening blue bolts raced towards the enemy artillery ships, not twelve seconds after the first round...

Galvin, just to be completely sure that the heavy artillery was destroyed while still trying to minimize wasted firepower, ordered that the next PPC volley be split between the superlaser ships and the two command ships.
Unable to defy the enemy any longer, the Artillery Star Destroyers were completely bashed in by the second volley of PPC fire and were soon taken out of play. Now it was up to the main fleet of Star Destroyer mk IIs and other similar ships to maintain attrition in this battle. Reinforcements won't arrive for hours, after all.

Three B'rel Birds of Prey and one K'vort Bird of prey fell to the missile cruisers' point defence fire, as well as random missiles, their shields greatly reduced in strength because of the overwhelming requirements of the cloaking generators. The remaining Klingon-built ships decloaked in favor of the protection of shields, their captains having realised that the enemy could detect the cloaked ships, and released their full load of ion torpedoes at the missile cruisers, firing their gravitic disruptors at near-point-blank range. Five more of the Klingon-built ships took varying degrees of hull damage from the missile swarm before they could decloak.

As the missiles continued, most of the Knossos destroyers had by now turned around to face the missile cruisers, a position that gave their own point defences better coverage to shoot them down. Bursts of quad laser fire again filled space as the destroyers moved to intercept another round of missiles...

One in the group escorting the Klingon-built ships, and two in the general swarm, succumbed to the fire. The five remaining destroyers escorting them added their turbolasers to the furious volley of ion cannon and particle projector cannons targeting the missile cruisers.
Two missile cruisers were downed by the enemy volleys and another three were damaged. Their Strike Cruiser and Victory Star Destroyer escorts moved in to support their larger brethren and smack the Knossos destroyers around with their own turbolasers, ion cannons and missile and torpedo rounds.

The captain of the Exaction, the Star Destroyer that had nearly had her rear shielding overwhelmed by the missile swarms, had by now turned so her side faced the missile cruisers, and, after her gunners acquired target lock, fired a broadside of six gauss rifle shells at the enemy missile group, in support of the destroyers and frigates engaging them.
Numerous hull breaches were reported for several of the missile cruisers as the gauss rifles ripped through the shields in conjuction with the energy weapons. A pair of Nebulon-B2 Frigates and a Strike Cruiser then focused their firepower on the Exaction while missiles continued to pound it and other ships in the battle.

The underside shields of the Immortals flared red as the command ships returned fire, but as the eight vessels ordered to pitch down slowly turned to face the enemy command ships, the shield stress moved more to the forward shields. As the Immortals turned to face the command ships, the fleet's collection of heavy weaponry returned online, and six of the Star Destroyers fired more blue bolts of energy at the superlaser fleet, to eliminate any stragglers that may have been left after the first round, while the other remaining five directed their particle projector cannon fire at the two enemy flagships, after an extra couple seconds for targeting purposes. After about thirty seconds of a turbolaser and ion cannon thunderstorm directed solely at the two enemy command ships, the gunners of the eight Immortals now directly facing the enemy flagships now directed another full round totaling more than four hundred thick bolts of seething blue energy at the two flagships, and as the Gauss Rifle gunners acquired a line of fire, they fired their multiton shells at the enemy command ships as well. The other three fired their ventral particle projector cannons at the two enemy command ships as well, hoping to collapse their shields, and destroy enemy morale with the first few broadsides.

Of course, the green and orange thunderstorm raining down upon the two enemy flagships continued, overwhelmed for a couple of seconds by the massive blue flash of the PPC fire.
The Commodore of the Raptor winced as the bridge shook under the impacts of the enemy firepower. "How are shields handling?"

"We've got 25% loss of shielding. Mastodon's reporting 28% damaged!"

They're pitching downward. Hmm... The Commodore thought. "Have Mastodon concentrate their firepower with us! We'll take them down one by one if we have to!"

The two flagships then began concentrating their own broadsides upon an Immortal Star Destroyer, shooting and shooting again until they were satisfied that they've mission-killed the ship, then they would move on to another ship.

As enemy fighters spewed forth from the enemy command vessels, the nine MC-60s remaining targeted their corvette escorts with turbolaser and ion cannon fire, while the starfighter pilots moved to engage the rebel-loving scum...
The four Mk III escorts attacked the MC-60s in support of the smaller corvettes in order to keep the anti-fighter squadrons alive as long as possible.

However, the twenty or so Knossos destroyers not already preoccupied with sorties against the missile cruisers had other things to do, like shooting down missiles and lending their turbolasers, particle projector cannons, and ion cannons, though fewer in number than the Immortals, to the bombardment of the enemy command ships.
These ships were blasted at by the Shinobi battlecruisers and their Nebulon-B2 and Strike Cruiser escorts in support of the rest of the fleet.

As the first full broadside of the battle thundered away, Admiral Galvin ordered the three ships with docking bays still facing the enemy command to acquire tractor beam lock on one of their Star Destroyer escorts. He had something special planned for them.
The ISD mk III Admiral Pellaeon then suddenly shuddered as tractor beams from three enemy Star Destroyers grabbed it.

"Sir! We have tractor beams locked onto us!"

"Very well! Commence anti-tractor measures!" The captain ordered. Anti-tractor beam measures included sending missiles down the pull of the beam as well as going into the beams as if trying to ram one of them. Most other people, civilians included would try to break the lock by reversing engines or juking, but that strains the engines too much. So Coredian commanders decided on a solution: rather than try to break the lock, the engines would be used to travel into the tractor beams. Missiles also help to break the lock. Plus, going into close-range would then give the ship a chance to do some point-blank bombardments in the process.

The ISD mk III Admiral Pellaeon then suddenly shuddered as tractor beams from three enemy Star Destroyers grabbed it.

"Sir! We have tractor beams locked onto us!"

"Very well! Commence anti-tractor measures!" The captain ordered. Anti-tractor beam measures included sending missiles down the pull of the beam as well as going into the beams as if trying to ram one of them. Most other people, civilians included would try to break the lock by reversing engines or juking, but that strains the engines too much. So Coredian commanders decided on a solution: rather than try to break the lock, the engines would be used to travel into the tractor beams. Missiles also help to break the lock. Plus, going into close-range would then give the ship a chance to do some point-blank bombardments in the process.

As some of the tractor beams locked onto missile decoys instead of the intended target, their operators began implementing Standard Operating Procedure for such contingencies: They accepted the lock on the decoy objects, and froze them in place.

S.O.P. called for the decoy object to be rammed into an opposing ship using the tractor beam in question, but gave their operators leeway in choosing the opposing ship. Most of the operators were clever enough to try to ram the missiles, warhead first, into the bridges of high priority targets; the beam would then reacquire lock on said targets. Incidentally, one such ship was the Admiral Pellaeon, the ship originally targeted by the tractor beams, but the tractor beam operators also decided to redirect missiles at the other three Mk. III Star Destroyers and the two command ships.

At which point they could ram their newly disabled target into any ship they chose, and deliver more presents for the opposing fleet.

As for the attempted evasive maneuver on the part of the target, those operators who did not have decoys fired at their equipment simply waited a few seconds for the equipment to adjust. They did not try to force the lock, but after a few seconds, when the equipment had accounted for the change in engine thrust, they locked the beam, which would freeze the ship in space.

More tractor beams were brought to bear on the Admiral Pellaeon as she struggled to use the tractor beams to her advantage, for the purpose of freezing her, and using her as a weapon.

Unable to defy the enemy any longer, the Artillery Star Destroyers were completely bashed in by the second volley of PPC fire and were soon taken out of play. Now it was up to the main fleet of Star Destroyer mk IIs and other similar ships to maintain attrition in this battle. Reinforcements won't arrive for hours, after all.

Admiral Galvin smiled as the remaining "superlaser ships" turned into space slag, for while he knew this fight would not be easy, he at least knew that no more of his ships would be destroyed in one shot.

Two missile cruisers were downed by the enemy volleys and another three were damaged. Their Strike Cruiser and Victory Star Destroyer escorts moved in to support their larger brethren and smack the Knossos destroyers around with their own turbolasers, ion cannons and missile and torpedo rounds.


Numerous hull breaches were reported for several of the missile cruisers as the gauss rifles ripped through the shields in conjuction with the energy weapons. A pair of Nebulon-B2 Frigates and a Strike Cruiser then focused their firepower on the Exaction while missiles continued to pound it and other ships in the battle.

The five Knossos destroyers and various Klingon-built frigates and cruisers continued to concentrate fire on one missile cruiser at a time, then moving on to the next. The last lightly-shielded B'rel succumbed, but not before releasing a couple of ion torpedo going-away presents and firing one last shot with her two gravitic disruptors. The seven remaining K-vort Birds of Prey and all four Vor'cha cruisers continued to fire their torpedoes and disruptors at point-blank range.

The destroyers were able to fire their weapons continuously for about thirty seconds before the missile cruisers' "reinforcements" made their sting felt. One Knossos destroyer's shields flared red before giving out, and her captain, knowing she was dead anyway, turned the ship to ram the nearest cruiser, hoping the ship would get there before disintegrating. Another destroyer in the same situation made the attempt, but blew apart just fifty meters from a missile cruiser's hull. The shields of the other three blazed red, but hadn't failed---yet.

The Commodore of the Raptor winced as the bridge shook under the impacts of the enemy firepower. "How are shields handling?"

"We've got 25% loss of shielding. Mastodon's reporting 28% damaged!"

They're pitching downward.

Hmm... The Commodore thought. "Have Mastodon concentrate their firepower with us! We'll take them down one by one if we have to!"

The two flagships then began concentrating their own broadsides upon an Immortal Star Destroyer, shooting and shooting again until they were satisfied that they've mission-killed the ship, then they would move on to another ship.

The Exaction fired another broadside of Gauss Rifles, heavy turbolasers, ion cannons, and PPCs at the missile cruisers in support of the destroyers. Regrettably, she also bore the brunt of the fire. Her shields blazed red under the enemy onslaught and steadily lost strength as the enemy onslaught continued. But her sacrifice would allow the shields of the other Immortals a short breather, a precious minute to recharge. As she rained sheets of turbolaser fire upon the missile cruisers, her Gauss Rifles reloaded and her PPCs recharged, and another six gauss rounds and thirty blue bolts of doom headed towards the enemy missile cruisers, while fifteen PPCs that lacked line of fire on the cruisers instead fired at the command ships below.

She had by now completed the turn, her shields at just under half strength, having borne the brunt of the first missile rounds. As her captain knew that he would not long survive the battle, he ordered the Exaction's engines brought up to full thrust. As the ship now faced the missile cruisers directly, all twelve of her Gauss Rifles and all sixty of her particle projector cannons could now be brought to bear on the missile cruisers. Another round followed.

"Shields at thirty percent."

A fifteen percent decline in fifteen seconds.

The Exaction lurched forward, her engines screaming. For revenge. She fired what would almost certainly be her final salvo of PPC and Gauss Rifle fire as she picked her ramming target, one missile cruiser so far left untouched, the Exaction's shields now seconds from failing...

Meanwhile, the other ten Immortals continued to rain down sheets of green and orange upon the two command ships, interrupted every ten seconds or so by a blinding hailstorm of blue death, and the twelve Gauss Rifle rounds from each of the seven mighty command cruisers positioned to fire them.

The four Mk III escorts attacked the MC-60s in support of the smaller corvettes in order to keep the anti-fighter squadrons alive as long as possible.

The MC-60's ignored the fire from the four escort Star Destroyers, their captains knowing that the fleet's tractor beam crews would soon be having quite a bit of fun with them, instead maintaining their fire upon the fighter escort corvettes. However, their shields blazed red, and one of the MC-60 captains, knowing his shields would be the first to fail, ordered his craft's engines revved up in preparation for a ramming attempt on one of the Star Destroyers...

These [Knossos-class] ships were blasted at by the Shinobi battlecruisers and their Nebulon-B2 and Strike Cruiser escorts in support of the rest of the fleet.

The destroyers continued shooting down missiles with their quad laser cannons, and directing their other firepower to the bombardment of the enemy command ships. The battlecruisers and strike cruisers could come after the enemy's morale was crushed. Four of the destroyers (in addition to the ones lost in the missile cruiser sorties) sacrificed themselves for the good of the fleet.

As some of the tractor beams locked onto missile decoys instead of the intended target, their operators began implementing Standard Operating Procedure for such contingencies: They accepted the lock on the decoy objects, and froze them in place.

S.O.P. called for the decoy object to be rammed into an opposing ship using the tractor beam in question, but gave their operators leeway in choosing the opposing ship. Most of the operators were clever enough to try to ram the missiles, warhead first, into the bridges of high priority targets; the beam would then reacquire lock on said targets. Incidentally, one such ship was the Admiral Pellaeon, the ship originally targeted by the tractor beams, but the tractor beam operators also decided to redirect missiles at the other three Mk. III Star Destroyers and the two command ships.

At which point they could ram their newly disabled target into any ship they chose, and deliver more presents for the opposing fleet.

As for the attempted evasive maneuver on the part of the target, those operators who did not have decoys fired at their equipment simply waited a few seconds for the equipment to adjust. They did not try to force the lock, but after a few seconds, when the equipment had accounted for the change in engine thrust, they locked the beam, which would freeze the ship in space.

More tractor beams were brought to bear on the Admiral Pellaeon as she struggled to use the tractor beams to her advantage, for the purpose of freezing her, and using her as a weapon.
Smart, very smart. The captain groaned as his own missiles were turned upon his own ships and fire blossomed on the shields. Then the ship shuddered as she was locked into place by the enemy tractor beams. They're probably going to try and use this ship as a weapon...

The captain rolled through everything he knew about this ship to try and save it from a horrible death. Then... "Draw all weapons power into the ion cannons! Do it, now!"

Turbolaser fire from the ship slacked off as weapon power was redirected into the ion cannons.

"Target the tractor beam emplacements! Fire!"

A massive broadside of blue ion bolts suddenly shot out for the tractor beam emitters of the various ships. Perhaps disabling them will work this time...

Admiral Galvin smiled as the remaining "superlaser ships" turned into space slag, for while he knew this fight would not be easy, he at least knew that no more of his ships would be destroyed in one shot.



The five Knossos destroyers and various Klingon-built frigates and cruisers continued to concentrate fire on one missile cruiser at a time, then moving on to the next. The last lightly-shielded B'rel succumbed, but not before releasing a couple of ion torpedo going-away presents and firing one last shot with her two gravitic disruptors. The seven remaining K-vort Birds of Prey and all four Vor'cha cruisers continued to fire their torpedoes and disruptors at point-blank range.

The destroyers were able to fire their weapons continuously for about thirty seconds before the missile cruisers' "reinforcements" made their sting felt. One Knossos destroyer's shields flared red before giving out, and her captain, knowing she was dead anyway, turned the ship to ram the nearest cruiser, hoping the ship would get there before disintegrating. Another destroyer in the same situation made the attempt, but blew apart just fifty meters from a missile cruiser's hull. The shields of the other three blazed red, but hadn't failed---yet.
"They're going for ramming tactics, sir."

"I see that. Evasive maneuvers. Keep the heat on them, no matter what!" The missile cruiser targeted by the enemy ship for ramming then used its vector thrusters to move aside for the ship, while it continued to broadside the enemy with its missiles.

Even so, another missile cruiser went down under attacks from the enemy.

The Exaction fired another broadside of Gauss Rifles, heavy turbolasers, ion cannons, and PPCs at the missile cruisers in support of the destroyers. Regrettably, she also bore the brunt of the fire. Her shields blazed red under the enemy onslaught and steadily lost strength as the enemy onslaught continued. But her sacrifice would allow the shields of the other Immortals a short breather, a precious minute to recharge. As she rained sheets of turbolaser fire upon the missile cruisers, her Gauss Rifles reloaded and her PPCs recharged, and another six gauss rounds and thirty blue bolts of doom headed towards the enemy missile cruisers, while fifteen PPCs that lacked line of fire on the cruisers instead fired at the command ships below.

She had by now completed the turn, her shields at just under half strength, having borne the brunt of the first missile rounds. As her captain knew that he would not long survive the battle, he ordered the Exaction's engines brought up to full thrust. As the ship now faced the missile cruisers directly, all twelve of her Gauss Rifles and all sixty of her particle projector cannons could now be brought to bear on the missile cruisers. Another round followed.

"Shields at thirty percent."

A fifteen percent decline in fifteen seconds.

The Exaction lurched forward, her engines screaming. For revenge. She fired what would almost certainly be her final salvo of PPC and Gauss Rifle fire as she picked her ramming target, one missile cruiser so far left untouched, her shields now seconds from failing...

"Collision alert! Collision alert!" The sensor computers blared.

"Hard to port! Pitch up! Broadside it!" The captain of the missile cruiser ordered desperately as the ship tried to maneuver out of the way of the Exacton. But it was too big and too slow as the enemy ship came screaming into the missile cruiser and both ships detonated, killing yet another Coredian ship.

Meanwhile, the other ten Immortals continued to rain down sheets of green and orange upon the two command ships, interrupted every ten seconds or so by a blinding hailstorm of blue death, and the twelve Gauss Rifle rounds from each of the eight mighty command cruisers positioned to fire them.
"Shields at 51...no...49%!" The shield officer reported. "Mastodon's 46%."

The Commodore sighed, rubbing his eyes in irritation. Somehow, I wish we had a Super Star Destroyer in this fleet...

"Intensify broadside firepower as much as possible on our targets. When the shields get down to 25% or less, prepare to switch power to forward shields and propulsion. Have Mastodon prepare the same." He ordered. He was damned if he would lose this battle without taking some of the Immortals with him...

The MC-60's ignored the fire from the four escort Star Destroyers, their captains knowing that the fleet's tractor beam crews would soon be having quite a bit of fun with them, instead maintaining their fire upon the fighter escort corvettes. However, their shields blazed red, and one of the MC-60 captains, knowing his shields would be the first to fail, ordered his craft's engines revved up in preparation for a ramming attempt on one of the Star Destroyers...
Ignoring the MC-60s would prove damaging as the three remaining escort ISDs began concentrating firepower like their charges did. First on the most damaged MC-60, the one readying to ram into someone.

The destroyers continued shooting down missiles with their quad laser cannons, and directing their other firepower to the bombardment of the enemy command ships. The battlecruisers and strike cruisers could come after the enemy's morale was crushed. Four of the destroyers (in addition to the ones lost in the missile cruiser sorties) sacrificed themselves for the good of the fleet.
The Shinobi and Strike cruisers kept the pressure up as they continued to blast away at the enemy destroyers, some of them moving close enough to engage in point-blank broadside combat against the enemy. The 20 or so remaining mk II Star Destroyers also continued to rain fire on enemies they picked.

Whether either fleet wins or loses, it's going to be a very phyrric victory indeed.

Smart, very smart. The captain groaned as his own missiles were turned upon his own ships and fire blossomed on the shields. Then the ship shuddered as she was locked into place by the enemy tractor beams. They're probably going to try and use this ship as a weapon...

The captain rolled through everything he knew about this ship to try and save it from a horrible death. Then... "Draw all weapons power into the ion cannons! Do it, now!"

Turbolaser fire from the ship slacked off as weapon power was redirected into the ion cannons.

"Target the tractor beam emplacements! Fire!"

A massive broadside of blue ion bolts suddenly shot out for the tractor beam emitters of the various ships. Perhaps disabling them will work this time...

The underside shields of the Broadsword, one of the Immortals tasked with taming the enemy Star Destroyer, blazed red from the ion cannon fire. However, the shields had had a brief respite from combat while the enemy targeted the Exaction, had recharged to about ninety percent, and absorbed the ion cannon fire without much trouble. It would take more than the fire from a single Imperator III to bring down the shields of an Immortal.

However, upon hearing of the sudden drop of shields to about half strength, the Broadsword's captain ordered power diverted from generating propulsion to shielding, just in case, for the shields were not without blemish any longer.

Meanwhile, those operating the tractor beams that ensnared the Admiral Pellaeon had a worthy sendoff planned for it. They gradually turned it around, before asking the captain of the distressed MC-60 what ship he had planned on ramming.

"The one marked Mastadon."

Thus the target of the Admiral Pellaeon's sendoff was decided. Admiral Pellaeon, meet Raptor, members of the tractor beam crews thought to themselves, almost as if a hive mind.

The tractor beam operators aimed the ship directly at the Raptor, only a little more than seventy kilometers or so apart, and started to send the doomed ship on her way, moving her just fast enough to split the ship in two, just slow enough to make any neccessary corrections for enemy attempts at evasive action.

"They're going for ramming tactics, sir."

"I see that. Evasive maneuvers. Keep the heat on them, no matter what!" The missile cruiser targeted by the enemy ship for ramming then used its vector thrusters to move aside for the ship, while it continued to broadside the enemy with its missiles.

Even so, another missile cruiser went down under attacks from the enemy.

"Collision alert! Collision alert!" The sensor computers blared.

"Hard to port! Pitch up! Broadside it!" The captain of the missile cruiser ordered desperately as the ship tried to maneuver out of the way of the Exacton. But it was too big and too slow as the enemy ship came screaming into the missile cruiser and both ships detonated, killing yet another Coredian ship.

The destroyer that had attempted to ram the first missile cruiser exploded, having been destroyed before she could make another attempt.

The three remaining destroyers, shields in imminent danger of failing in another two seconds or so, fired their own last broadsides of ion cannons, turbolasers, and particle projector cannons, before their captains attempted to ram three separate missile cruisers.

Meanwhile, two K'vorts joined them, in firing going-away presents at the other two ships their captains hoped to ram, the K'vorts being more manueverable than the Knossos destroyers...

The other five K'vorts and the four Vor'cha light cruisers targeted their ion torpedoes and their disruptor blasts even more systematically, their captains firing not only on the same ship, but the same part of the ship as well, hoping for at least a limited shield breach.

"Shields at 51...no...49%!" The shield officer reported. "Mastodon's 46%."

The Commodore sighed, rubbing his eyes in irritation. Somehow, I wish we had a Super Star Destroyer in this fleet...

"Intensify broadside firepower as much as possible on our targets. When the shields get down to 25% or less, prepare to switch power to forward shields and propulsion. Have Mastodon prepare the same." He ordered. He was damned if he would lose this battle without taking some of the Immortals with him...

As Admiral Galvin learned of the ramming targets, he ordered the ten Immortals bombarding the two command ships to cease firing turbolasers and dump the power savings into ion cannons and PPCs. The latter would benefit from an increased rate of fire, about eight seconds between firing instead of the normal ten, in addition to being somewhat more powerful. Time to prepare them for their doom, hopefully by shutting down propulsion systems or thrusters.

The nonemergency lights on the Immortals dimmed, as a powersaver. Power saved was diverted to weapons. However, enemy captains hoping for a power diversion from shielding would be horribly disappointed.

The fire from the command ships and their escorts caused the shields on one of the Immortals to blaze red; her captain diverted power from the sublight drive, relatively nonessential at the moment, to reinforce shields and bring them back up to about fifty-five percent.

Orange rain thundered down upon the two command ships, punctured every eight seconds or so by enourmous, blinding flashes of blue lightning...

The Gauss Rifles still punctured space with their thunder.

Ignoring the MC-60s would prove damaging as the three remaining escort ISDs began concentrating firepower like their charges did. First on the most damaged MC-60, the one readying to ram into someone.

As the MC-60's engines whined like a jet airliner's on takeoff, she lumbered forward, gaining speed, headed for her target, the Mastadon. Her remaining shields blazed red, then failed. However, her hull might just be sturdy enough to reach her final destination...

The doomed ship powered down all weapons; even her lights dimmed. All per captain's orders. The resulting power savings were dumped into the sublight drive.

The Shinobi and Strike cruisers kept the pressure up as they continued to blast away at the enemy destroyers, some of them moving close enough to engage in point-blank broadside combat against the enemy. The 20 or so remaining mk II Star Destroyers also continued to rain fire on enemies they picked.

Whether either fleet wins or loses, it's going to be a very phyrric victory indeed.

The remaining eight MC-60s, their captains knowing of the plans for the command ships' fate, diverted their fire to the Shinobi and Strike cruisers to support the Knossos destroyers engaged with them, pelting one at a time with turbolaser and ion cannon fire. The twenty Knossos destroyers also followed the same targeting algorithm, firing their ion cannons, turbolasers, and blue particle projector cannon bolts at one enemy cruiser at a time. Of those twenty, as the shields on another three failed, their captains turned for ram attempts on the closest cruisers, which had convienently moved to point-blank range...

The underside shields of the Broadsword, one of the Immortals tasked with taming the enemy Star Destroyer, blazed red from the ion cannon fire. However, the shields had had a brief respite from combat while the enemy targeted the Exaction, had recharged to about ninety percent, and absorbed the ion cannon fire without much trouble. It would take more than the fire from a single Imperator III to bring down the shields of an Immortal.

However, upon hearing of the sudden drop of shields to about half strength, the Broadsword's captain ordered power diverted from generating propulsion to shielding, just in case, for the shields were not without blemish any longer.

Meanwhile, those operating the tractor beams that ensnared the Admiral Pellaeon had a worthy sendoff planned for it. They gradually turned it around, before asking the captain of the distressed MC-60 what ship he had planned on ramming.

"The one marked Mastadon."

Thus the target of the Admiral Pellaeon's sendoff was decided. Admiral Pellaeon, meet Raptor, members of the tractor beam crews thought to themselves, almost as if a hive mind.

The tractor beam operators aimed the ship directly at the Raptor, only a little more than seventy kilometers or so apart, and started to send the doomed ship on her way, moving her just fast enough to split the ship in two, just slow enough to make any neccessary corrections for enemy attempts at evasive action.
The ship groaned trying to fight the tractor beams and the hull broke in several parts. Then a collision alert from the sensors told the captain that the ship was heading to ram into the flag.

The captain sighed. In order to save the flag, he would have to do something...sacrifice his own ship. "Disengage the hyperdrive safeties."

"Sir?" The helmsman asked.

"Do it now!" The captain snapped.

The helmsman disengaged the safeties.

"Prepare to blind-jump on my mark. Keep the ship pointed towards one of the enemy as much as possible." More groaning occurred after that order was given. Slowly, painfully, as gaps of air boiled out, sucking crew out into space, the ship pointed the hull at one of the Immortals even as it was getting dangerously close to the Raptor.

May you succeed...Commodore. The captain sighed. "Engage."

The ship's hyperdrive screamed as it seemed to elongate in making the jump. The ship shook itself apart as it made the blind-jump, but enough matter and energy was left over to hopefully ram into the enemy...

The destroyer that had attempted to ram the first missile cruiser exploded, having been destroyed before she could make another attempt.

The three remaining destroyers, shields in imminent danger of failing in another two seconds or so, fired their own last broadsides of ion cannons, turbolasers, and particle projector cannons, before their captains attempted to ram three separate missile cruisers.
Devastating explosions occurred as the captains succeeded in ramming two of the missile cruisers and taking them out permanently. The third was scraped as it moved aside slowly, a long gash was made, and it began to list away, nearly dead.

Meanwhile, two K'vorts joined them, in firing going-away presents at the other two ships their captains hoped to ram, the K'vorts being more manueverable than the Knossos destroyers...

The other five K'vorts and the four Vor'cha light cruisers targeted their ion torpedoes and their disruptor blasts even more systematically, their captains firing not only on the same ship, but the same part of the ship as well, hoping for at least a limited shield breach.
The final three missile cruisers fought as hard as they could to get the enemy out of play. One cruiser however, was rammed but somehow didn't detonate, but all the shields were collapsed and a gaping hole was in the ship.

As Admiral Galvin learned of the ramming targets, he ordered the ten Immortals bombarding the two command ships to cease firing turbolasers and dump the power savings into ion cannons and PPCs. The latter would benefit from an increased rate of fire, about eight seconds between firing instead of the normal ten, in addition to being somewhat more powerful. Time to prepare them for their doom, hopefully by shutting down propulsion systems or thrusters.
"Keep the shields up! Don't let them fail!" The Commodore ordered as the enemy bombardment increased.

The nonemergency lights on the Immortals dimmed, as a powersaver. Power saved was diverted to weapons. However, enemy captains hoping for a power diversion from shielding would be horribly disappointed.

The fire from the command ships and their escorts caused the shields on one of the Immortals to blaze red; her captain diverted power from the sublight drive, relatively nonessential at the moment, to reinforce shields and bring them back up to about fifty-five percent.
A dying Imperial Mark Two then attempted to move in and take out the Immortal in yet another ramming-at-flank-speed move. It appears to be a common tactic with everyone today.

Orange rain thundered down upon the two command ships, punctured every eight seconds or so by enourmous, blinding flashes of blue lightning...

The Gauss Rifles still punctured space with their thunder.
"Sir, our shields are now down to thirty percent." The shield operator aboard the Raptor said.

The Commodore sighed. "Begin preparations to brace for impact. Move in towards the closest ship with the least damage and concentrate all firepower upon said ship. Don't worry about anything else. Concentrate on that ship!"

The Velociraptor and her escorts, also dying, began to concentrate their firepower on the aformentioned ship and also move closer to it, dumping power to forward shields and engines.

As the MC-60's engines whined like a jet airliner's on takeoff, she lumbered forward, gaining speed, headed for her target, the Mastadon. Her remaining shields blazed red, then failed. However, her hull might just be sturdy enough to reach her final destination...

The doomed ship powered down all weapons; even her lights dimmed. All per captain's orders. The resulting power savings were dumped into the sublight drive.
"Evasive action!" The Mastodon's Captain ordered.

The Mastodon slowly tried to move out of the way of the doomed MC-60 ship, but the captain saw that it was gonna be close, even as the Elite continued to hammer at it.

The remaining eight MC-60s, their captains knowing of the plans for the command ships' fate, diverted their fire to the Shinobi and Strike cruisers to support the Knossos destroyers engaged with them, pelting one at a time with turbolaser and ion cannon fire. The twenty Knossos destroyers also followed the same targeting algorithm, firing their ion cannons, turbolasers, and blue particle projector cannon bolts at one enemy cruiser at a time. Of those twenty, as the shields on another three failed, their captains turned for ram attempts on the closest cruisers, which had convienently moved to point-blank range...
Three of the Shinobi cruisers were chosen to be rammed, and as it was point-blank, it was not so much detonating (though one did) as heavy scraping and much hull breaching, enough for the ninjas and marines manning the cruisers who survived to try and board the enemy ships that dared to ram them.

The ship groaned trying to fight the tractor beams and the hull broke in several parts. Then a collision alert from the sensors told the captain that the ship was heading to ram into the flag.

The captain sighed. In order to save the flag, he would have to do something...sacrifice his own ship. "Disengage the hyperdrive safeties."

"Sir?" The helmsman asked.

"Do it now!" The captain snapped.

The helmsman disengaged the safeties.

"Prepare to blind-jump on my mark. Keep the ship pointed towards one of the enemy as much as possible." More groaning occurred after that order was given. Slowly, painfully, as gaps of air boiled out, sucking crew out into space, the ship pointed the hull at one of the Immortals even as it was getting dangerously close to the Raptor.

May you succeed...Commodore. The captain sighed. "Engage."

The ship's hyperdrive screamed as it seemed to elongate in making the jump. The ship shook itself apart as it made the blind-jump, but enough matter and energy was left over to hopefully ram into the enemy...

[OOC: I had a chat with CoreWorlds over IM over how exactly to RP this...moreover, in my confusion, I asked if the Raptor and the Velociraptor are the same ship. The former name is the ship's nickname.]

As the doomed ship attempted a hyperspace jump, a three-hundred meter long chunk of the hull broke off, while the rest of the hull continued to crack. The rest of the doomed ship escaped, though as the ship had been under the tight "guidance" of tractor beams from multiple ships, she would have had almost no control over which direction she pointed.

The remainder of the ship successfully jumped, and the tractor beam crews were quite surprised that, as the ship elongated in the split second before hyperspace entry, that she didn't hyperram the enemy command ship for which she was bound. The operators, torn between shock that the enemy commander would attempt such a move and shame that they didn't quite have the vessel pointed in the right direction, suppressed a snicker.

Nevertheless, the ship had left a going-away present before its jump--that three hundred meter long chunk of an Imperial Star Destroyer. It drifted slightly off course before the tractor beam operators caught on to it.

They relocked onto the piece of the doomed ship and managed to drag it into a long sideswipe of the Raptor's hull, tearing a gash at least a couple of decks deep--the operators couldn't really know how deep the gash would be--along the length of about one third of the Raptor's hull, before their little present exhausted itself and disintegrated.

"Sir, our shields are now down to thirty percent." The shield operator aboard the Raptor said.

The Commodore sighed. "Begin preparations to brace for impact. Move in towards the closest ship with the least damage and concentrate all firepower upon said ship. Don't worry about anything else. Concentrate on that ship!"

The Velociraptor and her escorts, also dying, began to concentrate their firepower on the aformentioned ship and also move closer to it, dumping power to forward shields and engines.

"Keep the shields up! Don't let them fail!" The Commodore ordered as the enemy bombardment increased.


The Immortal-class ship Cyclone, its shields at full strength, absorbed this fire as her front shields blazed a dark red. As the shields held, however, the Velociraptor bore the brunt of return fire, as the Immortal crews saw that the tractor beam ram had been insufficient to destroy her, and an MC-60 was well on her way to the Raptor's sister ship...

As if to taunt the Commodore, more streaks of orange and blue saturated the space between the Immortals and the Commodore's ship.

Devastating explosions occurred as the captains succeeded in ramming two of the missile cruisers and taking them out permanently. The third was scraped as it moved aside slowly, a long gash was made, and it began to list away, nearly dead.


The final three missile cruisers fought as hard as they could to get the enemy out of play. One cruiser however, was rammed but somehow didn't detonate, but all the shields were collapsed and a gaping hole was in the ship.

The remaining five K'vorts and four Vor'chas launched another round of ion torpedoes into the two dying ships, one of which was more dead than the other. As the Vor'chas came more under fire from the assorted Star Destroyers that had moved in to reinforce the missile cruisers, two of those cruisers reached a point of imminent shield collapse, and maneuvered to ram the two missile cruisers that didn't have gaping hull breaches yet.

The remainder of the ships in the area fired their disruptors at the remaining unharmed missile cruisers, hoping to soften them up, however slightly, for ramming.

A dying Imperial Mark Two then attempted to move in and take out the Immortal in yet another ramming-at-flank-speed move. It appears to be a common tactic with everyone today.

The captain of the Immortal in question, the Defender (how ironic), ordered weapons strength to be reduced to normal, and for the ship's engines to be returned to full strength. The ship started to turn out of the way, as the Imperator-II approached it as a spear...

...The ships sideswiped, the Imperator-class scraping across the bow, four decks deep before sliding off to her fate. The bridge crew groaned at the shuddering, screeching, scraping noise that the collision generated. Nevertheless, they sealed off the first four hundred meters of the bow, leaving anyone stuck there to be sucked out to space, but they hoped to isolate the damage and still salvage the rest of the ship for combat. There was, of course, no absolute guarantee of success.

The weapons continued to fire while they still could.

"Evasive action!" The Mastodon's Captain ordered.

The Mastodon slowly tried to move out of the way of the doomed MC-60 ship, but the captain saw that it was gonna be close, even as the Elite continued to hammer at it.

The fire from the Mastodon pelted the hull of the MC-60; her sister ship busy preparing for a ram attempt herself at the moment. Her captain ordered everything but propulsion shut down, knowing there was not even point to life support in the couple seconds left before impact, the power dumped into propulsion. As ninety-nine percent of the ship's lights flickered off, and as every joule the ship could generate from its backup power systems dumped into the sublight drive and maneuvering thrusters, the crew managed a last-second course correction to account for the Mastodon's actions...

...before said crew was sucked out of the ship by the combination of multiple hull breaches and the shutdown life support, their lives sacrificed for the greater good of the Empire, as the ship's hull erupted in flames and as pieces of armor peeled off...

Three of the Shinobi cruisers were chosen to be rammed, and as it was point-blank, it was not so much detonating (though one did) as heavy scraping and much hull breaching, enough for the ninjas and marines manning the cruisers who survived to try and board the enemy ships that dared to ram them.

The crew of the sideswiping destroyers, brainwashed by the ways of the Sith, accepted their fate and prepared to scuttle the three destroyers in the few seconds they would have before boarding. By blowing them up, and any marines that entered the destroyers, too.

Meanwhile, the other eighteen Knossos destroyers and eight MC-60 cruisers continued to fire on the damaged, sideswiped, enemy craft with all the firepower they could muster. Another Knossos captain, as his shields collapsed from the fire of the battlecruisers, turned his ship at a hard-ninety-degree angle, and one of the damaged cruisers quickly grew larger in the bridge viewport...

[OOC: I had a chat with CoreWorlds over IM over how exactly to RP this...moreover, in my confusion, I asked if the Raptor and the Velociraptor are the same ship. The former name is the ship's nickname.]

As the doomed ship attempted a hyperspace jump, a three-hundred meter long chunk of the hull broke off, while the rest of the hull continued to crack. The rest of the doomed ship escaped, though as the ship had been under the tight "guidance" of tractor beams from multiple ships, she would have had almost no control over which direction she pointed.

The remainder of the ship successfully jumped, and the tractor beam crews were quite surprised that, as the ship elongated in the split second before hyperspace entry, that she didn't hyperram the enemy command ship for which she was bound. The operators, torn between shock that the enemy commander would attempt such a move and shame that they didn't quite have the vessel pointed in the right direction, suppressed a snicker.

Nevertheless, the ship had left a going-away present before its jump--that three hundred meter long chunk of an Imperial Star Destroyer. It drifted slightly off course before the tractor beam operators caught on to it.

They relocked onto the piece of the doomed ship and managed to drag it into a long sideswipe of the Raptor's hull, tearing a gash at least a couple of decks deep--the operators couldn't really know how deep the gash would be--along the length of about one third of the Raptor's hull, before their little present exhausted itself and disintegrated.
The Raptor's hull suffered a huge breach and many young crew were treated to a fatal dose of vacuum as it tried to pull one final attempt to fight before it went.



The Immortal-class ship Cyclone, its shields at full strength, absorbed this fire as her front shields blazed a dark red. As the shields held, however, the Velociraptor bore the brunt of return fire, as the Immortal crews saw that the tractor beam ram had been insufficient to destroy her, and an MC-60 was well on her way to the Raptor's sister ship...

As if to taunt the Commodore, more streaks of orange and blue saturated the space between the Immortals and the Commodore's ship.
"Sir, we're now down to twenty percent." A damage-control officer said.

"Very well. Helm, all ahead flank. Keep the bow pointed at that ship." The commodore pointed at the Cyclone. "Dump all power to engines and forward shields. That includes life support. Then brace for impact."

The remaining five K'vorts and four Vor'chas launched another round of ion torpedoes into the two dying ships, one of which was more dead than the other. As the Vor'chas came more under fire from the assorted Star Destroyers that had moved in to reinforce the missile cruisers, two of those cruisers reached a point of imminent shield collapse, and maneuvered to ram the two missile cruisers that didn't have gaping hull breaches yet.

The remainder of the ships in the area fired their disruptors at the remaining unharmed missile cruisers, hoping to soften them up, however slightly, for ramming.
The two dying cruisers blew apart under the impacts of the Klingon-made ships then the assorted Star Destroyers moved in to protect the two other lead missile cruisers, smashing turbolasers and ion cannons into the dying ships.


The captain of the Immortal in question, the Defender (how ironic), ordered weapons strength to be reduced to normal, and for the ship's engines to be returned to full strength. The ship started to turn out of the way, as the Imperator-II approached it as a spear...

...The ships sideswiped, the Imperator-class scraping across the bow, four decks deep before sliding off to her fate. The bridge crew groaned at the shuddering, screeching, scraping noise that the collision generated. Nevertheless, they sealed off the first four hundred meters of the bow, leaving anyone stuck there to be sucked out to space, but they hoped to isolate the damage and still salvage the rest of the ship for combat. There was, of course, no absolute guarantee of success.

The weapons continued to fire while they still could.
The final moments of the Impstar II was a last-ditch broadside before it drifted off into deep space to die a cold, airless death.

The fire from the Mastodon pelted the hull of the MC-60; her sister ship busy preparing for a ram attempt herself at the moment. Her captain ordered everything but propulsion shut down, knowing there was not even point to life support in the couple seconds left before impact, the power dumped into propulsion. As ninety-nine percent of the ship's lights flickered off, and as every joule the ship could generate from its backup power systems dumped into the sublight drive and maneuvering thrusters, the crew managed a last-second course correction to account for the Mastodon's actions...

...before said crew was sucked out of the ship by the combination of multiple hull breaches and the shutdown life support, their lives sacrificed for the greater good of the Empire, as the ship's hull erupted in flames and as pieces of armor peeled off...
The Mastodon was pierced by the dying ship's corpse and the flames detonated the reactor, sending both ships into oblivion. The flags were dying. The retreat will soon be sounded.

The crew of the sideswiping destroyers, brainwashed by the ways of the Sith, accepted their fate and prepared to scuttle the three destroyers in the few seconds they would have before boarding. By blowing them up, and any marines that entered the destroyers, too.

Meanwhile, the other eighteen Knossos destroyers and eight MC-60 cruisers continued to fire on the damaged, sideswiped, enemy craft with all the firepower they could muster. Another Knossos captain, as his shields collapsed from the fire of the battlecruisers, turned his ship at a hard-ninety-degree angle, and one of the damaged cruisers quickly grew larger in the bridge viewport...
The three Shinobi cruisers detonated into mini-novas as well. And the fourth lost its bridge in the impact, leaving five left to fight against the enemy...

The Raptor's hull suffered a huge breach and many young crew were treated to a fatal dose of vacuum as it tried to pull one final attempt to fight before it went.

"Sir, we're now down to twenty percent." A damage-control officer said.

"Very well. Helm, all ahead flank. Keep the bow pointed at that ship." The commodore pointed at the Cyclone. "Dump all power to engines and forward shields. That includes life support. Then brace for impact."

The tractor beam operaters of the Ascendant, Battlestar, and Broadsword, their equipment freed of the burden of the Admiral Pellaeon, scrambled to lock onto the Raptor as she began pitching up and accelerating for an apparent ram attempt.

The two dying cruisers blew apart under the impacts of the Klingon-made ships then the assorted Star Destroyers moved in to protect the two other lead missile cruisers, smashing turbolasers and ion cannons into the dying ships.

The two Vor'cha cruisers with failing shields disintegrated before they could reach their ramming targets, as they fired one last round of torpedoes into the two surviving cruisers. The other two in the fleet moved to take their place as suicide bombers, as their shields withered under the concentrated fire of the enemy Star Destroyers.

The five remaining K'vort Birds of Prey fired more torpedoes at the missile cruisers, followed closely by their gravitic disruptors.

The final moments of the Impstar II was a last-ditch broadside before it drifted off into deep space to die a cold, airless death.

The rammed-but-still operational Defender found most of her starboard weapons turned to slag as a result of the final broadside, and the ion cannons disabled the primary power systems. The ship's lights flickered for a few seconds as emergency backup power came online.

The crew in the sealed-off, rammed section of the ship experienced a painful death, that of the terror of being sucked into the vaccum of space.

In the few seconds of power outage, her guns fell silent; however, the backup provided enough power for some of the remaining port side weapons to continue firing at the Raptor, albiet at reduced intensity.

She was crippled, not yet dead, but effectively "mission-killed" in regards to the planned planetary assault.

The Mastodon was pierced by the dying ship's corpse and the flames detonated the reactor, sending both ships into oblivion. The flags were dying. The retreat will soon be sounded.

Admiral Galvin smiled as one of the enemy command ships fell, and ordered the fire that had been directed at the Mastadon to be redirected at the Raptor, in hopes of preventing the imminent ram attempt.

The three Shinobi cruisers detonated into mini-novas as well. And the fourth lost its bridge in the impact, leaving five left to fight against the enemy...

The remaining seventeen Knossos destroyers concentrated their fire on one Shinobi cruiser at a time, even as the shields on two of the destroyers failed, thier hulls turned to slag before they could reach a target.

The tractor beam operaters of the Ascendant, Battlestar, and Broadsword, their equipment freed of the burden of the Admiral Pellaeon, scrambled to lock onto the Raptor as she began pitching up and accelerating for an apparent ram attempt.

"Sir, they're trying to lock on us with tractors."

"Very well. Prepare to hyper-ram it. Stay on course at all costs." The Commodore ordered as the Elite Star Destroyer shuddered under the strain of rushing towards the enemy at high speeds with numerous tractors trying to slow it down. "Have Golem take command of the remnants and flee at best speed to home and bring back reinforcements. Those who can't flee, hyperram the enemy as well."

Having said his final orders to the fleet, he sat back, seemingly content and lit a cigar. "Disengage hyperdrive safeties."

"Disengaging, aye." The helmsman nervously replied. Such a young fellow, the commodore noted. Shame he won't live too much longer...

"On my mark, engage." The commodore calmly. "See you all in the next world, my friends."

Another heavy shudder shook the ship as the engines groaned. "Engage."

Like it's escort, the Elite-class Star Destroyer suddenly transitioned between realspace and hyperspace in a bout of psuedomotion, barrelling at just past c for the enemy ship known as Cyclone...

The two Vor'cha cruisers with failing shields disintegrated before they could reach their ramming targets, as they fired one last round of torpedoes into the two surviving cruisers. The other two in the fleet moved to take their place as suicide bombers, as their shields withered under the concentrated fire of the enemy Star Destroyers.

The five remaining K'vort Birds of Prey fired more torpedoes at the missile cruisers, followed closely by their gravitic disruptors.
Again and again the concentrated fire of the enemy Star Destroyers tried to dissuade the enemy from ramming the missile cruisers. One final volley of missiles then were unleashed on the enemy cruisers, the final ones before the missile cruisers would have to retreat to reload.

The other set of three missile cruisers were not so Winchester'ed. The disruptors from the Birds of Prey turned out not to be very effective on the cruisers' shields and so they laid the smackdown on them with a barrage of missile broadsides followed by a second broadside from their remaining Victory escort...


The rammed-but-still operational Defender found most of her starboard weapons turned to slag as a result of the final broadside, and the ion cannons disabled the primary power systems. The ship's lights flickered for a few seconds as emergency backup power came online.

The crew in the sealed-off, rammed section of the ship experienced a painful death, that of the terror of being sucked into the vaccum of space.

In the few seconds of power outage, her guns fell silent; however, the backup provided enough power for some of the remaining port side weapons to continue firing at the Raptor, albiet at reduced intensity.

She was crippled, not yet dead, but effectively "mission-killed" in regards to the planned planetary assault.
As the other remaining Star Destroyers concentrated on the Immortals and other ship, this one was pretty much left alone to drift forever.


Admiral Galvin smiled as one of the enemy command ships fell, and ordered the fire that had been directed at the Mastadon to be redirected at the Raptor, in hopes of preventing the imminent ram attempt.
It was already too late for the firepower to be redirected as the Raptor had already begun engaging its hyperdrive.

The remaining seventeen Knossos destroyers concentrated their fire on one Shinobi cruiser at a time, even as the shields on two of the destroyers failed, thier hulls turned to slag before they could reach a target.
Thus the Shinobis followed the example of their enemies, concentrating firepower on one Knossos at a time even as they suffered much for their attempt to take out the enemy...

"Sir, they're trying to lock on us with tractors."

"Very well. Prepare to hyper-ram it. Stay on course at all costs." The Commodore ordered as the Elite Star Destroyer shuddered under the strain of rushing towards the enemy at high speeds with numerous tractors trying to slow it down. "Have Golem take command of the remnants and flee at best speed to home and bring back reinforcements. Those who can't flee, hyperram the enemy as well."

Having said his final orders to the fleet, he sat back, seemingly content and lit a cigar. "Disengage hyperdrive safeties."

"Disengaging, aye." The helmsman nervously replied. Such a young fellow, the commodore noted. Shame he won't live too much longer...

"On my mark, engage." The commodore calmly. "See you all in the next world, my friends."

Another heavy shudder shook the ship as the engines groaned. "Engage."

Like it's escort, the Elite-class Star Destroyer suddenly transitioned between realspace and hyperspace in a bout of psuedomotion, barrelling at just past c for the enemy ship known as Cyclone...

It was already too late for the firepower to be redirected [against] the Raptor [for she] had already begun engaging its hyperdrive.

The tractor beam operators tried desperately to slow down the Raptor and change its course, but they had started their operation about thirty seconds too late for it to matter. They only managed to slightly alter the Raptor's course, and it was not enough.

As the ship elongated in the split second before hyperspace jump, her starboard side scraped the Cyclone's port side at such velocity that a third of her hull was stripped away. Gone. She fired one last broadside from her starboard side, aimed at the Shinobi cruisers, before her hull gave into the stress placed upon it and broke in two.

Again and again the concentrated fire of the enemy Star Destroyers tried to dissuade the enemy from ramming the missile cruisers. One final volley of missiles then were unleashed on the enemy cruisers, the final ones before the missile cruisers would have to retreat to reload.

The other set of three missile cruisers were not so Winchester'ed. The disruptors from the Birds of Prey turned out not to be very effective on the cruisers' shields and so they laid the smackdown on them with a barrage of missile broadsides followed by a second broadside from their remaining Victory escort...

The Klingon Birds of Prey, their slightly larger brethren gone, would not be dissuaded as the missile cruisers retreated to reload. The five ships fired another round of ion torpedoes into the cruisers, followed by more disruptor shots for what it was worth, and then, as three of the craft had their shields stripped away, their captains throttled their engines up to full power, knowing their ships were more maneuverable than the Vor'chas to try before them. The other two succumbed outright to the missiles, but not before firing one last round of ion torpedoes at their targets.

The eight remaining fully operational Immortals switched targets. After a lag of a couple of seconds for targeting, they fired a broadside of bright orange and blue, five from their undersides, three from their port sides, both ion cannons and PPCs enjoying a hefty power boost from the diversion of power from the turbolasers. About seventy gauss rifle rounds also raced towards the Star Destroyers escorting the carriers...

The eight MC-60s so far largely untouched by enemy fire threw their turbolasers and ion cannons against the Star Destroyers escorting the missile cruisers.

From their starboard sides and dorsal sides, much of the same raced towards the Shinobi ships, until the Immortals could maneuver to a better position from which to fire on their new targets. The crippled Defender joined in the fire with her marginally operational starboard weapons, before her heavily damaged and weakened hull succumbed to the fire from the Star Destroyers not preoccupied with the missile cruiser raids..

Admiral Galvin ordered three of the five Immortals firing at the Star Destroyers from their undersides to maneuver to face the enemy for better firing positions on the Imperator-IIIs, and the other two maintained postion, for creative uses of their tractor beams.

It was thus that the tractor beam crews of the Hammer and the Venerable agreed upon their next toy, a Victory-class Star Destroyer in the fleet harrassing the Klingon-made ships.

They did hope that playing with it would be fun.

Thus the Shinobis followed the example of their enemies, concentrating firepower on one Knossos at a time even as they suffered much for their attempt to take out the enemy...

Two Knossos destroyers succumbed outright to the enemy onslaught, a third Knossos captain noted the adaptation, and as soon as he discovered his ship was the next target, he charged for a ram. He hoped that starting the charge with nearly full shields would buy him an extra few seconds to reach his target, even as his shields quickly withered...

The remaining twelve destroyers continued to throw all their firepower at one Shinobi at a time.

The tractor beam operators tried desperately to slow down the Raptor and change its course, but they had started their operation about thirty seconds too late for it to matter. They only managed to slightly alter the Raptor's course, and it was not enough.

As the ship elongated in the split second before hyperspace jump, her starboard side scraped the Cyclone's port side at such velocity that a third of her hull was stripped away. Gone. She fired one last broadside from her starboard side, aimed at the Shinobi cruisers, before her hull gave into the stress placed upon it and broke in two.
A Shinobi cruiser's shields flared hard under the bombardment and then fire from other ships forced it to submit to oblivion.


The Klingon Birds of Prey, their slightly larger brethren gone, would not be dissuaded as the missile cruisers retreated to reload. The five ships fired another round of ion torpedoes into the cruisers, followed by more disruptor shots for what it was worth, and then, as three of the craft had their shields stripped away, their captains throttled their engines up to full power, knowing their ships were more maneuverable than the Vor'chas to try before them. The other two succumbed outright to the missiles, but not before firing one last round of ion torpedoes at their targets.
The Birds of Prey slammed hard into the missile cruisers, forcing them to retreat fully away from the battle before they too were destroyed. They won't be coming back for a while, that's for sure. Thus was how the general retreat began.

The eight remaining fully operational Immortals switched targets. After a lag of a couple of seconds for targeting, they fired a broadside of bright orange and blue, five from their undersides, three from their port sides, both ion cannons and PPCs enjoying a hefty power boost from the diversion of power from the turbolasers. About seventy gauss rifle rounds also raced towards the Star Destroyers escorting the carriers...

The eight MC-60s so far largely untouched by enemy fire threw their turbolasers and ion cannons against the Star Destroyers escorting the missile cruisers.
The Golem's captain, now in command, noted how the enemy used their tractor beams as a weapon. As three Star Destroyers were destroyed from the broadsides, he ordered all ships with their tractor beams active and pointed towards the enemy to grab one of the MC-60s and try to make it smash into one of the Immortals, even as they continued their own broadsides in return. Let's see how they like it when their own tactic is turned against them!

From their starboard sides and dorsal sides, much of the same raced towards the Shinobi ships, until the Immortals could maneuver to a better position from which to fire on their new targets. The crippled Defender joined in the fire with her marginally operational starboard weapons, before her heavily damaged and weakened hull succumbed to the fire from the Star Destroyers not preoccupied with the missile cruiser raids..

Admiral Galvin ordered three of the five Immortals firing at the Star Destroyers from their undersides to maneuver to face the enemy for better firing positions on the Imperator-IIIs, and the other two maintained postion, for creative uses of their tractor beams.

It was thus that the tractor beam crews of the Hammer and the Venerable agreed upon their next toy, a Victory-class Star Destroyer in the fleet harrassing the Klingon-made ships.

They did hope that playing with it would be fun.
Oh no! Not again! was the collective groan of the Havoc as it tried to shake off the enemy tractor beams, but failed.

Two Knossos destroyers succumbed outright to the enemy onslaught, a third Knossos captain noted the adaptation, and as soon as he discovered his ship was the next target, he charged for a ram. He hoped that starting the charge with nearly full shields would buy him an extra few seconds to reach his target, even as his shields quickly withered...

The remaining twelve destroyers continued to throw all their firepower at one Shinobi at a time.
One of the Shinobi's shields failed at the time the Knossos aimed for it. Knowing it was going to die, the captain zoomed straight at the enemy in a game of interstellar chicken as the other ships continued to blast away at the enemies.

The Birds of Prey slammed hard into the missile cruisers, forcing them to retreat fully away from the battle before they too were destroyed. They won't be coming back for a while, that's for sure. Thus was how the general retreat began.

And so it was, both the Klingon-built task force and the enemy missile cruiser task force, removed from battle.

The Golem's captain, now in command, noted how the enemy used their tractor beams as a weapon. As three Star Destroyers were destroyed from the broadsides, he ordered all ships with their tractor beams active and pointed towards the enemy to grab one of the MC-60s and try to make it smash into one of the Immortals, even as they continued their own broadsides in return. Let's see how they like it when their own tactic is turned against them!

The captain of the MC-60 ordered the full power of the ship's engines to be used in an attempt to keep the ship parallel to the Immortal fleet, rather than pointed at one of the ships, in case it became necessary to make a blind jump to escape. He had learned too much about "hyperramming" today.

Meanwhile, the ship's crew fired her entire complement of ion cannons that faced the enemy ships right up their docking bays, hoping to disable at least some of the tractor beams ensnaring her.

It only took Admiral Galvin a couple of seconds to notice the enemy had discovered the creative tractor beam tactics of his fleet for themselves. He ordered all ships with a clear shot to fire straight up the docking bays of the Star Destroyers using this tactic, and hopefully split a few hulls as well.

It took less than a second for the targeting computers to refine their targets to the enemy docking bays. A full volley of blue PPC bolts followed, as well as a full broadside of Gauss Rifle rounds, from the entire Immortal fleet, while steady, overwhelming sheets of orange hail focused on the enemy tractor beams, whilst the MC-60s also added their turbolasers and ion cannons...

Of course, the energy weapons still enjoyed the benefit of having extra power diverted to them.

Oh no! Not again! was the collective groan of the Havoc as it tried to shake off the enemy tractor beams, but failed.

The tractor beam operators of the Hammer and Venerable quickly and efficiently worked on turning the Victory-class Star Destroyer around, taking advantage of her crew's apparent despair. They figured the nearest Imperator-III would make a most excellent target.

One of the Shinobi's shields failed at the time the Knossos aimed for it. Knowing it was going to die, the captain zoomed straight at the enemy in a game of interstellar chicken as the other ships continued to blast away at the enemies.

The Knossos captain did not flinch, knowing he was dead anyway as the armor on his ship's hull melted under heavy turbolaser fire...

Somehow, the ship kept going.

A Shinobi cruiser's shields flared hard under the bombardment and then fire from other ships forced it to submit to oblivion.

The enemy Shinobi fire, withering a small bit as the ships declined in quantity, managed to take down another destroyer. The remaining eleven continued their fire, sending blasts of green, blue and orange energy to one enemy at a time.

The captain of the MC-60 ordered the full power of the ship's engines to be used in an attempt to keep the ship parallel to the Immortal fleet, rather than pointed at one of the ships, in case it became necessary to make a blind jump to escape. He had learned too much about "hyperramming" today.

Meanwhile, the ship's crew fired her entire complement of ion cannons that faced the enemy ships right up their docking bays, hoping to disable at least some of the tractor beams ensnaring her.

It only took Admiral Galvin a couple of seconds to notice the enemy had discovered the creative tractor beam tactics of his fleet for themselves. He ordered all ships with a clear shot to fire straight up the docking bays of the Star Destroyers using this tactic, and hopefully split a few hulls as well.

It took less than a second for the targeting computers to refine their targets to the enemy docking bays. A full volley of blue PPC bolts followed, as well as a full broadside of Gauss Rifle rounds, from the entire Immortal fleet, while steady, overwhelming sheets of orange hail focused on the enemy tractor beams, whilst the MC-60s also added their turbolasers and ion cannons...

Of course, the energy weapons still enjoyed the benefit of having extra power diverted to them.
All ten Star Destroyers were either destroyed outright or had their docking bays damaged to the point of not being able to recall the fighters, but of course the fighters were all hyperdrive capable. Then the Golem began sounding a general retreat. All ships then began to extradict themselves from the battle. The fighters and light ships were the quickest and were able to make it out fast.


The tractor beam operators of the Hammer and Venerable quickly and efficiently worked on turning the Victory-class Star Destroyer around, taking advantage of her crew's apparent despair. They figured the nearest Imperator-III would make a most excellent target.
The Victory's captain then ordered all power dumped into the engines and then tried pulling aft, which ended up breaking the ship into pieces as it was a rather old one, past it's estimated design life. The MK III then moved off to make the jump to hyperspace away from the battle.


The Knossos captain did not flinch, knowing he was dead anyway as the armor on his ship's hull melted under heavy turbolaser fire...

Somehow, the ship kept going.
The Shinobi cruiser then smashed into the dead Knossos and somehow didn't detonate. Instead, a gaping hole was on the bow sucking young crew out into space.


The enemy Shinobi fire, withering a small bit as the ships declined in quantity, managed to take down another destroyer. The remaining eleven continued their fire, sending blasts of green, blue and orange energy to one enemy at a time.
Another Shinobi cruiser went down under the enemy fire and the last two sent one last broadside before moving away to retreat.

The fleet was retreating. Less than fifteen capital ships were trying to get out of the battle. The enemy had won the space battle, but most definitely not without getting a bloody nose...

"Admiral, the enemy fleet appears to be disengaging. They are moving away from the battle, apparently intending to retreat to hyperspace," the sensor officer aboard the Dominion reported.

Admiral Galvin smiled. Just as he had expected, once the enemy command ships fell, the battle turned into largely a one-way slaughter. "Give 'em the final sendoff, boys!" His order thundered over every intercom in the fleet.

The Immortals, by now almost exclusively positioned to fire at the cluster of enemy Star Destroyers per previous orders, fired off another deadly broadside of Gauss Rifle ordinance, along with the standard juiced-up complement of ion cannons and particle projector cannons. The ion cannons continued as an orange cloudburst of sorts, and one last bright blue lightning flash of PPCs overwhelmed the ion cannon display for a second or so.

A couple of Immortals experienced parting shots, but they only made the shields flare red, though the Hammer's shields dropped to thirty percent, but it had been absorbing enemy firepower for some time.

The parting shots of the enemy Shinobi battlecruisers managed to take down one last Knossos destroyer, and the ten remaining gave the battlecruisers their own going away present, gift-wrapped in green, blue, and orange, joined by seven aging MC-60 Star Cruisers, their captains more than happy to contribute with their turbolasers and ion cannons.

The eighth Star Cruiser, the one briefly ensnared in the enemy tractor beams, freed itself after the ships that had locked on to it had either their docking bays completely torn apart, or had their entire hulls torn asunder.

Admiral Galvin ordered the crew of this Star Cruiser to return home, for its hull would have to be tested for any damage caused by tension and torsion distortions caused by the attempt to evade the tractor beam. Galvin ordered the crew to present a sensor recording of the entire battle to White Diamond military brass, which would have enough detail to play as a movie, for the military to analyse. For, after all, this was the first true large-scale live combat test for any Woodian-designed ships, and they had performed quite well so far.

Fighters were recalled to their ships; of the original swarm of more than a thousand, only a hundred and fifty-four reported that they would return.

Ten capital ships, including the Golem, one wolfpack and one hundred and twenty fighters survived the battle to make the jump into hyperspace. They will fly to Jurai and the High Command will too analyze the battle to see what can be salvaged and countermeasured against. Especially the ramming tactics. The rebellion will simply have to survive as long as possible while reinforcements are set up. That will take at least two days total.

Admiral Galvin looked upon what remained of his fleet. Eight Immortals, seven MC-60 Star Cruisers, and ten Knossos destroyers remained…in terms of pure number of ships, his fleet was a third of what it was. The eighth, possibly damaged, Star Cruiser headed home to report the details of the battle, which would make a most interesting movie for Darth Ebolus. However, only his most potent weapons had survived; the weaker Klingon ships, purchased only for their cloaking devices, which would have to be modified to account for their early detection, had been weeded out.

The last two minutes or so of the battle had, to him, proven that only his strongest ships had survived.

He considered the possibility of reinforcements. The rebels will have had to find themselves some very strong and committed allies indeed if reinforcements arrive. Nevertheless, it remains a possibility. Lord Ebolus will know, just as he warned of this attack, and will probably prepare accordingly. However, it will almost certainly be some time before the enemy can mobilize reinforcements on the scale of anything approaching the fleet we engaged.

Admiral Galvin looked upon his fleet again. It will be enough to do that which must be done, but only if used wisely.

He looked out into space through the Dominion’s bridge viewport, noting several dead ships meandering and drifting through space that were probably salvageable. He doubted that Evil Woody Thoughts had the ability to salvage them before reinforcements arrived, for all of the dead capital ships that still had something resembling an intact hull were too large to fit in the Immortal Star Destroyers’ docking bays, cavernous as they were. He did not want the enemy to salvage them, and especially not the weapons they had apparently just seen for the first time, either.

Therefore, he promulgated more orders. “All vessels in the fleet, you are ordered to hold position and recharge shields to full strength. Deactivate ion cannons and transfer the power back over to turbolasers.” Ion cannons were useless for what he had in mind… “Wipe the remains of all dead spacewrecks into pure space dust, using only turbolasers and PPCs. Yes, this includes our own dead ships, and especially our own dead ships. We cannot allow the enemy to salvage anything.”

A corresponding storm of green mixed with intermittent overwhelming flashes of blue greeted the dead ships, vaporizing their hulls one by one. As the lifeless wrecks were cremated, the operational ships in the fleet reported shields fully charged, some earlier than others.

When all spacewrecks were no more, and when all ships in the fleet reported full charge, Admiral Galvin ordered the fleet to move upon Earth at half flank speed, and further ordered ships’ captains to resist the temptation of throwing all their shielding to the front. For such temptations conflicted with his plans.

Olde Woodytowne Naval Base and Training Centre
4 August 2078, 1800-2100 GMT-2
Ten days after Whitfield's Address to the Parliament

The enemy commander is more patient than I had expected, considering he is under the command of a Sith Lord. This does not work to our advantage. Jedi Knight Whitfield watched, overwhelmed, as the Dark Fleet made quick work out of the Golan orbital batteries, then smote the Artillery Star Destroyers in three easy steps for daring to strike down four of the fleet’s most powerful ships.

He had told the admiral commanding Coredia’s defence that the Immortal Star Destroyers would be roughly twice as powerful as the standard Imperator variety that he was used to dealing with, and yet, as the Immortals faced their first true live combat trials, he realized he had still managed to underestimate them.

He had hoped the enemy commander would be in enough of a hurry to please his master to rush the invasion, and get sandwiched between planetary defence cannons and the Coredian reinforcements, but instead he was met with an enemy commander who was patient enough to flush the reinforcements out well before entering the domain of the planetary defences.

Nor did he know of the tactical theories that military academy cadets had promulgated over the past twenty years, but it did not take him long to realise that this battle would be their testing ground.

He watched one of the Coredian Elite Star Destroyers succumb to the new tactics, and the other effectively rendered disabled by the same. The second, however, at least managed to take down an Immortal with it, turning the surprise enemy tactics against them…

Whitfield realised that the Immortals seemed to come very close to living up to their namesake, as the only way any of them had been taken down so far consisted of either superlasers or ramming. He watched the eight remaining Immortals begin slaughtering the allied fleet after the Elite Star Destroyers fell, ripping apart quite literally a Star Destroyer every minute…

The battle against the Dark Fleet had been disturbingly short, which meant the battle for Free Woody Thoughts would either be disturbingly short or disturbingly long. It was difficult for even a Jedi to tell which.

And yet this scourge comes to blot out that which I stand for.

They were built to provide a potent planetary defence for relatively few ships, never for this!

What can one hope to accomplish against such darkness?

“Do not worry about the death that surrounds you,” this you have told me. Whitfield heard not the voice of some famous Jedi Master, but the voice of a child imprisoned, a child who could sense his despair seven hundred light-years away, a child destined to follow in his footsteps. The small voice of five-year old John Watsen, the child with whom Whitfield had “conversed” through long-range Force telepathy nearly two weeks ago, the voice whom Whitfield had awoken from despair, and the voice whom had awoken Whitfield physically in the bacta tank…

As Whitfield had given this child some unseen strength and resolve to carry him through his darkest time, so he had it rendered back unto him.

I will do what I must.

He fingered the key he had previously wielded during his terms as Prime Minister of Evil Woody Thoughts. The key to the weapons system he had proposed funding as a young, nationalistic, militaristic Member of Parliament in his early thirties, more than forty years ago. The key to a weapon that could shatter the earth and rend it open with a massive earthquake—he hoped that it could do the same to a ship’s hull. The key to a weapon that he dare not use—until now. For a few warheads of this weapon had been found in storage, and technicians had managed to mount them on missiles and wire them in eight days.

Most impressive.

Snow started to mix in with the sleet as winds howled overhead. The storm forecast to intensify during the course of the battle continued to do so; Whitfield requested that the insurgency’s naval vessels submit a readiness report. All reported ready for combat, in spite of the storm.

As the Dark Fleet finished vaporizing anything that could be salvaged, Whitfield raised Admiral Easton on the live comm feed. “Concentrate all fire on the Star Destroyer nearest to Earth; ignore everything else. Because we have some surprises for them, and it would be a shame if we didn’t get to use them.”

He watched on the sensor feeds as the Dark Fleet started its run on Earth.

So it begins.

To say Admiral Easton wasn't happy about the loss of his ships to enemy forces was like saying a star is just a big ball of light. He rounded his advisor. "For crying out loud, how can we have underestimated this foe? You said five minutes. I said we needed more patience. And I listened to you! You're too impatient. From now on, I'm calling the shots."

"Ah...yes sir." The advisor sighed.

"And first of all...What?" The Admiral asked a soldier who came up with a paper.

"Message from Whitfield, sir."

"Ah." The Admiral read it. "All right. Tell them that I recommend holding off shooting at them until they get closer. We want to lure them in as much as possible before blasting them out of the sky. All planetary shields up?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Then get me Masaki. Tell him to get his fiery little ass down here now!" The Admiral ordered. "We got planning to do once they run for the ground."

"Aye, sir!" The soldier ran off.

The Admiral sighed. "Boy. This is one of the fights that's tougher than my wife...and that's sayin' something."

"Master Whitfield, the Admiral has sent a reply." The techie handed Knight Whitfield a small codec.

Whitfield took a moment to read it, and passed on its contents to the rest of the people in the bunker.

"Hold your fire until ordered otherwise." Apparently, the Admiral was a man of few words, for Whitfield simply changed "for as long as possible" to "until ordered otherwise," for future expediency.

Much anger there was in the Admiral...

Unfortunately, all Whitfield could do was wait at the moment...

"Admiral Galvin, we're within PPC range of Earth now," the chief weapons officer called out.

The fleet had just come out of the asteroid belt, and the admiral wondered why the rebels' allies hadn't opened fire yet from planetside. Surely, if they had that many orbital batteries around, they had planetary batteries to back them up? He should be well within firing range by now. Oh, well. My plan may very well be spoilt...

Suspicious, he ordered the fleet to come to full stop. Somebody had to open fire, and Admiral Galvin didn't want the first shots fired when he was right on top of Earth orbit. So they would be fired from here.

"Colonel Görig, are the coordinates of Olde Woody City in the proper targeting computers?"

"Yes, sir."

Galvin turned to the sensor officer. "What defences do you detect?"

"The coordinates of the rebel city-states appear to be protected by localised shielding. It will collapse quickly under concentrated bombardment. A large capacitator has been detected at the coordinates of the Olde Woodytowne Naval Base and Training Centre. It shouldn't be there."

"That means they have some kind of planetary battery there, most likely."

The sensor officer continued. "There is a much stronger shield to the south of the Woodian Archipelago, and there are many more power anomolies. According to correlating records, the land covered by the stronger shields is called by Coredia."

"Ah. The source of our problems so far. Probably they have more planetary batteries of one sort or another waiting for us. Can their shield be taken down?"

"It will take quite a long time, Admiral."

"Then we will target the shield of Olde Woody City. Ship captains, if your ship is in imminent danger of destruction, deploy your DropShips so they can be tractored into another ship. Divert all weapons power to PPCs. Shut down all nonessential systems and dump the power into PPCs, but don't sacrifice shields or propulsion availabilty to do it. Fire at the shield protecting the naval training center."

The admiral had hoped that the enemy would fire at maximum range, so he could retreat a couple million kilometres and trace exactly where the shots came from, but apparently, that wasn't going to fly today.

The first round of a few hundred dark streaks of blue, fired by both Immortals and Knossos destroyers, raced towards Olde Woody City...

"Sir, they've stopped." A soldier said.

"Where?" The Admiral asked.

"Uh, ten megaklicks from Mars' orbit." The soldier said.

"Well within our cannon's range. I tell ya. Next time a war like this comes, we wait as long as possible until they at least get between Mars and the belt." The Admiral grumbled. Then a flare of fiery smoke *cracked* into existence.

"Hey, Admiral. What's up?" Taylor Masaki asked as he entered the room dramatically.

"Oh nothing, short stuff. Just watching the drama." The Admiral smirked. Gotcha, kid.

Taylor's head breached a vein. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING SHORT ENOUGH TO BE THE MOUSE'S PET MOUSE?!"

"I didn't say that much, Major. Have a seat." The Admiral continued to grin. Ahh. I feel much better. Insulting Taylor always makes my day.

Taylor sat down and pouted. He's extremely touchy about his short size and being nearly twenty five and still looking like a teenager didn't help much. The Admiral and the Major has had a war of words going on for a while, all in good nature.

"Anyway, on with the show. Open fire!" The Admiral ordered. "Concentrate on the nearest enemy Star Destroyer!"

Then, as if in displeasure at the deaths of their brethren in space, twelve planetary cannons, six turbolasers, six ion cannons spat out at the nearest enemy Immortal several times each in salvoes, then quieted to reload....

Whitfield smelled ozone as the blue bolts of energy struck the city shield. Probably not a good thing to smell it this far away...

"Shield at ninety-seven percent," some nameless techie called out.

Great. Thirty rounds of this. Forty for recharging between rounds. Ten seconds or less between rounds. We don't even have ten freakin' minutes of shielding. "Is the ion cannon ready to fire?" Whitfield asked no one in particular, lost in concentration.

"Yes, sir."

Whitfield fingered the shield controls. He waited for the next round of blue bolts of doom to fire, waited for them to impact upon the shields, then deactivated them. "Open fire!"

A stream of five ion bolts issued forth within five seconds, also bound for the nearest Immortal. Whitfield reactivated the shields less than a half second after the last round left the atmosphere, just two seconds before the third round struck the shields.

The ion and turbolaser rounds struck the front shields of the Hammer, bringing them down. A leftover turbolaser bolt hit the very front of the ship, the tip of her wedge, and slagged everything for about fifty meters behind it. Her weapons officers and technical crew immediately started to work on reactivating the shields and recharging them.

Then the Woodian ion cannon bolts came, and the lights went out for a few seconds until emergency power came online, the lights of the ship fewer and running far dimmer than before. The ship's technical crews now had more urgent concerns...

The rest of the fleet continued to fire juiced-up PPC rounds at the Woodian shield, as did the rest of the fleet. The MC-60s crept a bit closer, to get within range of their weapons, and contributed their turbolasers and ion cannons.

Her captain, expecting the Hammer to be the first casualty, ordered DropShips deployed. Six DropShips left her docking bay a little less than a minute thereafter.

When the DropShips had been received by the Hammer's sister ships, Admiral Galvin ordered another ship to creep a bit closer to Earth, a half million clicks or so closer than the Hammer, for he noticed the Hammer had been the closest ship. He wanted to see if he could persuade the enemies to diffuse their fire. He further ordered for front shielding to be reinforced, at the expense of shielding of less exposed parts of the fleet, for he expected reinforcements to take at least a few hours. Also, Galvin had an assignment for his sensor officer: "Trace where those shots came from."

"Yessir."

Within a minute, Admiral Galvin had his answer, and ordered the fleet to aim specifically for the ion cannon near Olde Woody City.

The Hammer, meanwhile, managed to bring some semblance of shielding back online, about four minutes after the Woodian ion cannon hits, and her captain dumped all available power into recharging the shield. However, he would be lucky to get the shielding past fifteen percent capacity before the next round of fire, for the ship ran only on emergency power...

"Sir, another ship is moving closer." A soldier replied.

"I see that. Keep firing on that other target." The Admiral ordered.

When the next salvo of ion cannon and turbolaser came, it was still aiming at the Hammer.

"Master Whitfield, the ion cannon is ready to fire again. Shields at five percent."

"Very well." Whitfield waited for the next round of PPC fire, then opened the shield. "Open fire."

Another five bolts of orange energy issued forth from the old ion cannon, likely her last. During the two seconds the shields were deactivated, a few turbolaser bolts snuck in from the MC-60s but did little significant damage. Whitfield quickly reactivated them before another round of PPC fire could hit.

Which it did. And that was the last of the Olde Woody City shield.

The second volley from the CoreWorlds batteries overwhelmed what emergency shielding the Hammer had managed to cobble together, and for that matter, her hull, too. She was the first Immortal to fall solely to "conventional weapons fire" in the entire battle, the other seven having been either destroyed by superlasers or destroyed/severely weakened by ramming.

The ion cannon fire from the rebellion itself, coming a few seconds after the Hammer's destruction, splattered against the shields of the ship that had crept past the Hammer earlier. Her captain would not have to divert any power from weapons to have the shields recharged by the next salvo; and he silently gave thanks that Admiral Galvin had just ordered maximal shielding facing Earth...

Admiral Galvin was most disappointed that he hadn't been able to trick the enemy into diffuse fire. Nevertheless, he had new targets to dole out. "Destroy the newly unshielded rebel ion cannon, then move to the shields covering Great Woodytowne. We have some landing zones to clear."

As the Star Cruisers continued with their turbolaser and ion cannon bombardment, another round of blue PPC fire spewed forth, aimed at the rebellion's ion cannon; the next round would be Great Woodytowne-bound...

The next round of particle projector cannons managed to fry the ion cannon, alright. The shield generators, too, which meant that the only protection Olde Woody City would have would consist of smaller shield generators designed to cover only extremely small areas, such as subway entrances.

Whitfield reached out with the Force for a quick damage assessment, one that would be quicker than waiting for conventional reports, and found that about a third of the base had been blackened. His pet project, however, was still online...there would be presents still if the enemy ever actually came within range.

Which they would have to do, if they ever wanted to deploy their DropShips.

Whitfield noticed the diversion of fire to Great Woodytowne. Well, at least they didn't take advantage of the oppurtunity to raze Olde Woody City into the ground with a few extra potshots...

He quickly dispatched a message to the Admiral, informing him that his planetary ion cannon was down, but that his "surprises" remained intact.

Right. We'll keep up the attack. The reply came.

"Third volley, aim for the other ship that's nearest. Try to aim for the same shield section too, they'll have reinforced them by now." The Admiral ordered.

And so it was. The targeting computers spent a couple extra moments ensuring increased accuracy to target the ship so that the fire would come almost as one single blast. Almost.

"Reloaded, sir!" A soldier reported.

"Fire!" The admiral ordered.

And so, the third volley of Coredian defense cannons boomed their displeasure at the incoming enemy's intrusion...

The third volley was almost a single shot, but not quite. The Venerable's front shields, having fully recharged from the Woodian ion blast, and having further been reinforced by the diversion of shields from elsewhere, blazed dark red as they dissipated the massive amounts of energy over a wider area than the weapons' "impact point."

However, that is not to say that the third volley was not without consequence...

"Sir, the shield is down to nineteen percent!" the Venerable's frenzied and panicked weapons officer shouted to the ship's captain.

"You will be silent. The shields absorbed the blast, that is the most important thing for now. Shut down weapons and dump every joule this ship can spare into recharging the shields before next volley."

"Yessir."

The captain then informed Admiral Galvin of the reasoning behind this action...that the longer the shields could be made to last, the longer it would be before the batteries opened fire on more targets.

Galvin nodded his understanding, and ordered all other ships to continue firing on Great Woodytowne's shields, until such time as they failed, and then to move on to bombarding the rebellious Fedawoody Island, one of the industrial centers that the rebels had managed to subvert a few days ago. After the landing zones were prepared, he wanted to deploy his DropShips, see that they landed, and get out of here, for he knew that White Diamond would need more than seven Immortals and orbital batteries should the rebels' allies decide upon a counterattack.

As the weapons of the Venerable shut down, her shields started recharging...fairly rapidly in fact, though full strength by the next volley was uncertain at best. Eighty-five percent, perhaps. Galvin hoped dearly she would survive the next volley, the more time that she could buy, the better.

The six other Immortals and ten destroyers continued to periodically rain down huge flashes of blue doom upon the sheilds of Great Woodytowne, while the seven Star Cruisers continued to rain down turbolasers and ion cannon fire.

Jacob Whitfield let out a sigh as Great Woodytowne reported shield failure a couple of minutes after the third volley, but there was little he could do at the moment...

...All he could do is watch as the bombardment shifted to Fedawoody Island. Apparently, the enemy commander wants to clear safe landing zones before he approaches. Whitfield could do little more than speculate at this point; full meditation would divert too much of his attention from coordinating the defence.

"Once they land, and they will soon, you will need to help lead the counterassault forces from here to there." The Admiral said to Taylor, who nodded. "If they are even as half as good on the ground as they are in space, you'll be in for a very brutal fight."

"I know." Taylor answered seriously. "I guess that's where my abilities will start to come in for them."

"Yes. And then...that's when things will get interesting for them." The admiral sardonically grinned. "Batteries recharged?"

"Yes sir."

"Fire another volley." He ordered. The fifth volley of the day lit off, turning the night sky into bright glows of green and blue as the rounds went after the Venerable.

"Sir, shields recharged to eighty-eight percent."

The Venerable's captain responded by looking out of the bridge viewport, only to find the next round of fire headed straight for his ship. A second or so later, her shields once again blazed bright red as they dissipated the firepower of the planetary batteries.

"Er, make that seven percent, sir."

Her captain turned to the various tech officers on the bridge. "Cut everything but emergency power and propulsion, divert every joule that can be found into recharging those shields--we need to hold out as many volleys as possible."

"Yessir." A minute or so later, eighty percent of the Venerable's lights shut off; the others dimmed, the energy savings diverted into faster shield recharging.

The remainder of the fleet continued to bombard Fedawoody Island...and Admiral Galvin selected the fourth landing zone.

This is quite the duel, but it can't hold off forever. One or two more volleys should take it out... The Admiral thought. A few moments later, the batteries recharged once more and fired again.

The extra power diversions had increased the shield recharge rate a noticeable bit, but not by a whole lot. The Venerable's captain watched the chronometer to time the next volley. Or try to anyway.

Seven seconds before projected enemy recycle time. He looked at the shield monitors...eighty-six percent. Enough to last a couple more rounds with a constant recharge rate.

The next blast arrived right on schedule, resulting in another flare of bright red. "Shields at five percent, sir." The captain nodded.

Meanwhile, Fedawoody Island's shields continued to bear the brunt of the orbital bombardment...

"Master Whitfield, Fedawoody Island's shields have failed."

As Whitfield received this report, all he could do was watch and wait, as the fleet started to redirect its firepower to the Port Woody area...

Yeah, he's going after some LZs, alright.

OOC: Sunnuva! Wish I had caught wind of this one earlier. Might have thrown in m'self to support CW...

"Hmm. We can't bring it down that way...alright let's try something else." The Admiral mused. Then he contacted the gunners. "I want you all to stagger your firing one at a time. From west to east, then go south then west again. You'll lose a bit of firing rate, but be able to output a continuous cycle of fire altogether. Now get to it!"

When the seventh volley lit off, it was different. Instead of a single devastating punch, it was more like a series of slower, but certainly no less powerful rolling punches. 1 then 2 then 3 then 4...all the way to 12 and back to one, which would have recharged by the time it came to its turn again.

The Venerable's captain once again counted down the time on the chronometer as the rest of the fleet continued the bombardment of Port Woody. A few seconds left... "Shield report please."

"Eighty-four percent, sir" came the prompt reply.

The ship's captain looked up again, expecting a massive, overpowered broadside to come from Earth. However, only a few ion bolts came, fired by a single planetary cannon.

"Shields at seventy-nine percent..."

A lag of about fifty seconds there was, a minute for the shields to recharge, with every joule that could be scraped together from any power system, anywhere, dumped into front shields, before a couple of turbolaser bolts struck the shields.

"Shields at eighty-three...no, make that eighty percent, sir..."

Another forty seconds or so passed. "Shields at eighty-three...no seventy-eight percent sir."

By the time all twelve batteries had fired once, the Venerable found her shields ever-so-slowly decaying, reading seventy-six percent immediately after the last turbolaser hit in the cycle. This decay probably was barely noticeable, if at all, on enemy scanners...

Damn, the captain thought. It probably would have been faster to just do it the old way...though at least this way I get to live longer.

Meanwhile, the remainder of the fleet continued its bombardment...

Hmm. Well, that didn't work well. The Admiral noted. They'll keep recharging until something breaks.

"Stop the bombardment." The Admiral sighed. The cannons fell silent, recharging again. "Charge up the cannons once more, but draw power from the grid."

"Sir?" The soldiers asked.

"Do it." The Admiral ordered.

Then the cannons began to charge up once more. To the observer, it would appear that energy was visibly drawn into each one of the planetary barrels as the capacitors charged up to their very limits. Lights all over the nation dimmed or shut off momentarily as the cannons completed their charge.

"130% charging from all batteries! It won't hold long!" A soldier yelled.

"Fire!" The Admiral ordered.

Then once again, on the ninth volley, the planetary cannons simultaneously blew out very violent blasts of energy at the Immortal Star Destroyer that's currently giving the Coredians trouble. With the added power of the grids, it is definitely hoped to wipe out that damned Venerable once and for all.

Whitfield sighed. He was losing patience faster than the enemy commander apparently, and that wasn't a good sign, for Jedi were supposed to "know better."

As reports of shield failure at Port Woody came in, all he could do was let out another sigh...and wonder who would get bombarded next.

The captain of the Venerable noticed that the planetary batteries had stopped their staggered fire after a couple of minutes of peace, so he started his chronometer-timing exercises again.

When the time came for the batteries to finish recharging, they did not immediately fire, which made the captain uncertain as to what happened next. Up until now, the Coredians had been so predictable...

His musings were interrupted by the sound of explosions and the failure of even basic lighting as the overcharged Coredian volley made its anger known. The captain waited for emergency power to kick in...

...and waited.

Dammit...now let's all drift off into space and die, the escape pods are prolly really fried too...

But he would not die a slow death, for Admiral Galvin had noticed not only the the failure of the shields at the last landing zone, but also the death of the Venerable, and failure of her emergency power, too. No, he couldn't leave the intact hull for the enemy to salvage.

"All ships, give the Venerable the proper burial, with Gauss Rifle fire. Then redirect power to your previous PPC/shield/propulsion configurations." He stopped to make a short entry in the Dominion's computer, one that would be transmitted to the entire fleet. A target designation, to be precise. "After the Venerable has received her proper burial, focus all fire on Ion Cannon Battery #2." The coordinates thereof, having been traced just under two hours ago immediately after the first round of planetary fire, appeared on the proper targeting computers. "Proceed at full flank speed towards Earth while you're at it, starting immediately after the Venerable's burial. Star Destroyer Broadsword, take point."

The fleet fired its assortment of gauss rifles that happened to have direct line of fire, and the Star Cruisers also threw their turbolasers into the "burial ceremony." The Venerable's dead hull shredded into pieces, then were slagged into space dust by the turbolasers.

Then the fleet's engines roared as it moved on Earth, targeting "Ion Cannon Battery #2" with PPC (and from the Star Cruisers, turbolaser and ion cannon) fire along the way...

That charge took a lot out of the capacitors. Better let them cool for a few minutes. After the ships leave, I'm going to have the techies take a look at them, see if they're ok and what they can do to improve them... The Admiral thought. Then he got up and headed to the base's mess hall to get a light snack and soda. Hmm. Cold pizza...cheese? Who eats only cheese pizza? It's for toddlers! Meh.

The Admiral then noticed a slight shuddering and headed back to the command room with his meal. "What's up?"

"They're bombarding us, sir. Shields at 99% at this moment."

"So they finally decided to take us on, eh?" The Admiral smirked. "All right. When the batteries reload, we'll hit them with another supercharge shot, then we'll hit the other ships."

And so, the Admiral continued eating his food while the 'show' went on.

As the fleet closed in on Earth, continuing to bombard the Coredian shield with heavy, overloaded PPC fire, Admiral Galvin made further plans known. "Insert your vessels in geosynchronous orbit over the rebel scum and deploy DropShips. Keep all shielding in the front, facing the enemy batts. After all DropShips land, our mission is accomplished, and we leave. Got that?"

All ships' captains acknowledged the order, one by one.

The Broadsword, being assigned to point, was the first Star Destroyer to send her DropShips, seven of them (six normal complement plus one 'captured' from another dying Star Destroyer) to be exact, and the first to establish her geosynchronous orbit...

The other Immortals followed in rapid pursuit, dispatching a total of forty-two DropShips, corresponding to roughly one hundred twenty BattleMech unit reinforcements, a few thousand troops, and a few transports. The rebels in the five landing zones had already thrown away their blood...they would run out of blood trying to overwhelm reinforcements in this concentration. A new ground campaign would begin to restore proper control to Lord Ebolus and crush the rebels, four islands at a time...

So, they finally are come to our doorstep, Whitfield thought to himself as the fleet came ever closer to Earth. He watched the sensor nets and video feeds as first the Broadsword, then the rest of the fleet, inserted itself into orbit and dispatched the DropShips. Yes, they meant business.

"Commander Suskind, report in, please."

A man slightly Whitfield's elder appeared on one of the many videoscreens in the bunker. A former admiral Suskind was; he had retired a decade before, but as the rebellion flared, and found ships to press into service, he had stepped forward and volunteered his services once again. He did not take his old title, for the Free Woody Thoughts military was still orgainizing a chain of command, but had proved remarkably adept at combat support in its absence so far, if only because of the blatant, obvious necessity of working together instead of degenerating into the squabbles that would normally occur within such a disorganized, anarchic unit. "Commander Suskind here." He was aboard the bridge of the recommissioned battlecruiser EWS Justice, and blowing snow and high waves could be seen out the bridge's windows.

"Commander, the Sith fleet has deployed their DropShips. Lock onto them, and prepare your antiaircraft missiles for immediate departure. I am transmitting the necessary sensor data to your fleet now."

"Immediately, Jedi Whitfield." Commander Suskind cut the transmission to face his crew and deliver the orders.

Meanwhile, Whitfield suppressed the urge to eat, for now it would be distracting. He checked the sensor readings to find out what the power generation of the Immortals was going, and found a good chunk of it going to frontal shields. And only frontal shields. Perfect. Now if only I could find a way to extend the vertical range of the presents from two hundred miles to twenty-two thousand, because it doesn't look like they're going to come any closer...

...The Force is my ally, and a powerful ally it is. Whitfield took a key, a key he had not seen between his days as Prime Minister and yesterday. The key to launch his own pet project (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=381422) from more than forty years ago, his pet project as a young, militaristic Member of Parliament. Fate sure was interesting sometimes...but he could meditate that later.

He inserted the key into the proper lock, and a small panel of controls swung out at him.

ENTER PASSWORD.

Whitfield entered the password the rebel hackers had given him, and was surprised to find it somewhat similar to what it was when he was Prime Minister, though it was not exactly the same.

He selected a missile that had been aimed for some far off, imperialistic nation, just in case--it wasn't like that was the destination point, anyway. Soon he would override the missile's guidance computers with the Force. And he pushed the red, shiny button, the one he never, ever thought he would push, until now.

A missile silo somewhere on the base opened, and an ICBM, equipped with tectonic warhead, flew out and started arching east before Whitfield reached out with the Force to grab it. He forced it to curve back up, straight up, using the Force, and, even after the missile's propellant ran out from trying to escape the Earth's gravity completely (something it had not been designed to do), Whitfield continued to guide it up with the Force, aiming for the Broadsword's backside...

--------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, aboard the EWS Justice

Commander Suskind watched the wind blow snow and high waves all over the place before the DropShips reached the maximum ceiling of his equipment. When tracking data indicated that the first DropShip had descended below ninety thousand feet, streams of anti-aircraft missiles shot up from the opened VLS cells of the EWS Justice, her three light missile cruiser escorts, and the sister fleet stationed a hundred miles to the north, one immediately after another.

The tectonic missile changed course inexplicably to go around the Broadsword's front shields, and curved back underneath her...then went straight into her docking bay.

After which point, the Broadsword unceremoniously shattered into several million shards, as if she had been a dropped vase of glass, without making a sound in the vaccum of space.

The shrapnel itself destroyed a just-deployed Dropship, and caused light hull damage to a couple of destroyers.

Admiral Galvin ordered the fleet commanders to remain calm, as they would only be here for a few more minutes, just long enough for the DropShips to land. Whether Admiral Galvin's calm prevailed would be another story.

Unfortunately, some of them seemed to encounter landing problems. The antiaircraft missiles that the rebels had scrounged together individually could do little against a DropShip, but the rebels had managed to scrounge together more than one or two missiles. The first DropShip to enter the Earth's atmosphere found itself fracturing into pieces, left to burn in the atmosphere, after several missiles chipped away at its thick armor, then cracked it enough for it to fall apart.

Nor would it be the last DropShip to succumb to the rebel antiaircraft fire...several more explosions could be seen from the fleet's orbit, and several more below the clouds...

The Admiral smirked as he saw the ship get destroyed. "Well, well. If it isn't the big surprise Whitfield gave. How much time before we can shoot?"

"Ten minutes, sir." The soldier replied.

"Very well. Let's enjoy the show until then. Major, you might want to start preparing for deployment." The admiral said to Taylor.

"All right." The red-cloaked Jedi nodded and got up to head out of the command center and get ready to go and save the rebellion.

Whitfield smiled for the first time all day as the Broadsword shattered. Time to select the next target...

He reached out with the Force...and found Admiral Galvin aboard the Dominion. He had his next target, and he smiled as he inserted the key into the keyhole for a second time, and made the necessary information inputs to satisfy the security systems and launch another one of the suckers...

Another ICBM shot forth from the base, trying to arch towards some other tin-pot dictator land, before Whitfield used the Force to bend its course to his will and send it straight up. He maneuvered the missile, using the Force, around the Dominion's shields, then sent its warhead to its fate...

---------------------------------

Meanwhile, more thirty-year old antiaircraft missiles continued to issue forth from the two small naval flotillas, headed for their nearest DropShips, even as they descended below the cloud ceiling, indicating they were only a couple thousand feet from their destinations. At this point, some of them were close enough to return fire with a couple of Gauss Rifles and PPCs. However, these were not the starship versions of the weapons, only toned down ground versions of the weapons.

One of the light missile cruisers in Suskind's fleet split in half under the stress of multiple Gauss rounds, even as her weapons melted under the onslaught of a few PPC rounds. One of the missile cruisers in the northern flotilla was similarly sunk...

The DropShips not already shot down shook the earth as they touched down, and dispatched their deadly cargo of BattleMechs (http://www.forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=419235), ready to make their war upon Free Woody Thoughts.

The Dominion fell to the next tectonic missile sent up someone's docking bay, shattering into another several million pieces, and taking Admiral Galvin with her, the shrapnel from the blast also causing moderate damage to a couple of destroyers nearby; however, they would be able to extricate themselves from the conflict if need be. Admiral Easton of Coredia would not realize this until told by Knight Whitfield, however...

Vice Admiral Warren assumed command of his ship, nearly as calm as Galvin would have been. "Have all the DropShips landed?" he asked his sensor officer.

"Admiral, fourteen have successfully landed, three each at Port Woody and Fedawoody Island, four each at Olde Woody City and Great Woodytowne. One was destroyed in the unexplained Broadsword blast, and twenty-seven were shot down, sir."

Vice Admiral Warren added up the figures in his head. And he knew exactly what had rended the hulls of the Broadsword and the Dominion---the rebel terrorists had captured a few of those tectonic weapons mentioned in old MAD doctrine from before Evil Woody Thoughts had achieved extraterrestrial colonization. "That means all DropShips are accounted for. Our work here is done. We retreat before the rebels have another chance to fire one of those things up our ass. All ships, pull up, fly over the Arctic Circle so you end up on Earth's daylight side. We will retreat using the Earth as a shield to ensure we minimize any nasty presents from Coredia. Keep maximal shields facing their batteries."

The fleet acknowledged the order, its ship captains gradually transferring shield power from the bow of their ships to their undersides as they pulled up...

OOC: Yes, CoreWorlds, you do get to leave a round of your own going-away presents.

-----------------------------------------------

Two kilometres NW of Olde Woodytowne Naval Base and Training Centre
5 August 2078, 0020 GMT-2

Four DropShips thundered down on the snow-covered ground. As their doors opened, one by one, 'Mechs ranging from relatively light scouts, eleven metres tall and weighing forty-five short tons, and 120-short-ton heavy assault designs, stepped forth from the cocoon of the DropShips. And as the three lances (ooc: 1 lance=4 'Mechs) organized themselves by weight class, stormtroopers started preparing other support vehicles from the DropShip storage.

The survivors of the antiaircraft missile bombardment already had their first mission: investigate the base from which the ion cannon battery had fired, and wipe out any resistance. The twelve 'Mechs (http://www.forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=419235), four of them Shadow Cat IICs, four of them heavy-assault Timber Wolf IIICs, and four of them Timber Wolf IVCs (which fall somewhere in between the extremes), started to track through the blowing snow, headed southeast towards the mysterious rebel base. As only a few inches of snow had fallen so far, they would not be significantly impeded by it, and would reach the base in less than two minutes.

OOC: There's no way Taylor Masaki would reach the base before this force, but don't worry about it, Masaki can take his time. *wink wink nod nod*

The Dominion fell to the next tectonic missile sent up someone's docking bay, shattering into another several million pieces, and taking Admiral Galvin with her, the shrapnel from the blast also causing moderate damage to a couple of destroyers nearby; however, they would be able to extricate themselves from the conflict if need be. Admiral Easton of Coredia would not realize this until told by Knight Whitfield, however...

Vice Admiral Warren assumed command of his ship, nearly as calm as Galvin would have been. "Have all the DropShips landed?" he asked his sensor officer.

"Admiral, fourteen have successfully landed, three each at Port Woody and Fedawoody Island, four each at Olde Woody City and Great Woodytowne. One was destroyed in the unexplained Broadsword blast, and twenty-seven were shot down, sir."

Vice Admiral Warren added up the figures in his head. And he knew exactly what had rended the hulls of the Broadsword and the Dominion---the rebel terrorists had captured a few of those tectonic weapons mentioned in old MAD doctrine from before Evil Woody Thoughts had achieved extraterrestrial colonization. "That means all DropShips are accounted for. Our work here is done. We retreat before the rebels have another chance to fire one of those things up our ass. All ships, pull up, fly over the Arctic Circle so you end up on Earth's daylight side. We will retreat using the Earth as a shield to ensure we minimize any nasty presents from Coredia. Keep maximal shields facing their batteries."

The fleet acknowledged the order, its ship captains gradually transferring shield power from the bow of their ships to their undersides as they pulled up...

OOC: Yes, CoreWorlds, you do get to leave a round of your own going-away presents.
OOC: Yay!

IC:
"Sir, they're deploying their dropships and are retreating." The sensor officer said.

"Very well. We can probably manage one final attack. Batteries ready?" The Admiral asked.

"Yes sir! Supercharged!"

"Fire!" The Admiral ordered.

The tenth and final salvo of the Coredian weapons then lashed out at one of the Immortals as they changed course to the Arctic and retreated after they deployed their weapons.

The shield was still holding at a good 97%.

-----------------------------------------------

Two kilometres NW of Olde Woodytowne Naval Base and Training Centre
5 August 2078, 0020 GMT-2

Four DropShips thundered down on the snow-covered ground. As their doors opened, one by one, 'Mechs ranging from relatively light scouts, eleven metres tall and weighing forty-five short tons, and 120-short-ton heavy assault designs, stepped forth from the cocoon of the DropShips. And as the three lances (ooc: 1 lance=4 'Mechs) organized themselves by weight class, stormtroopers started preparing other support vehicles from the DropShip storage.

The survivors of the antiaircraft missile bombardment already had their first mission: investigate the base from which the ion cannon battery had fired, and wipe out any resistance. The twelve 'Mechs (http://www.forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=419235), four of them Shadow Cat IICs, four of them heavy-assault Timber Wolf IIICs, and four of them Timber Wolf IVCs (which fall somewhere in between the extremes), started to track through the blowing snow, headed southeast towards the mysterious rebel base. As only a few inches of snow had fallen so far, they would not be significantly impeded by it, and would reach the base in less than two minutes.

OOC: There's no way Taylor Masaki would reach the base before this force, but don't worry about it, Masaki can take his time. *wink wink nod nod*
Taylor Masaki stood in front of the quickly assembled army now ready for deployment. It was getting a bit cold due to the storms coming down from Woodyeen Island, but nothing his cloak, the Force, and a command gunship can't handle.

There were hover troop transports everywhere, and not a few vehicular transports to carry the new mechas the Coredians bought from Godular, including: Cougars, Sabrecats, Timberwolves and Ursons. There's also standard vehicles like AT-TEs, UT-ATs and hover MRLS systems, among others.

Standing next to Taylor was Mouko, the Fire Knight's favorite Cougar. A large mecha cat with the color scheme of a tiger, it was a terrifying sight to behold. Internal weapons mounts included missiles and a powerful and rapid-firing laser cannon. The cat can also close in with its powerful jaws and rend metal easily with it's gleaming fangs and monofilament claws. Jedi and cat will surely slash their way through the enemy forces.

Taylor remembered the briefing as he prepared to board his command gunship.

*Flashback time!*
"Once the enemy leaves orbit to retreat, we'll begin by counterattacking the enemy forces at the Woodyeen islands to support the rebel forces there." Taylor heard the batallion commander shout. "Jedi Taylor will support the rebels and make contact with Mr. Whitfield here..."

The commander slapped a laser pointer at Olde Woody City where the Jedi Whitfield was commanding the rebel forces from. "At Olde Woody City, the initial forces will fight and secure the base, then 'radiate' outward from there, taking on the enemies in the other hot spots. The Master Yosho battlegroup with an accompanying supply fleet, 'on maneuvers' in the North Atlantic, will shift south to the Woodyen Archipelago to support allied efforts to remove the enemy from the rebelling land. Then, all that matters is removing the enemy from Free Woody Thoughts permanently. Any questions, ladies and gentlemen?"

After a few more assignments and a Q&A session, the officers broke to get to their vehicles.
*end flashback*

Now, as the command ship warms up the engines, the Jedi Knight prepares to embark on a fierce and dangerous mission, one that would decide the fate of the Woodyeen Rebellion and that of distant White Diamond in turn. It's one of those times when a commander reflects on the lives he holds in his hands, and Major Masaki was no different.

Though this conflict has shed the lives of many, enemy and ally alike and will likely continue to shed it for some time yet, I come to fight the eternal fight that defines the honor of humanity. The fight of democracy over despotism, of justice over cruelty, of good over evil. I have long ago promised by the consuming, cleansing heat of the flames that I will not rest until the forces of darkness are defeated and as I embark on this mission of bloodshedding, I shall continue to uphold that promise...

The Ascendant bore the full brunt of the last round from the planetary batteries, and her lights went out, her engines went out, everything went out, never to come online again.

Her three surviving brethren were too busy making a quick getaway over the Arctic Circle to care. Dead, her hull slowly succumbed to the Earth's gravity, left to her fate by the rest of her fleet.

Meanwhile, the three surviving Immortals, ten surviving destroyers, and seven remaining Star Cruisers disappeared over the Arctic Circle, out of the way of Coredia's planetary batteries, and, after leaving Earth's gravity well, disappeared into hyperspace to some random point a few light years away. After a few minutes, they dropped out of hyperspace, pointed themselves towards White Diamond system, and went home to deliver their reports...

As Knight Whitfield watched the Ascendant get fried and the rest of the fleet retreat, he realized quickly that it would leave one big crater, and probably a tsunami that would wipe both Free Woody Thoughts and half of Coredia off the map. This would not be a good thing.

Therefore, he reached to the control panel to launch another one of his "presents" to finish off the Ascendant before it fell into the Earth's atmosphere. However, his eyes spontaneously rolled upwards, his mind temporarily paralyzed by one overarching thought...

THEY'RE HERE.

He felt the ground shake as the twelve death machines thundered a couple hundred feet above him, firing on everything that moved and some things that didn't. The lights flickered off as the primary power generator disappeared in a fiery explosion, then flickered back on, albeit dimmed, as a secondary underground generator kicked in.

They are come for me...

Whitfield's vision blurred a bit. Some dark presence inhabited the death machines, darker than ordinary stormtroopers. No, these are the best 'MechWarriors in the land, semi-Force sensitives...

And then Whitfield realized that the dark presence was because all capacity for independent thought was ripped from their minds using the darkest powers of the Sith. They were far more hardened to any sense of morality than even the most thoroughly brainwashed clonetroopers...they had been turned into the equivalent of Sith Ringwraiths, their bodies merely containers, means to an end, for the will of Darth Ebolus.

More had been sent, but most shot down...

But, instead of some ring, they were come to kill him.

These were once good people...now enslaved... Whitfield realized that every 'MechWarrior sent to Earth had been so enslaved, personally, by Darth Ebolus.

At last, Whitfield broke himself free of whatever evil had been cast upon him, and reached to fire that missile; a few hundred miles above him, the first flames of atmospheric entry burst forth from the Ascendant's hull. A minute or so later, the Ascendant burst into a spectacular but brief meteor shower, visible only from space due to the storm overhead, as she shattered into a million pieces.

Then Whitfield turned to face what was come for him, as he slowly ascended the staircases leading up to ground level. He was somehow drawn to them...

As soon as the enemy ships headed home, the planetary shields were dropped and the Coredian armada wasted no time in lifting off the Dragon Mountain tarmac and heading northward towards the archipelago. And then...Taylor too sensed a disturbance in the Force...

He reached into the Force, scanning ahead, and what he found was extremely disturbing. Damn...

The enemy piloting the walkers were Force-sensitives, making them a more dangerous foe than normals. And that's not all. They appeared to be stripped of all individuality, tools for the Dark Lord of the Sith ruling the lands to use. Nothing more than dark side puppets on invisible string.

Flames curled around Taylor's fist in anger as he 'saw' the abominations. What right did the Dark Lord have to enslave them so? I'm going to so burn his ass for this latest atrocity...

Then his farsight returned to the command gunship. But the evil ones left a chill running down his back. He shook off the feeling, needing to concentrate on the battle ahead...

Whitfield brought himself to a stop one staircase away from the bunker's exit. He sensed the twelve Sith Wraiths, and they sensed him...

His countenance became a blank stare as the same dark mental paralysis experienced a moment ago washed over him again. He stood frozen, waiting for his fate. For several minutes he stood, staring upwards, waiting for the Sith Wraiths. For fifteen minutes he stood in the same spot, mind and body frozen, simply waiting for them to claim him. The same feeling of darkness that had smothered him a couple of weeks ago, when he felt his Force powers wane as he sought out medical care, overtook him once again.

We come for you. Die now. One by one, the Sith Wraiths, realizing that Whitfield would not come out of the bunker, disembarked from their 'Mechs, lightsabers drawn...

Whitfield finally, somewhat involuntarily climbed the last staircase, fingering both his new lightsaber and his older spare, without really knowing why. The bunker door opened itself as he strayed outside in the blowing snowstorm that loomed overhead.

Perhaps it was the sudden cold that awoke him, and drew out his last ounce of free will. Perhaps it was something else... Whatever Darth Ebolus had done to these men, he had done it with the death of Whitfield in mind. Nevertheless, Whitfield activated his two lightsabers, and two amethyst blades appeared, illuminating the snowflakes that flew past them.

The twelve Sith Wraiths formed a semicircle, trapping Whitfield between themselves and the bunker, and activated their lightsabers, one by one. Twelve glowing crimson blades appeared around Whitfield as the Sith Wraiths stepped closer. You die. Now.

"If you want me, come and claim me." The defiant answer punctured the sound of the blowing winds.

The twelve Sith Wraiths closed in around Whitfield and uniformly raised their lightsabers to attack.

As the first four crimson blades bore down upon him from his right, his new lightsaber suddenly extended itself to six feet, and intercepted all four of the blades at once, while his other, spare lightsaber moved itself to intercept the two blows coming from his left...

...then the Twelve flew backwards, some into objects, some as far back as sixty meters, as Whitfield claimed some breathing room for the fight, and his new lightsaber retreated to a four-foot blade.

The first Wraith to get up was also the one closest to Whitfield, and said Wraith moved his lightsaber for another attack, only to be met by the newly forged lightsaber again. But something happened that the Wraith did not expect...

Whitfield's lightsaber became a nine-foot spear in the blink of an eye, impaling the first Wraith in the face, and retracted to four feet as the Wraith's body fell to the ground, face-down in the snow.

As two others rose to attack him from behind, they erupted in flames, and disappeared to ash and bone in a matter of seconds, with a little concentration from Whitfield, melting the snow around them, their crimson blades deactivating and falling to the cold, wet ground.

Another three rose and converged on him. Whitfield raised his dual lightsabers, eyes closed, not relying upon his senses at all, but instead the Force. As the Wraiths went for high chops, Whitfield's adjustable-amplitude saber extended itself to seven feet, and cut two down at the waist, while the third Wraith's blow greeted Whitfield's other amethyst blade.

As the Wraith used brute physical strength to force his lightsaber downwards and slowly overwhelm Whitfield's one-handed hold of his spare lightsaber, Whitfield brought the other to bear, and sliced this Wraith at the waist before he could be fully overwhelmed, as he had been in his duel with Darth Ebolus.

The remaining six Wraiths recovered more or less at once, and slowly walked towards Whitfield, who simply stood and waited for their arrival, two amethyst lightsabers in hand, illuminating the snowflakes that blew past and reduced visibility to only thirty meters or so. The Wraiths seemed completely unaffected by the loss of their comrades in slavery. Die now.

Their psionic voices made Whitfield shudder, but nonetheless, he waited patiently for them to make their strike.

Six glowing crimson blades fell upon Whitfield's two. As the Wraiths withdrew their weapons from the lightsaber lock, so they might prepare another attack, Whitfield managed to cut two down across the chest as he spun around in a complete circle, his amethyst lightsabers a complete blur. One of the survivors tried to retreat, and then sneak back to attack Whitfield from behind, but it didn't work, for he promptly erupted in flames and disappeared into a pile of ash and bone. Attempts to strike the Elder Flame Knight from behind usually didn't work out too well...

Whitfield faced the other three, and blocked another uniformly slow but powerful attack, although he staggered backwards in the process. Two of the Wraiths stepped forward to press the attack, and as they raised their sabers, Whitfield quickly cut them below the waistline and watched their bodies crumple to the snow-covered ground.

Only one Wraith remained. He seemed to hang back for a moment before stepping forward in blind allegiance to his master's will, even if it meant suicide, stepping forward to attack.

I have to try to free him of his bondage... Whitfield sheathed his spare lightsaber and deactivated his new primary one, though still keeping it out if needed. He reached out with the Force in an effort to probe the Wraith's mind...or what was left of it, anyway.

Taylor Masaki was now only minutes away from the base itself, already crossing the coastline with his air aramada. The young Knight could sense the Force being drawn extensively in a manner similar to how he utilizes his fire powers.

So, Whitfield is another Fire knight... Taylor smirked. Two flames are better than one, I always say.

You will die now. The last Sith Wraith raised his crimson lightsaber blade to strike down Whitfield, who now seemed unwilling to defend himself.

Just as quickly as Whitfield had deactivated his primary saber, he reactivated it, and a blur of dark violet raced to intercept the attack. Whitfield forced the Wraith's lightsaber attack aside. Reaching out with the Force, he pushed the deactivation button of his opponent's saber, and it flew into his left hand.

Once again, he deactivated his blade.

I do not want to hurt you; I want to help you. Whitfield tried communicating with the Wraith using Force telepathy, as it seemed to be their preferred method of communication...

I do not need help.

Whitfield reached as deep as the Force would allow, without influence of the Dark Side, into the Wraith's mind...and found that of Darth Ebolus.

I see you. He is mine, and does my will.

Whitfield spoke aloud, in a voice that resembled that of his thundering speeches as a Member of Parliament, the speeches of the olden days, before the dark times. "I release you of your bondage, and purge your master's influence as poison is drawn from a wound."

Darth Ebolus responded by sending dark streaks of Force lightning through his puppet. I have already proven that you are weak. The strong shall own the weak, as masters own their slaves.

Whitfield's mithril lightsaber snapped back to life, as its violet blade jumped to six feet to catch all of Ebolus' Force lightning, even as the very oxygen around the lightsaber blade caught fire, giving the appearance that the lightsaber blade itself was burning, but not consumed by the flame. "Your 'slave' is forfeit, Darth Ebolus, for he now shall be set free of the bondage of the Dark Side."

The sight of the new lightsaber made Ebolus recoil somewhat. If I go, then he must die for his failure.

"You failed to kill me, and you will not kill him."

You hold no power over me, for you have only proven weakness. Ebolus sent another few bolts of Force lightning through his Wraith puppet, which grounded themselves in Whitfield's lightsaber blade...

Whitfield reached deeper into the Force to throw Darth Ebolus back to the wall, then used the Force to scan Ebolus' surroundings. He found him standing a few inches above electrical wiring.

A few seconds thereafter, Darth Ebolus fled an electrical fire that had started right under its feet and somehow engulfed the entire room, having abandoned his hold over his puppet.

The former Sith Wraith collapsed to the ground. Whitfield knelt over him, gently touching his forehead as if he was checking for a fever, using the Force to assess what permanent damage Ebolus had done.

Most of the neurons in this person's limbic system are dead, his hippocampus is well over ninety-five percent dead. He tries to think, but cannot feel emotion, for even when a neuron fires, it cannot communicate with other live neurons, for they are all dead, killed by the Dark Side. The few surviving neurons are severely damaged. The distances between live synapses are simply too great for any kind of neurotransmitter to work...

This dead part of his brain has, until now, been replaced with a 'link' between his limbic system and Darth Ebolus, which allowed Ebolus to hijack his emotional capacity. The subject could only share the hatred of Ebolus, but in the purge of this slave link, he will have no emotive capacity at all.

Whitfield spoke to the brain-damaged man. "Unfortunately, the brain damage that the Dark Lord left is beyond my ability to heal. But I can find people that can..."

The man did not seem to understand what was happening at all; his countenance conveyed only a cold, blank stare.

"What is your name?" Whitfield asked softly.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out for a few seconds, until finally he managed a feeble, uncertain "608395?"

It's even worse than I thought, Whitfield thought to himself. "Come, let us go inside and warm ourselves up." He extended his hand, but the former slave did not seem to understand what that gesture meant. "Follow me."

The man got up and followed Whitfield into the bunker, apparently understanding orders clearly enough.

Whitfield reached out with the Force and sensed Taylor Masaki nearby. I sure hope you brought a Jedi healer with you...

As the assault gunships began landing to secure the base, Taylor Masaki sensed a strong power being used in the Force, strong enough to be almost overwhelming. And then it flared away.

The Jedi got out of his command gunship followed by his couger and then heard Whitfield.

I sure hope you brought a Jedi healer with you...

Only normal medics, I'm afraid. Taylor sent back as headed towards the bunker. In other news, I have just arrived!

Only normal medics, I'm afraid. Taylor sent back as headed towards the bunker. In other news, I have just arrived!

Well, I at least hope you brought a spare transport. I have freed one of the Dark Lord's slaves, but he left permanent brain damage that can only be undone through a Jedi healer. He needs half his brain reconstructed...

Well, I at least hope you brought a spare transport. I have freed one of the Dark Lord's slaves, but he left permanent brain damage that can only be undone through a Jedi healer. He needs half his brain reconstructed...
For a few moments, Taylor conferred with his soldiers and then an answer came. We can take him back to Coredia and have him transferred to Jurai if that's all right.

For a few moments, Taylor conferred with his soldiers and then an answer came. We can take him back to Coredia and have him transferred to Jurai if that's all right.

Yes, the sooner the better. His mind is a blank slate right now, and the longer he goes without treatment, the likelier a relapse to the Dark Side becomes. Especially around here; the other Wraiths will want to find him the same as me now...

Yes, the sooner the better. His mind is a blank slate right now, and the longer he goes without treatment, the likelier a relapse to the Dark Side becomes. Especially around here; the other Wraiths will want to find him the same as me now...
Alright. We're coming in. Taylor stepped at the entrance to the bunker with a couple of soldiers and a rebel led them inside.

Knight Whitfield stood up when Major Taylor Masaki entered the bunker, for he waited just inside the entrance with his charge.

"Major Masaki, the other Flame Knight. A pleasure to see you." He looked at the soldiers and motioned at the former slave to the Dark Side. His countenance was pale, due to a combination of the cold outside, the effects of the Dark Side of the Force upon him, and his inability to express any sort of feeling or thought at the moment. He stood up, slightly taller than Whitfield at six feet, two inches, and far more heavily built, when Whitfield stood up, scarcely understanding why.

"This is the one whom I 'liberated' from the tyranny of the Dark Side, but as I said, his lasting brain damage from the Dark Lord's initial purge is far beyond my ability to heal. He will need not only a Jedi healer, but probably one specialized in neurophysiology, if his memories from before the purge are to be restored."

"Well, I can't really promise anything, but the Healers are the best in the galaxy." Taylor said. He turned to the former slave. "Follow these soldiers."

The troopers prepared to take the man back to an assault shuttle.

The former Wraith, lacking the capacity to question any order given him, mindlessly followed the soldiers off to the shuttle.

Whitfield led Taylor himself back outside, into the driving snow, for the Wraiths had unwillingly left presents for the Rebellion--their heavy war equipment. Whitfield started ascending the rungs up to the cockpit of one of the Timber Wolf IIICs--the heaviest 'Mech model the nation of Evil Woody Thoughts had ever fielded.

As he was about halfway up to the 'Mech's cockpit, he looked back down on Taylor. "Major Masaki, I do hope you're ready for a little raid...but no need to bring the entire army with you, yet."

The former Wraith, lacking the capacity to question any order given him, mindlessly followed the soldiers off to the shuttle.
The freed slave would be taken to a Coredian hospital to check out the extent of the brain damage, then flown off to the Healers on Jurai.

Whitfield led Taylor himself back outside, into the driving snow, for the Wraiths had unwillingly left presents for the Rebellion--their heavy war equipment. Whitfield started ascending the rungs up to the cockpit of one of the Timber Wolf IIICs--the heaviest 'Mech model the nation of Evil Woody Thoughts had ever fielded.

As he was about halfway up to the 'Mech's cockpit, he looked back down on Taylor. "Major Masaki, I do hope you're ready for a little raid...but no need to bring the entire army with you, yet."
"Sure!" Taylor grinned and ascended the rungs of a Timber Wolf IVC. His Cougar growled a little bit. "Mouko, go ahead and patrol the area. I'll be back soon!"

The cougar purred loudly in acknowledgement and moved off. Taylor popped open the cockpit and sat in the seat as the cockpit closed. He noticed a helmet of some kind and put it on. The mech then activated, giving him a nice view of the surroundings. "Cool. Biofeedback helmets!"

That will definitely cut down on Taylor's inexperience with manned mechs.

Jacob Whitfield powered up his captured 'Mech, and played around with the weapons groupings a bit after putting on his biofeedback helmet. He then switched his sensors down to passive scanning, knowing that the Force would be more than enough for targeting data and the like.

He then sent Major Masaki a message using the Force: OK, Major, power down sensors to passive scan only. Use the Force, and you will not need them, and it'll be a bit easier to sneak up on the DropShips. Stay a couple hundred meters behind me, and maintain radio silence.

Whitfield then turned his 'Mech into the blowing wind and snows, and throttled up to sixty percent, a somewhat brisk walk, that would have the two in combat operations within a few minutes...

Jacob Whitfield powered up his captured 'Mech, and played around with the weapons groupings a bit after putting on his biofeedback helmet. He then switched his sensors down to passive scanning, knowing that the Force would be more than enough for targeting data and the like.

He then sent Major Masaki a message using the Force: OK, Major, power down sensors to passive scan only. Use the Force, and you will not need them, and it'll be a bit easier to sneak up on the DropShips. Stay a couple hundred meters behind me, and maintain radio silence.

Whitfield then turned his 'Mech into the blowing wind and snows, and throttled up to sixty percent, a somewhat brisk walk, that would have the two in combat operations within a few minutes...
Right. Taylor placed the sensors to passive and moved in behind Whitfield amist the blowing snow, keeping pace with him.

1.2 kilometres NW of Olde Woodytowne Naval Base and Training Centre
5 August 2078, 0235 GMT-2

Full stop. Whitfield killed the throttle on his 'Mech, and turned it to face southwest as he kept the 'Mech's torso aimed straight at the DropShips, nine hundred metres ahead. He could sense their presence through the Force, but the crews manning the area could not see either Whitfield nor Masaki, for the driving snow had brought down visibility to fifty metres.

Aim for the weapons mounts on the DropShips, very carefully. Whitfield selected a Gauss Rifle turret mounted on the first DropShip, and very carefully fired two bolts of superheated energy at it...

The heat klaxon sounded for a split second before enough of the heat dispersed to shut it up. Whitfield brought up the throttle back to ten percent...

1.2 kilometres NW of Olde Woodytowne Naval Base and Training Centre
5 August 2078, 0235 GMT-2

Full stop. Whitfield killed the throttle on his 'Mech, and turned it to face southwest as he kept the 'Mech's torso aimed straight at the DropShips, nine hundred metres ahead. He could sense their presence through the Force, but the crews manning the area could not see either Whitfield nor Masaki, for the driving snow had brought down visibility to fifty metres.

Aim for the weapons mounts on the DropShips, very carefully. Whitfield selected a Gauss Rifle turret mounted on the first DropShip, and very carefully fired two bolts of superheated energy at it...

The heat klaxon sounded for a split second before enough of the heat dispersed to shut it up. Whitfield brought up the throttle back to ten percent...
The same thing occurred to a second dropship as Taylor discretely fired on its weapons with a round or two. Then he moved on to the next one...

Meanwhile, the brainwashed former Sith minion was taken to a hospital ship with a very good neurological section and his brain was photographed as it lifted off and headed for Jurai. The Jedi Temple healers will be ready to conduct the correct therapy. It will still take quite a while before he's cured though.

As two Gauss Rifle emplacements on two separate DropShips flash-melted, Stormtrooper Captain #874492 grumbled to himself. "Hey, we got anything on sensors?" he called out.

"No, sir. Nothing visual either, except those PPCs flyin' across the sky."

Damn visibility. The rebels probably found a way to steal our 'Mechs, and now we can't defend against them... "Can you trace where that fire came from?"

"Yes, sir. It'll take a second...got it."

"I want the Dropships to fire on the source of the blasts."

"Yes, sir..."

Blue PPC rounds and Gauss Rifle slugs flew forth from the DropShips, while stormtroopers readied their speeders, since little other equipment was available, for it had all been deployed on the search-and-destroy mission.

The weapons will almost certainly miss because they were fired on last calculated position.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, somewhere on White Diamond Prime...

Darth Ebolus flew into a rage upon fleeing the flames of Whitfield. Not only had he lost twelve of his Wraiths to him, one of them directly freed of his control, but many more had been shot down by the rebel scum when the DropShips had attempted their landings. Coupled with the loss of Admiral Galvin, the Dark Lord was in the mood for more killing. He would make the gulag rounds tomorrow to kill off more political prisoners, an activity he took great pleasure in.

For now, he meditated, confirmed that the surviving Sith Wraiths were active in purging the rebellion, pillaging and burning as they went, spilling the rebellion's blood on the streets.

Moreover, he would have to address the fleet losses in the Earth attack, and would go shopping for replacements soon. He knew where he could get replacements, and quickly.

Now, if only he knew where to find more 'qualified volunteers' for more Sith Wraiths...unfortunately, he had culled the most likely spots quite well already.

Whitfield sensed the anxiety of the stormtroopers as blue bolts of energy passed harmlessly behind the two 'Mechs. He aimed for the next weapons emplacement, and fired, for it would be highly prudent to remove the heavy DropShip weaponry before directly engaging the newly otherwise poorly-equipped troopers, who had depended upon the 'Mechs for heavy defense.

Pay attention to how quickly your weapons recycle, Major Masaki, because i do know you are unfamiliar with them. You must learn these things...and do try to conserve the ammo for your missiles, because it won't be easy to resupply.

Whitfield sensed the anxiety of the stormtroopers as blue bolts of energy passed harmlessly behind the two 'Mechs. He aimed for the next weapons emplacement, and fired, for it would be highly prudent to remove the heavy DropShip weaponry before directly engaging the newly otherwise poorly-equipped troopers, who had depended upon the 'Mechs for heavy defense.

Pay attention to how quickly your weapons recycle, Major Masaki, because i do know you are unfamiliar with them. You must learn these things...and do try to conserve the ammo for your missiles, because it won't be easy to resupply.
All right. Taylor sent PPCs at the last dropship's emplacments and watched each one melt into nice little puddles of molten steel. Gotcha.

All right. Taylor sent PPCs at the last dropship's emplacments and watched each one melt into nice little puddles of molten steel. Gotcha.

You missed a couple. Whitfield sent a couple of rounds of superheated blue energy at the remaining southeast-facing weapons emplacements. Overconfident are you, yes?

As the last particle projector cannons and gauss rifles facing the rebel scum melted, a swarm of stormtroopers on speeder bikes raced for the general direction from whence the enemy fire came. Unfortunately, the blinding snow meant they would have difficulty aiming their laser cannons except at point-blank range...

The speeders swerved as they fired their forward laser cannons to try to take maximum advantage of their maneuverability, though their operators knew they would at best be a hassle for their equipment that had been turned against them...

Switch weapon groupings to your pulse lasers, Major. They'll be far better for anti-infantry combat because they fire about twenty times as fast. Whitfield targeted a few of the incoming speeders with his heavy pulse lasers, and a pair of steady, red beams emanated from the torso of Whitfield's 'Mech, taking down first one speeder, then quickly changing to another...

"Mr. Stormies, meet Mr. Pulse Laser!" Taylor smirked as he switched to pulse lasers and let 'em loose with uncannily accurate bolts of green death upon the stormtroopers.

The two Jedi lit up the snowy, night sky with flashes of explosions and a red-and-green laser light show. With the blowing snow, a bystander might have thought it was Christmas in August. Half the speeders exploded within about fifteen seconds; the rest frantically fired on the two 'Mechs in hopes of causing at least a little damage as they swerved around...

Knight Whitfield stopped firing for a couple of seconds to allow excess heat to disperse, but was more than happy to resume raining death upon the hapless stormtroopers after no less than three seconds.

A couple of red bolts of energy splattered across the "legs" of Whitfield's 'Mech, but they did almost no damage, as the speeders' weapons were relatively weak, and both 'Mechs carried a layer of highly refractive armor.

Letting up some to cool the guns off, Taylor stood there like a behemoth soaking up the ineffective rays and then resumed dishing death out in the middle of the blizzard. He idly wondered what's next after they conclude killing all the stormies around here.

The remaining speeders continued to explode in the night blizzard as Whitfield and Masaki continued the light show. One final staccato burst of fire filled the sky and took down the last couple of speeders about a minute after they had arrived.

Now, Major, we destroy the DropShips from a safe distance, like here. Concentrate fire one at a time; they're heavily armored and take a while to destroy. After that, we investigate further...

Whitfield let his heat indicators drop to zero before firing his two particle projector cannons at the nearest DropShip, followed by a steady helping of his long-range Heavy Pulse Lasers. When the PPCs finished recharging, he fired another round, repeating the cycle, and allowing excess heat to discharge as necessary...

Taylor followed suit, unleashing the power of the PPCs upon the dropships.

After a minute or so of heavy fire, the first DropShip succumbed and disappeared into a spectacular flash of light visible even through eight hundred meters of blizzard conditions.

Now for victim number two... Whitfield waited a few seconds for heat to return to zero, then redirected his fire to the next closest DropShip.

Taylor let the PPCs cool off in the blizzard for a little bit, then resumed attacking the next dropship.

The cycle of destruction continued, until about four minutes later, all three remaining DropShips had disappeared into flashes of light visible even through the low visibility and driving snow.

Whitfield reached out with the Force, to see if their work was done. Alas, it was not. Major, there are still stormtroopers by the former DropShips, trying to figure out what's going on. There weren't enough speeders for everybody.

Whitfield's 'Mech started walking toward the enemy encampment...

Right. Taylor moved towards the scrap heaps formerly known as dropships and reached out into the Force to discern what the stormtroopers are trying to do...

As Whitfield entered visual range of the encampment, he fired his heavy pulse lasers into the snow at the various stormtroopers running around. They had already set up a mobile field base, but the sight of a heavy assault 'Mech sent them into a panic, and they fired at Whitfield with their blaster rifles.

Whitfield found this, at best, laughable, for the blaster shots were even weaker than the speeder shots that had proven so ineffective.

Major, have fun with target practice, but don't fire on the mobile field base--we'll just capture it. After we're done here, you can send a little engineer corps to disassemble it and reassemble where needed.

Taylor simply picked off the remnants of the stormtroopers running about with the green lasers of doom until it was time to go down and do the gritty work of capturing the base.

---

Meanwhile, the brainwashed former Sith was ushered out of the hospital ship with his diagnosis (severe brain damage and near-total amnesia, among others) and the healers took him to the neurological wards.

"Hello. Can you hear me?" The head neurologist asked.

After the remaining stormtroopers fell, Whitfield turned his 'Mech around, back to the southeast, to rendezvous with the remainder of the Coredian ground forces.

Come, Major Masaki. Our work here is done. We can send engineers and a few units to defend them to complete the capture.

-------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, at Jurai system...

The former wraith heard the neurologist's words, but had no idea why he was here, nor where here was. To him, the neurologist was just some random person, as were the people who had transported him to this strange place. He turned his head away from the bright lights of the ward.

He tried to formulate a response to the neurologist's question, but could not, for his neurons could not communicate with one another. Only those parts of the brain that handled sensory matters, and those that involved following orders, remained healthy. The rest of his cerebral cortex was almost as damaged as his limbic system.

The neurologist's question was met only with a blank stare, and mouth gaping open, trying to say something, but unable to find the words.

After the remaining stormtroopers fell, Whitfield turned his 'Mech around, back to the southeast, to rendezvous with the remainder of the Coredian ground forces.

Come, Major Masaki. Our work here is done. We can send engineers and a few units to defend them to complete the capture.
All right. The Major answered and turned the mech around to head back to the base camp being set up now.

-------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, at Jurai system...

The former wraith heard the neurologist's words, but had no idea why he was here, nor where here was. To him, the neurologist was just some random person, as were the people who had transported him to this strange place. He turned his head away from the bright lights of the ward.

He tried to formulate a response to the neurologist's question, but could not, for his neurons could not communicate with one another. Only those parts of the brain that handled sensory matters, and those that involved following orders, remained healthy. The rest of his cerebral cortex was almost as damaged as his limbic system.

The neurologist's question was met only with a blank stare, and mouth gaping open, trying to say something, but unable to find the words.
"Hmm." The neurologist looked over the man. "Worse than I thought. This is going to take a while. Please lie down."

There's a hospital bed for the man in the room.

All right. The Major answered and turned the mech around to head back to the base camp being set up now.

A few minutes later, the two arrived at Olde Woodytowne Naval Base and Training Center. Whitfield powered down his 'Mech and climbed out of the cockpit egress hatch, rapidly descending the 'Mech's access rungs. A couple of rebel soldiers greeted him, wondering where he had snuck off to.

Whitfield answered in a wry voice, "Capturing the Mobile Field Base the invaders set up."

"Hmm." The neurologist looked over the man. "Worse than I thought. This is going to take a while. Please lie down."

There's a hospital bed for the man in the room.

The man laid down on the hospital bed, not knowing what would happen to him, yet incapable of refusing an order...

A few minutes later, the two arrived at Olde Woodytowne Naval Base and Training Center. Whitfield powered down his 'Mech and climbed out of the cockpit egress hatch, rapidly descending the 'Mech's access rungs. A couple of rebel soldiers greeted him, wondering where he had snuck off to.

Whitfield answered in a wry voice, "Capturing the Mobile Field Base the invaders set up."
Taylor simply popped out of the cockpit and reappeared in a small cloud of fire as Masakis are wont to do. Coredian troops were then ordered to send an engineering unit and some MPs to complete the capturing of the base.

The man laid down on the hospital bed, not knowing what would happen to him, yet incapable of refusing an order...
Reaching into the Force, the neurologist then placed a hand on the man's head and she gasped as she saw the extent of the damage. "What in the..."

Most of the neurons in this person's limbic system are dead, his hippocampus is well over ninety-five percent dead. He tries to think, but cannot feel emotion, for even when a neuron fires, it cannot communicate with other live neurons, for they are all dead, killed by the Dark Side. The few surviving neurons are severely damaged. The distances between live synapses are simply too great for any kind of neurotransmitter to work...

"Dammit..." The neurologist groaned. This level of brain damage...he's effectively a vegetable. He's going to need a complete rewiring of his brain...

Then she released herself from looking at the brain and then went to find the Godaime Hokage, Tsunade. Only she could help the neurologist with this...

Taylor simply popped out of the cockpit and reappeared in a small cloud of fire as Masakis are wont to do. Coredian troops were then ordered to send an engineering unit and some MPs to complete the capturing of the base.

Whitfield turned to Major Masaki, somewhat put off by his showiness. "So, who exactly do I talk to to start planning the next part of the operation? Yourself, the Admiral, or someone else?"

Reaching into the Force, the neurologist then placed a hand on the man's head and she gasped as she saw the extent of the damage. "What in the..."

"Dammit..." The neurologist groaned. This level of brain damage...he's effectively a vegetable. He's going to need a complete rewiring of his brain...

Then she released herself from looking at the brain and then went to find the Godaime Hokage, Tsunade. Only she could help the neurologist with this...

The unknown person just lay there, in near complete ignorance of his surroundings. The neurologist's words blurred together in his mind, and he knew not of their significance.

Whitfield turned to Major Masaki, somewhat put off by his showiness. "So, who exactly do I talk to to start planning the next part of the operation? Yourself, the Admiral, or someone else?"
"Me." The battalion commander, Colonel Maes Hughes came in out of the snow. He's a man with a thin coal-colored goatee, a pair of glasses and black hair, and suited in winter battle gear. He's also proficient with throwing knives. "So you're the Jedi Whitfield. I've heard about you."


The unknown person just lay there, in near complete ignorance of his surroundings. The neurologist's words blurred together in his mind, and he knew not of their significance.
"...and I've never seen such extensive brain damage before. It's awful!" The neurologist's voice grew louder as she brought back the Godaime. On the medical master's side was an aide named Shizune.

"All right. Let me take a look at him." Tsunade said as she entered the room. She sat on the chair the neurologist previously sat and placed a hand on the man's forehead and made her own diagonsis. Before too long...

"Shit. Shizune, cancel all my appointments for the next three days." Tsunade ordered her aide. "This is going to take a while."

"Godaime-sama." The girl bowed and went to do her duty.

"Pearl, go and get an anestheologist. With this level of damage, it's going to be tough if he's conscious." Tsunade ordered again and the neurologist went to find someone who can knock the guy into a dreamless sleep.

Soon, a Twi'lek doctor wheeling in a tank of anesthesia gas came in and on Tsunade's direction, plunked the mask over the brainwashed man's mouth and nose.

"Nighty-night. I'll fix your little problem." Tsunade smiled to the man, though she knew he won't understand. I hope...

"Me." The battalion commander, Colonel Maes Hughes came in out of the snow. He's a man with a thin coal-colored goatee, a pair of glasses and black hair, and suited in winter battle gear. He's also proficient with throwing knives. "So you're the Jedi Whitfield. I've heard about you."

"That would be correct." Whitfield read the Colonel's insignia and his namestrip, then bowed to the military commander. "And you must be Colonel Hughes. Now, why don't we hold a little conference in the bunker to figure out what to do next in this war, now shall we?"

"...and I've never seen such extensive brain damage before. It's awful!" The neurologist's voice grew louder as she brought back the Godaime. On the medical master's side was an aide named Shizune.

"All right. Let me take a look at him." Tsunade said as she entered the room. She sat on the chair the neurologist previously sat and placed a hand on the man's forehead and made her own diagonsis. Before too long...

"Shit. Shizune, cancel all my appointments for the next three days." Tsunade ordered her aide. "This is going to take a while."

"Godaime-sama." The girl bowed and went to do her duty.

"Pearl, go and get an anestheologist. With this level of damage, it's going to be tough if he's conscious." Tsunade ordered again and the neurologist went to find someone who can knock the guy into a dreamless sleep.

Soon, a Twi'lek doctor wheeling in a tank of anesthesia gas came in and on Tsunade's direction, plunked the mask over the brainwashed man's mouth and nose.

"Nighty-night. I'll fix your little problem." Tsunade smiled to the man, though she knew he won't understand. I hope...

The mystery man's eyes closed as he faded into a deep sleep. He had no idea whatsoever what was happening to him...

You logged out of MSN to get me to shut up, didn't you...:p

Lord Ebolus, after analyzing the data from the "Battle of Coredia," as he called it, decided to go on a shopping spree (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=9978916&postcount=122) to replenish the fleet. Ah, yes, the Holovid, properly censored, was a wonderful thing. The troops, he already had. Mindraped, that is. All he needed to do was mobilize the Navy Reserve, purged before his glorious takeover of the government...

...Watching the recordings of the battle, and the rebel scum so easily destroy three Immortals with such ease when they deployed their DropShips left Lord Ebolus in a not-so-favorable mood, however. Therefore, he decided to have a little fun...

He took his lightsaber, and a few bodyguards as he walked out onto the street, down a residential housing block. He cut open one of the doors, randomly chosen, with his lightsaber, and found a family, a man, his wife, and two children, inside. "Close off the door. Do not allow them to escape. I want to have a little fun with them."

"Yessir."

Blue bolts of Force lightning paralyzed the father in short order. The mother and children tried to flee, but were shoved back into the room by Ebolus' security guards, for him to do with them as he pleased. After Ebolus sent another jolt of Force lightning through the father's body, killing them, he turned to his guards. "Restrain them."

The guards stepped forward to stuncuff the three and threw them to the ground. One by one, Ebolus reached out with the Dark Side of the Force, tearing out their memories, their emotions, and anything that made them sentient. By the time he was through, mother and children only gave him a blank stare, unable to think for themselves at all.

Meh. They are of no use to me. But that was fun. Ebolus turned around and left the building, leaving the family to its fate.

Yeah, this is a bump...

"That would be correct." Whitfield read the Colonel's insignia and his namestrip, then bowed to the military commander. "And you must be Colonel Hughes. Now, why don't we hold a little conference in the bunker to figure out what to do next in this war, now shall we?"
"All right." Hughes nodded, then he seemed to grin as if trying to restrain his glee about something.

Taylor sweatdropped, knowing what was about to happen and whispered to the Colonel. "Please, Colonel. Not now. Business first."

The Colonel seemed to deflate and whispered back. "But she's soo cute..." He is, of course, referring to his toddler daughter.

"I'm keeping an eye on you..." Taylor replied in a sing-song fashion. "Look professional, at least."

"Oh, all right." The Colonel sighed and the two headed into the bunker.

The mystery man's eyes closed as he faded into a deep sleep. He had no idea whatsoever what was happening to him...

You logged out of MSN to get me to shut up, didn't you...:p
OOC: No. I had problems and I can't be bothered to log back in. Plus, I'm tired. Zzzzz....

IC:
Tsunade then focused a greenish energy on her hands and placed them on the man's head. Slowly, with the Force as her ally, she began to knit the neurons of the brain together. The brain is an extremely complex organ, the most complex of all in the body and to turn a brain-dead man back into something more or less normal will take all of her medical training and powers to do. And it will take at least two days to fully unshatter the mind...

"All right." Hughes nodded, then he seemed to grin as if trying to restrain his glee about something.

Taylor sweatdropped, knowing what was about to happen and whispered to the Colonel. "Please, Colonel. Not now. Business first."

The Colonel seemed to deflate and whispered back. "But she's soo cute..." He is, of course, referring to his toddler daughter.

"I'm keeping an eye on you..." Taylor replied in a sing-song fashion. "Look professional, at least."

"Oh, all right." The Colonel sighed and the two headed into the bunker.

Whitfield could sense the Colonel's glee about his toddler, but set that aside for the moment. "Colonel, the only reinforcements that successfully landed on this island are destroyed. That is where the Major and I went...to finish off the stormtrooper garrison a couple miles to the northwest. Now, there is an empty Mobile Field Base that can be disassembled and reassembled wherever, and it contains limited equipment to repair the BattleMechs you saw outside. Ten are in pristine condition; the ones that the Major and I piloted are, er, slightly scratched, but have no damage really worth repairing. However, they soon will be...

The other three sets of reinforcements landed at Great Woodytowne, to our south, Port Woody, to our northeast, and Fedawoody Island, a bit farther to the southwest. These reinforcements will continue the same policy of death that you have no doubt seen on the Holonet for as long as they possibly can. I suggest we move to liberate Great Woodytowne first, as it is the closest, and the first city-state to liberate itself the first time around. A victory there would also be a symbolic rallying point.

I believe that is, however, where the strongest garrison landed, though I would have to double-check that against sensor data. Oh, and see if you can't find some decent pilots for that equipment I captured before your arrival. You'll be glad you did."

Tsunade then focused a greenish energy on her hands and placed them on the man's head. Slowly, with the Force as her ally, she began to knit the neurons of the brain together. The brain is an extremely complex organ, the most complex of all in the body and to turn a brain-dead man back into something more or less normal will take all of her medical training and powers to do. And it will take at least two days to fully unshatter the mind...

Fourteen hours later

One by one, the Force brought life into deadened neurons and bound them together. As Tsunade slowly reconstructed the subject's brain, and as it gradually recovered, she would be able to sense the first signs of neural activity that had previously been disabled by the Sith mindrape. As the subject's brain regained the most rudimentary neural net, he had his first dream, actually more of a vision of his mind wandering through the universe. He saw the Milky Way from the heavens, and picked out some random star in one of its "arms," one of the backwater stars far from the galaxy's core.

Only the star was not quite so random, for it was the Sun, and looking down upon the solar system, he caught a brief glimpse of the one who had freed him...

His name is Whitfield.

As quickly as the dream started, it faded into the shadows of sleep...

While his neural reconstruction was far from complete, Tsunade would at least know she was heading in the right direction.

OOC: CoreWorlds, it appears that I'll be able to post occasionally. Restrictions aren't quite as bad as I thought, though I still won't have IM.

I might edit this into a random White Diamond IC post later...

The news blackout would soon end.

Well, almost.

Darth Ebolus watched the tapes of the Battle of Coredia again, splicing it into content viewable for the general public and content he would rather his subjects rather not see. He did not need the populace to see the assault against Earth, rather the battle would be cast as a glorious defense of the homeland...

He sat there, splicing out Jupiter from the background of some of the footage and putting in White Diamond in the background. It would be far enough away so that no one on the planetary surface could have seen the battle with the naked eye...

He embellished the ramming of the enemy command ships and added some commentary about the glorious commanders who had rammed their dying ships into the enemy command...

He lauded the new tactics of using tractor beams to force enemies to ram their own ships, pointing to the brilliantness of the Woodian commanders under his leadership...

...The hit-and-run planetary siege, the general public did not need to see. Nay, the first newscast since the coup would only contain good news.

OOC: *cough*

Whitfield could sense the Colonel's glee about his toddler, but set that aside for the moment. "Colonel, the only reinforcements that successfully landed on this island are destroyed. That is where the Major and I went...to finish off the stormtrooper garrison a couple miles to the northwest. Now, there is an empty Mobile Field Base that can be disassembled and reassembled wherever, and it contains limited equipment to repair the BattleMechs you saw outside. Ten are in pristine condition; the ones that the Major and I piloted are, er, slightly scratched, but have no damage really worth repairing. However, they soon will be...

The other three sets of reinforcements landed at Great Woodytowne, to our south, Port Woody, to our northeast, and Fedawoody Island, a bit farther to the southwest. These reinforcements will continue the same policy of death that you have no doubt seen on the Holonet for as long as they possibly can. I suggest we move to liberate Great Woodytowne first, as it is the closest, and the first city-state to liberate itself the first time around. A victory there would also be a symbolic rallying point.

I believe that is, however, where the strongest garrison landed, though I would have to double-check that against sensor data. Oh, and see if you can't find some decent pilots for that equipment I captured before your arrival. You'll be glad you did."
"I sure will. That will be done shortly. And uh...will you take a look at my daughter?!" He pulled out, despite the Major's groans, a small wallet with pictures of his cute little girl. "Isn't she cute? I love her so much!"

"Uh, we'll get some pilots and then we can start liberating Great Woodytowne." Taylor sweatdropped in embarrassment and pushed the fawning Colonel out the door. "Be back in a bit."

After a few minutes of getting the Colonel back on track, the Major soon selected a number of pilots not currently on duty to learn to drive the mechs until it is time to start liberation. Then he selected a backup brigade of mechanized death to follow up on the rebel mechs and help out whenever they could. This time, it would be necessary to use Mouko, he knew that much.

Fourteen hours later

One by one, the Force brought life into deadened neurons and bound them together. As Tsunade slowly reconstructed the subject's brain, and as it gradually recovered, she would be able to sense the first signs of neural activity that had previously been disabled by the Sith mindrape. As the subject's brain regained the most rudimentary neural net, he had his first dream, actually more of a vision of his mind wandering through the universe. He saw the Milky Way from the heavens, and picked out some random star in one of its "arms," one of the backwater stars far from the galaxy's core.

Only the star was not quite so random, for it was the Sun, and looking down upon the solar system, he caught a brief glimpse of the one who had freed him...

His name is Whitfield.

As quickly as the dream started, it faded into the shadows of sleep...

While his neural reconstruction was far from complete, Tsunade would at least know she was heading in the right direction.
Tsunade smiled a bit as she knew she was getting back on track, but she wasn't about to stop now. Not when a man's life was at stake. Not when she's getting closer and closer to victory over the Dark Side. She continued to heal, to knit neurons back together, to fight for his mind and soul, in effect. And she would not stop until he was healed, no matter what.

"I sure will. That will be done shortly. And uh...will you take a look at my daughter?!" He pulled out, despite the Major's groans, a small wallet with pictures of his cute little girl. "Isn't she cute? I love her so much!"

"Uh, we'll get some pilots and then we can start liberating Great Woodytowne." Taylor sweatdropped in embarrassment and pushed the fawning Colonel out the door. "Be back in a bit."

After a few minutes of getting the Colonel back on track, the Major soon selected a number of pilots not currently on duty to learn to drive the mechs until it is time to start liberation. Then he selected a backup brigade of mechanized death to follow up on the rebel mechs and help out whenever they could. This time, it would be necessary to use Mouko, he knew that much.

Whitfield stifled a groan at Taylor's efforts to get the Colonel back on topic. "You do realize that before I became a Jedi, I was a career politician, yes? I would have had him back on topic within thirty seconds, without the embarrassment." A slight grin crossed Whitfield's face.

He turned to face the Colonel. "Do you have some spare pilots experienced in piloting mecha? They should be trained in a short period of time." He cast a quick glance at the Major. "Your friend here was trained in one mission."

Tsunade smiled a bit as she knew she was getting back on track, but she wasn't about to stop now. Not when a man's life was at stake. Not when she's getting closer and closer to victory over the Dark Side. She continued to heal, to knit neurons back together, to fight for his mind and soul, in effect. And she would not stop until he was healed, no matter what.

OOC: I'll deal with this when the "time split" in the RP evens itself out.

Whitfield stifled a groan at Taylor's efforts to get the Colonel back on topic. "You do realize that before I became a Jedi, I was a career politician, yes? I would have had him back on topic within thirty seconds, without the embarrassment." A slight grin crossed Whitfield's face.

He turned to face the Colonel. "Do you have some spare pilots experienced in piloting mecha? They should be trained in a short period of time." He cast a quick glance at the Major. "Your friend here was trained in one mission."
"Yeah. We, or should I say Taylor, found another eight to go. They're practicing right now. Plus, we're getting some backup just in case." The Colonel answered. At least even he knows when it's time to get serious.


OOC: I'll deal with this when the "time split" in the RP evens itself out.

"Excellent. How experienced are the pilots that Major Masaki managed to find? Moreover, how much spare room do you have to accomodate our...presents? Maybe we shouldn't have destroyed those DropShips outright...

...At any rate, I probably should go back up there and start explaining some stuff that your men have never seen before."

"Excellent. How experienced are the pilots that Major Masaki managed to find? Moreover, how much spare room do you have to accomodate our...presents? Maybe we shouldn't have destroyed those DropShips outright...

...At any rate, I probably should go back up there and start explaining some stuff that your men have never seen before."
Taylor shrugged. "Yeah, that's a good idea. We do also have Orca-class dropships capable of handling those things. They're still hanging around somewhere."

OOC:
The Command and Conquer kind, of course.

Hey, I'm back, can you please get on MSN? I have new ideas :P

----------------------------

"Excellent. I should be on my way upstairs then. I'll probably be seeing you in the future, Colonel.

Major Masaki, you will want to come with me, for some additional training. You are not yet familiar with everything you should be. This is, of course assuming you wish to pilot one of the captured 'Mechs, rather than your own craft..."

"Excellent. I should be on my way upstairs then. I'll probably be seeing you in the future, Colonel.

Major Masaki, you will want to come with me, for some additional training. You are not yet familiar with everything you should be. This is, of course assuming you wish to pilot one of the captured 'Mechs, rather than your own craft..."
"I like those mechs." Taylor smirked as the Colonel left to give orders to his men. "I'll come with you."

Whitfield gave Taylor a nod. "Well, you will want to follow me then, for additional training. You better know where the eject switch is, because you won't be dealing with ragtag stormtroopers for long."

Whitfield climbed into his 'Mech, and waited for Taylor to climb into the one he had claimed earlier, then requested that all ten pilots report in. After this wait ended, he then started the briefing in his best luxury liner attendant voice:

"While many, OK, all of you have considerable experience piloting walkers and 'Mecha, it is my understanding that none of you, save Major Masaki, have any experience piloting the 'Mechs you are sitting in whatsoever. Major, even you will learn a few more tricks. Now, let us begin with the safety features of the Timber Wolf and Shadow Cat 'Mechs you now find yourselves in.

You will notice the biofeedback helmets stowed beside your seats. Ignore those, I'll get to them later. For now, you will notice a prominent red switch next to the throttle. Don't flip it or you'll be sent a couple of miles into the air. That is the eject switch. Yes, some of us will need to use them at some point. Don't be surprised if I do, because I will be the Sith Wraiths' first target.

That said, now put on your biofeedback helmets..."

The mecha drivers did so, after checking that the eject switch is there.

After everyone had their biofeedback helmets on, Whitfield continued. "You will notice a heads-up-display just appeared on your viewport. On the left side are sensor and heat indicators; on the right side are damage, throttle, and velocity indicators. A digital three-hundred-sixty degree compass appears on the top of the display.

The sensor display can be toggled to full screen mode, and it will appear in the center of your HUD, and take up pretty much the entire view. While it is transparent, and some MechWarriors like it this way, I personally find it distracting and keep it in the corner. It's your call, really.

You can also switch between active and passive sensors with little more than a thought, thanks to the helmets you're wearing. Passive makes you far more difficult to detect at long range, at least by most other 'Mechs, while active gives you far more information about long-distance enemies and more targeting information. Those of us who use the Force will have little need for active sensors, so please switch to passive now."

Whitfield waited for the various 'Mech pilots to comply before continuing. "The throttle and velocity indicators should be self-explanatory. Now we turn our attention to the damage indicator in the lower-right corner of the HUD. Green is good, yellow is OK, orange means you're starting to lose armor, and red means you've lost most of it, and your internal components will soon be exposed. You can switch the color-coding to a more precise graph by component to indicate damage.

That said, damage to 'Mechs is highly compartmentalized. If your arm gets blown off, you'll lose a weapon and maybe a heat sink, but the rest of the 'Mech is still in fighting condition. At any given point, it is possible for one section to be heavily damaged while the rest of the 'Mech is in pristine condition. The torso is divided into left, right, and center sections; your power plant is in the center. The center torso is thus the most heavily armored part of the 'Mech, but it's also the biggest target. Some weapons are also mounted on torso sections.

Most of our designs, including all of the ones you will be using, have the ability to 'torso twist' for added maneuverability in battle. This is the BattleMech's equivalent of a turret.

Now, we turn our attention to heat, which is a major concern with the weapons configurations you have. Too much, and the fusion reactor will have to shut down to avoid overloading. If you override the shutdown and continue to generate more heat, the reactor will overload and go critical, and you don't want that. Yes, Taylor, there is a way for you to have a bit of fun with this, and I'll get to it in a moment. Please wait just a moment for further instruction."

Whitfield reached out with the Force to probe the cockpits of the two unmanned 'surplus' Shadow Cats, the lightest 'Mech class in the group. He used the Force to manipulate controls until the two 'Mechs ran about six hundred meters away, then stopped and turned around. Whitfield deliberately positioned one a bit closer than the other.

"Now, we resume. Everyone, pay attention to your heat indicators as you take a few potshots at the closest 'Mech, for it's the quickest way to explain heat problems..."

The newbie Mechwarrior pilots then began testing their various energy weapons, knowing enough about mechs to conserve the projectile weapons for the battles to come.

As a show of red, green and blue raced towards the targeted Shadow Cat, its armor withered until, about twenty seconds later, it blew up. While the Coredians were new to piloting these varieties of mecha, their aiming skills proved...highly transferable.

Whitfield's voice once again filled the comm system. "Don't let the quick destruction fool you, for the target you just destroyed has armor at least as strong as, and probably stronger than, an AT-AT, and was overwhelmed by sheer firepower that few ground vehicles possess.

Headshots provide the quickest, cleanest kills--if you can make them. They'll also leave equipment that can be salvaged in a matter of hours; all it takes is a cockpit replacement. Though that is a bit difficult at the moment.

Anyway, if you were paying attention, you will note that firing those energy weapons spiked your heat indicators quite a bit, and you probably all heard warning klaxons. You will also have noticed how quickly it dissapated. This means one thing: Cool your weapons down a bit, or your 'Mech will want to shut down on you, to prevent your own butt from getting fried. Good heat management will prevent this.

Now, if you happen to like to start Force fires, the next part of the lecture is for you." Whitfield smiled as he thought of how much fun Taylor would have with this concept. "If you have pyrokinetic abilities, as I do, they can be tweaked to bring down a 'Mech. Major Masaki, pay attention. With the Force, not just your ears."

Whitfield allowed Masaki a few seconds to get the hint and start reaching out with the Force, so he would observe in sufficient detail for him to replicate this demonstration later, under combat conditions. After he made sure he had Masaki's attention, he reached out with the Force, to scan the surviving Shadow Cat. He partially closed his eyes in concentration as he found its fusion reactor, and he started manipulating its hydrogen molecules and fusing them. Of course, the Force would keep him aware of other threats.

After a few seconds, the reactor registered far more activity then normal, and a pilot inside the 'Mech would have noticed a huge heat spike. The 'Mech automatically shut down as heat problems threatened to overwhelm it.

But Whitfield wasn't done overloading the reactor; he continued forcing fusion to occur even after shutdown. A few seconds later, the reactor initiated emergency automatic containment procedures as it went critical, destroying just about everything within seventy-five meters.

"Oh, and one other thing, try to stay at least a hundred meters from your targets."

Nice trick. Manipulation of the hydrogen atoms to produce uncontrolled fusion... Taylor analyzed the proceedings. I could do that...

"Good show, Whitfield." He answered with a smirk.

"One last thing...with the exception of the throttle, which for the sake of old-fashioned pilots can be manipulated manually, 'Mech movement is controlled directly by your thoughts. If you want the 'Mech to walk forward, it will. If you want it to run, it will. If you want it to turn, it will. That is what the biofeedback helmets are for, and if you're a Jedi, you'll be very quick indeed. Very few systems, such as ejection, firing weapons, and such, remain outside of the direct control of your thoughts---though your mind can still aim the weapons by positioning the arms and torso sections. Experiment with this now, and learn it, for it will come in most handy..."

Whitfield smirked. "Major Masaki, you're welcome."

For the next few moments, the pilots learned how to use their minds to manipulate the mechs. Quite a change from joysticks and control pads indeed.

Another lesson they must learn. They will be dealing with Sith Wraiths. How to emphasize this point?

Whitfield meditated on this question as the others figured out the finer points of 'Mech control, keeping his mind closed to even Taylor Masaki. Finally, a solution, a test, emerged...

He waited a few minutes for the allied pilots to experiment some more before starting his test. His voice revealed no hint of emotion at all. "All 'MechWarriors, your attention please. Fire your weapons at me."

"Uh...could you repeat that please?" A young Lieutenant in one of the mechs named Ross asked politely.

Taylor, never a polite Knight, heaped abuse on the old Jedi. "Are you insane, old man? Because if you are, there's a hospital that I can book you in with the label 'Super Senile ex-Fire Jedi - Beware' on your door!"

Between the two extreme reactions were mutterings of dissent and 'crazy old man' and similar words and phrases.

Whitfield listened to the comm, maintaining his mental block that would make even other Jedi unable to detect much, if any emotion. For he had none at the moment, except a bit of irritation directed at Taylor.

"Yes, you heard me correctly. Fire your weapons at me."

As if to emphasize his point, two bolts of superheated blue energy flew about three meters above Masaki's 'Mech...and he of all trainees would know that Whitfield didn't miss at close range unless he wanted to miss.

In time, they will understand...

"FINE! But if you get killed, I'll kick your ass!" Taylor yelled angrily. With a sigh to calm himself down, he and the other mech pilots trained their weapons upon Whitfield and opened fire.

Whitfield took advantage of the half-second or so before weapons targeted themselves at him to remove his biofeedback helmet, a luxury he would not have in combat, knowing that headshots had a severe tendency to "kickback" into the brain as a giant stress headache.

He had barely set it aside when Masaki sent a couple of blue bolts right into the cockpit, and the energy from the first hit dissapated over the viewport shell. Deprived of his HUD, Whitfield had to make exclusive use of the Force to know when to pull the eject switch; he did not return fire.

Shots from the other 'Mechs peeled away mostly at his torso and leg armor, for those sections provided the biggest targets, but Whitfield occupied the most heavily armored 'Mech fielded by Evil Woody Thoughts, so the 'Mech could withstand this at least for a moment...

Masaki's PPCs are almost done recycling...

Whitfield pulled the eject switch and catapulted for about two miles above his little field of battle. Less than a second after ejection, two blue PPC bolts struck the spot where the cockpit had been, now only semiexposed internal structure, and the 'Mech fell backwards, to be salvaged and repaired.

The ejection "pod" deployed its retrorockets and Whitfield found a bumpy, but safe, landing within fifteen minutes walking distance of the base, with some minor bruises, but nothing serious. He would have to get the Colonel and all of his shocked trainees into one room...

Taylor and the other pilots piled out of their mechas and mulled around as the Colonel drove up in a little jeep to find out what the hell just happened here.

"Colonel. He is one crazy bastard. He told us to fire on him and were it not for the ejection seat, he would have been killed!" Taylor railed.

"Calm down, Major. We'll have to sort this out." Colonel Hughes placated the Major. "Besides, if you don't, I'll have you soaked down with a hose."

Taylor opened his mouth to yell some more, then decided against it. Waterlogged clothes and ignition gloves in the middle of winter is something that's not particularly fun for this Fire Knight.

"Good." Hughes smiled. And as Whitfield came back. "Do explain why we just lost an important piece of equipment, Mr. Whitfield."

Whitfield looked around at the trainees and noted their reactions before turning to face the Colonel.

"Colonel, the ejection pod is about one and a half kilometers to the west. When this is recovered, and that Mobile Field Base moved, that thing can be ressurected in fifteen hours or less."

He stepped back so he could face the entire crowd of shocked military veterans. "I just showed you, in a one minute demonstration, one of the biggest reasons why the Fifth and Sixth Fleets got their butts handed to them.

While this is only the second war my nation has ever experienced in our history, that does not mean that we have made a national pastime of skimping on the military, though recent events would make us wish that we had. For now, it is turned against us.

You most certainly didn't expect me to do this demonstration, but it was a necessary one. I'm surprised that you, Taylor excepted, opened fire on me as soon as you did. For decades, a central tenet of Woodian military doctrine has been to do the unexpected.

Your fleet's commanders, I sensed, were caught off guard by the creative use of the tractor beam and ramming immediately upon, if not slightly before, shield collapse. They could not adequately respond until halfway through the battle, and then it was too late.

A predictable enemy can easily be countered. My nation has therefore emphasized flexibility for commanding officers, as you saw in the space battle. And the Dark Lord, an admiral himself, is quite aware of this.

The 'MechWarriors you will face are the same Sith Wraiths that I drew out and fought using lightsabers. They are under direct control of the Dark Lord. Therefore, expect the unexpected."

Whitfield looked straight at Taylor. "I tell you, the Force war that met your arrival here will not be the last. That is all."

"Expect the unexpected, eh?" The Colonel smirks. "Something that always seems to slip our minds. Well, we will have to fix that mech. Let's get to it."

Taylor merely huffed and stuck his hands in his pockets as the mecha was beginning to be serviced after the ejection seat was brought back. The mobile base was also taken back to the main base to repair it.

"Very well. We need only replace the cockpit and repair the internal structure behind it for now. You shall see why."

Whitfield went to gather the rebel technicians who were familiar with such things as mecha and mobile field bases, and helped to set up the MFB himself. Shortly after dawn, as the winds and the snow let up just a bit, the MFB materialized as a portable hangar, empty except for supply stocks, its equipment, and technicians. Whitfield's damaged Timber Wolf found its way to the MFB, as the Jedi used the Force to position it to be manipulated by heavy equipment. While he was used to more monecular manipulation, he usually did this on a fairly large scale, so repositioning a 120-ton 'Mech posed little problem for him.

He personally supervised the rebel technicians as they trained Coredian techies in BattleMech repair and salvage. By noon, as the storm overhead abated, having deposited two feet of snow, and the winds finished calming, the cockpit had been replaced, though it remained almost completely unarmored, and the rest of the 'Mech's armor had yet to be replaced. Whitfield ascended the rungs up to the partially salvaged, partially replaced, cockpit, and powered up the 'Mech in its damaged state.

"Everybody must leave the MFB. The rest of the repair can be automated, and it'll be a hell of a lot faster," Whitfield called out over the intercom. He waited for everyone to leave the building, then exited the MFB in his equipment.

He went not a hundred meters before turning around, lowering his throttle to twenty percent, and re-entering the field base. As his 'Mech entered the hangar, he came to a complete stop, and shut it down.

The automated machinery within the MFB detected his 'Mech, and rightly interpreted the shutdown as a command to repair and refit. While the machinery was not by itself enough to completely salvage a 'Mech, it could replace armor in a matter of minutes and reload weapons from the MFB's ammo stores. Whitfield watched the sparks fly for a moment as the MFB automatically flash-welded new armor onto the 'Mech.

A minute or so later, he powered back up, and as the MFB exit doors automatically slid open, he walked his 'Mech out of the enclosure. While the Coredian onlookers would still believe the 'Mech fought one too many battles from its outward appearance, it nonetheless was in full repair...

"Very nice. Very useful." The Colonel smiled as he watched the mech come out. "And it even has the 'experienced' look."

It would soon be time. The Orca dropships are coming near to pick up the Mechas and prepare the attack. The troops are ready to kick Sith ass. And Taylor has mulled over the little lesson the old man has taught him about expecting the unexpected. While it was quite the unusual one, Whitfield did have a point...

7 August 2070, 0440 GMT -2
22 nautical miles NE of Great Woodytowne Landing Zone

Commander Suskind stepped off of the bridge of the old battlecruiser EWS Justice to breathe the crisp, early winter air courtesy of the storm two days ago, having transfered his Coredian satellite recon data to the gunners who would soon have cause to use it. As he took in the cold air he loved so much, he looked up to see a multitude of stars that, just two weeks ago, would not have been visible from this point because of city lights, now nearly completely dimmed by the ravenous effects of war.

He brought his gaze down to sea level, and looked upon the dimmed lights of the Justice's sister ship, the EWS Revenge, and the four surviving missile destroyer escorts. The sister ship shall live up to her name today, he thought to himself.

The Revenge flashed a message in Morse code, indicating that the two battlecruisers' main guns were within range of the shoreline using unassisted conventional shells. Commander Suskind knew what that meant, and took one last sip of his morning coffee before heading back to the ship's bridge.

He knew that, because the Woodian Archipelago islands had almost no continental shelf, 'Mechs would be unable to wade into the ocean to intercept him, as they might had the landing been scheduled to occur on flatter terrain. The miniature rebel fleet was effectively beyond range of all retaliation except for missiles and airstrikes, and the escorts could handle those.

After he reentered the ship's bridge, he ordered the Justice and Revenge to aim their sum of eighteen sixteen-inch main guns at the four enourmous DropShips a little over twenty nautical miles to the southeast.

A minute or so later, the quiet predawn morning was quiet no more as loud explosions emanated from the two ships' guns and eighteen shells fired, in tandem. About fifteen seconds later, gunners reloaded more presents, and the two ships pumped another round of deafening, terrifying ordinance into the air...

Today, the voices of two hundred million dead and another hundred million missing would make their voices heard. And their voices would not be pleasant.

Commander Suskind allowed a faint smile to cross his countenance, for the liberation force was not far behind.

They came in a swarm not so different from that of a killer bee swarm. Fighters, zooming mere meters above the waterline to keep sensors from detecting them, were first. With telemetry from the satellites they knew where the targets were as they made their final adjustments to the flight path. They popped up upon reaching the coastline and began locking on targets with missiles and torpedos. And then they were let loose. Loosed on the Dropships until the cows come home.

And then, the main force roared over the horizon with the rising sun. LAAT gunships bristling with beamlaser cannons and carrying hundreds, perhaps thousands of troops. Orca dropships with vehicular units of all sizes, from the small hover MRLS platforms to the huge AT-TEs and Mecha, were in the main swarm of mighty war machines of the Coredian Interstellar Marine Corps. Leading this army was the command gunship of the Colonel, the Major and the Jedi Whitfield.

Well, here we are, about to kick some Sith ass. Taylor grinned. And I'm in the middle of it. Whoo hoo! Alright, temper yourself, Taylor, or else your twin will chew your ass out. Gotta keep your mind on the here and now and the battle...

As the Orca transports neared the shoreline, Whitfield watched the four DropShips withstand the blossoming explosions from the rebel naval bombardment. Unfortunately for the invasion force, the DropShips returned fire with blue bolts of energy lighting up the clear night sky and gauss rifle rounds, more easily detected by hearing then sight.

He had one final warning for the newly minted MechWarriors. "The armor is not as thick in the rear. Do not show your back to the enemy unless you must retreat immediately, and try to outflank whenever possible."

As the LAATs saturated the air with blue laser fire, Whitfield watched explosions blossom on the ground below him as flowers bloom in the spring.

Without warning, a bad feeling overcame him, and it had nothing to do with conventional weapons...

The four Sith Wraiths charged with guarding the Great Woodytowne Landing Zone wasted no time in climbing up to the cockpits of their three Timber Wolf IVCs and the remaining Shadow Cat IIC. Nevertheless, five hundred meters or so from the action, they remained powered down inside their newly constructed prefabricated hangar (OOC: not a MFB), to avoid detection, as they awaited instruction from their Master, even as the stormtroopers in the immediate vicinity of the DropShips met their slaughter. They vaguely sensed that Jedi had come, one of them the hated Whitfield, one of them young...and vunerable to the Master's will.

Meanwhile, somewhere on White Diamond Prime, the Dark Lord awoke from his slumber, sensing that his servants had detected conflict. As he got up to meditate, the Sith Wraiths' feeble, untrained Force senses shot forward as a blaster bolt.

This new Jedi. Inexperienced is he. Much anger in him. An eagerness for war. Brash. Full of conflicting feelings regarding Jedi Whitfield. Yes, Whitfield did something this Taylor found a bit odd...senile, even. A perfect candidate for my next Wraith...or apprentice.

The Master's will would be done. The Wraiths powered up their equipment, for they would soon be detected anyway, if not by conventional sensors, as Force proxies.

As the DropShips finally succumbed to the naval bombardment, the four Wraiths made their presence known. They concentrated their fire on the despised Jedi Whitfield, even as they acted as Force couriers on behalf of their Master...

The Master concealed his identity as he began his initial mind probe. Jedi Taylor. You know that Jedi Whitfield has proven his insanity, even to your very eyes. I know he ordered you to fire upon him. Therefore, you must complete the order left unfulfilled...

As young five-year-old John Watsen was wrestled out of his prison cell before dawn and handcuffed by what he could only describe as zombie guards, he sensed something...amiss.

Whatever power had killed his parents now found itself fighting a new enemy. An enemy that sought liberation...

...but this new battle was not with bombs, but instead, an overwhelming psionic war that the boy unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, observed. While he knew it had something to do with his earlier communication with the Jedi Whitfield, his mind was too young to understand the intracacies of this new psionic warfare.

All he could get out of it, at least for now, was one gigantic headache.

He pulled his attention away from the overwhelming distraction as best he could and tried to focus his mind on playing along with the "school" curriculum, even though he knew that the teachings therein justified the loss of his family as necessary, and therefore were not to be trusted. He might buy this if his parents had died naturally, but their lives were instead cut short by darkness, and not the ordinary nighttime kind. He prepared himself to nevertheless regurgitate the evil teachings verbally, while renouncing them deep inside. It would at least keep him alive until this war ended...

...or so he hoped.

You are destined to survive this war...

The thought appeared in his mind, then drifted away as does the wind.

OOC: bump

The four Sith Wraiths charged with guarding the Great Woodytowne Landing Zone wasted no time in climbing up to the cockpits of their three Timber Wolf IVCs and the remaining Shadow Cat IIC. Nevertheless, five hundred meters or so from the action, they remained powered down inside their newly constructed prefabricated hangar (OOC: not a MFB), to avoid detection, as they awaited instruction from their Master, even as the stormtroopers in the immediate vicinity of the DropShips met their slaughter. They vaguely sensed that Jedi had come, one of them the hated Whitfield, one of them young...and vunerable to the Master's will.

Meanwhile, somewhere on White Diamond Prime, the Dark Lord awoke from his slumber, sensing that his servants had detected conflict. As he got up to meditate, the Sith Wraiths' feeble, untrained Force senses shot forward as a blaster bolt.

This new Jedi. Inexperienced is he. Much anger in him. An eagerness for war. Brash. Full of conflicting feelings regarding Jedi Whitfield. Yes, Whitfield did something this Taylor found a bit odd...senile, even. A perfect candidate for my next Wraith...or apprentice.

The Master's will would be done. The Wraiths powered up their equipment, for they would soon be detected anyway, if not by conventional sensors, as Force proxies.

As the DropShips finally succumbed to the naval bombardment, the four Wraiths made their presence known. They concentrated their fire on the despised Jedi Whitfield, even as they acted as Force couriers on behalf of their Master...
The Command gunship lurched suddenly to the side as fire from the Wraiths rained upwards towards them.

"We've got incoming! Hold on!" The Colonel yelled.

But Taylor Masaki, though holding on tight, wasn't concerned with falling off. He was already stretching his mind forward to the enemy mecha, and locked onto one of the fusion chambers. As taught by Whitfield, he began smashing the hydrogen atoms faster than the reactor could handle, quickly overloading it.

Meanwhile, a squadron of fighters opened fire with their missiles on the enemy mechas, followed up by a flight of gunships slicing their beamlasers towards them.

As the assault began, Taylor noticed a presence trickling into his mind...

The Master concealed his identity as he began his initial mind probe. Jedi Taylor. You know that Jedi Whitfield has proven his insanity, even to your very eyes. I know he ordered you to fire upon him. Therefore, you must complete the order left unfulfilled...
So you're the Sith Master... Taylor smirked. Nice try, bub. Whitfield may be senile, but I'm not about to kill him because of the word of an old fool like you...

The Command gunship lurched suddenly to the side as fire from the Wraiths rained upwards towards them.

"We've got incoming! Hold on!" The Colonel yelled.

But Taylor Masaki, though holding on tight, wasn't concerned with falling off. He was already stretching his mind forward to the enemy mecha, and locked onto one of the fusion chambers. As taught by Whitfield, he began smashing the hydrogen atoms faster than the reactor could handle, quickly overloading it.

Meanwhile, a squadron of fighters opened fire with their missiles on the enemy mechas, followed up by a flight of gunships slicing their beamlasers towards them.

The other eight Wraiths on the island sensed Jedi, especially a particularly distateful one by the name of Whitfield, and, for the time being, ceased to slaughter anyone who dared venture out into the street with their rapid-firing pulse lasers. Instead, they headed to reinforce the battle, for they were compelled to by that dark power that controlled their minds...

Meanwhile, the Wraith piloting one of the Timber Wolves vaguely sensed something wrong with his fusion reactor. As his heat indicator rose rapidly without explanation, he turned to his Master for direction...

Taylor is frying your reactor. Eject. The reply came in a fraction of a second, for the Wraith was incapable of refusing an order. An ejection pod rocketed towards the rising sun about a second before the 'Mech became a giant fireball. He would have to be dealt with later...

Meanwhile, as the Wraiths directed their fire at Whitfield, he rammed his throttle up to maximum and started running around the battlefield at sixty miles per hour to evade their fire, and somehow maintained near-perfect target lock in the process. Nevertheless, sections of his armor started flash-melting under the heavily concentrated enemy fire. Keeping careful track of damage indicators, he returned fire with his particle projector cannons and pulse lasers, and fired a few rounds of missiles as his anti-missile system ("AMS") intercepted a few rounds of its own, the rest splashing the 'Mech in miniature detonations.

As he took down the Shadow Cat with a perfectly-aimed pair of blue bolts to the cockpit, he sensed that something was wrong with Taylor, and not the "senile fool" rhetoric of the last day or so...

The other two Timber Wolves present staggered a bit as their armor absorbed the missile impacts. They responded by diverting a few rounds of pulse lasers to the enemy fighters. The Wraiths noticed their torso section armor deteriorating just a bit as the LAAT fire started to slowly melt away at the armor; however, their Master estimated they would last at least until reinforcements came.

As the assault began, Taylor noticed a presence trickling into his mind...

So you're the Sith Master... Taylor smirked. Nice try, bub. Whitfield may be senile, but I'm not about to kill him because of the word of an old fool like you...

Young fool. You underestimate me. Regardless of what brash statements you make now, you will become my servant...much anger there is in you...

The Dark Lord's little mind probe quickly and suddenly became much more sinister. A dark fist sledgehammered Taylor's mind as Darth Ebolus prepared a full-blown mindrape that would require Taylor's full attention and then some if he, with his rash, angry, and impetuous mind was to have any chance of repelling it at all...

...But Taylor was not alone. The Jedi he now regarded as "senile" and crazy had dealt with this before, for liberating a Sith Wraith by proxy Force war was no easy feat...

Nay, Taylor knows that the order to which you refer was simply an unusual training excercise--YOUR power-driven madness shall be countervailed!

So, Jedi Whitfield, we meet again. However, this time you have some distractions to deal with, don't you? Ebolus reached out through one of his Wraiths and added an extra "charge" of Force lightning to his 'Mech's twin PPCs.

Whitfield, sensing what was about to happen, removed his biofeedback helmet, which in the event of a headshot would not mix well with Force lightning and could leave him with permanant brain damage and really senile. As he switched to manual controls, the Sith Wraith that Ebolus had fixed his attention upon at the moment opened fire with the Force-enhanced PPCs.

Whitfield fought for consciousness as the dark blue energy bolts fried his cockpit. As his controls, including backups, went inert, Whitfield had no choice.

He had to eject as the Sith Wraith prepared another round.

Neither of you can withstand my wrath.

The crisp, cold air helped him to clear his mind and focus once again on Taylor. A few seconds later, he came to a hard landing behind one of the shattered DropShips, behind the line of battle...

Armored vehicles started landing immediately and opened fire on the Wraith driven craft. On cue, Taylor teleported to his mech and once it landed, used his quicker-than-normal reflexes to deal with the enemy Wraiths while trying to beat back the Sith's advances on his mind. It was very tough work to multitask in such a fashion, but he barely managed it. Barely.

Meanwhile a gunship spotted Whitfield and landed behind the dead dropship.

"Are you ok, sir?" A trooper yelled.

"Yes. Defer any medical checkups your commanders may wish to perform on me until the battle ends," Whitfield yelled back to the trooper as he scurried to the DropShip rubble, so he might conceal himself and be able to concentrate fully on the path that he now found himself upon.

Meanwhile, the eight 'Mech reinforcements arrived at the scene, four of which were the dreaded 120-ton heavy-assault Timber Wolf IIICs. All of the Wraiths concentrated PPC fire on one 'Mech at a time, sparing Taylor to keep him alive so that he might become the Master's newest slave. However, they did take occasional potshots for the sake of distracting Taylor, for the Master saw his mind as comparatively immature for a Jedi, mostly due to his...aggressive...personality traits, which of course would serve the Dark Side quite well. While their PPCs recharged, the Sith Wraiths fired their large assortment of pulse lasers at the fighters, in order to remove the most-easily-removed threat to them.

When the Wraiths weren't taking potshots at Taylor to distract him, they aimed their deadly particle projector cannons for headshots at the traitor rebel MechWarriors, their aim, of course enhanced from already veteran-accurate levels by the influence of the Dark Lord.

Even as the ten remaining Wraiths fired upon the enemy, the two originally stationed at the DropShip site experienced further wilting of their armor under fire from the fighters, LAATs, and Taylor. Taylor, however, found his aim somewhat diminished by the distraction of the mindrape, and most of his hits impacted on the legs and heavily-armored torso sections instead of scoring immediate headshot kills. Nevertheless, these two 80-tonners had about half of their pulse lasers fried by the onslaught.

As Taylor split his attention between fighting the Wraiths and fighting the mindrape, Ebolus intensified his attack. Young, inexperienced fool. Your resistance will soon be crushed, for you are too busy reveling in superficial conventional warfare to have developed sufficient defenses. You are now mine, to do with as I please.

Whitfield countered from underneath the debris of one of the DropShips, where he had managed to cloak himself quite well. How arrogant of you to assume that you have disposed of me! Remember what happened last time you made that assumption? He used the Force to reach out to one of the Wraiths, and through the Wraith's hive mind, he personally observed the Dark Lord, and used the Force to send him flying into the wall from seven hundred light-years away. Once again.

Ebolus simply climbed back onto his feet, and Whitfield dived to avoid falling DropShip debris, courtesy of the Dark Lord.

Maybe this wasn't such a good place for my desired seclusion, Whitfield thought to himself as he scurried, cloaked by a combination of his Jedi cloak and mind tricks, to another off-battlefield location.

Darth Ebolus took advantage of Whitfield's other concerns to press his mindrape still further. You shall be my slave, and do my will. Resistance is futile.

Taylor gritted his teeth as he was forced to devote more energy to resisting the mindrape and had to pull off his helmet to do so. I...don't...think...so!

He suddenly had an image of the Dark Lord, then focused a flame attack down the mental link to fight back.

Meanwhile, the other mecha pilots did their best to keep the enemy off of Taylor, going for the heads as they were crash-trained. In addition, turbolaser fire from the walker units and heavy artillery fire from the Ursons put the pressure on the mecha units as missile fire continued to rain down on the enemy from fighters and bombs as well as torpedoes and ion cannons from bombers.

It was getting tough today!

Losses:
3 mechs.
several fighters and gunships.

As Jedi Whitfield found a suitable hiding spot somewhat away from the back-and-forth fire, he once again turned his attention to young Taylor Masaki...

Meanwhile, as Taylor attempted to directly ignite the Dark Lord's clothing, the flames vanished, leaving only a trace of thick, greasy, dark smoke in their wake, as Darth Ebolus absorbed the Force energy--then gathered it in the darkest corners of his mind and channeled it through one of his Wraiths.

Suddenly, Darth Ebolus' selected Sith Wraith suddenly found himself endowed with the ability to call down Force lightning strikes from the heavens, and the command to use it.

In a matter of seconds, five dark bolts of terrifying Force lightning, originating in the absence of inclement weather as high as the charged particles in the ionosphere, appeared in the heavens, struck the battlefield, sending the few remaining stormtroopers running for any cover they could find. Even if the dark lightning failed to strike Taylor or Whitfield, it would be incredibly distracting.

As the burst of Force lightning faded, Ebolus shifted his concentration from the proxy Force storm to fully bending Taylor to his will, for he sensed he was almost there. He poured yet more concentration into the effort, through his Wraiths; he only needed one...

You are my servant. It is your destiny.

After Whitfield evaded the Force lightning strokes, he sensed that Taylor once again faced imminent danger. He gathered all the strength in the Force he could muster after the dark lightning strike, and directed his thoughts to the nearest Wraith, through whom he could see the Dark Lord...

"Darth Ebolus, you are not so powerful as you assume, for even now you become desperate to hold onto points on a map that you can no longer claim!"

As Whitfield hurled forth these words, Darth Ebolus flew backwards, through a locked door, and its mahogany wood shattered from the impact. Ebolus felt several vertabrae break, and the blow left him physically paralyzed from the abdomen down. He used dark Sith techniques to suck the life force out of the plants decorating the room, and as they rapidly withered, his physical pain waned.

He concentrated once again on Taylor...

Meanwhile, the saturation of enemy fire destroyed four of the Sith Wraith 'Mechs, with two of the kills scored against the heaviest units, both of them headshots that killed the Wraiths piloting them instantly, the other two of the lighter Shadow Cat IIC chassis. A fifth suffered moderate damage as the enemy directed leftover weapons capacity against it.

As Jedi Whitfield found a suitable hiding spot somewhat away from the back-and-forth fire, he once again turned his attention to young Taylor Masaki...

Meanwhile, as Taylor attempted to directly ignite the Dark Lord's clothing, the flames vanished, leaving only a trace of thick, greasy, dark smoke in their wake, as Darth Ebolus absorbed the Force energy--then gathered it in the darkest corners of his mind and channeled it through one of his Wraiths.

Suddenly, Darth Ebolus' selected Sith Wraith suddenly found himself endowed with the ability to call down Force lightning strikes from the heavens, and the command to use it.

In a matter of seconds, five dark bolts of terrifying Force lightning, originating in the absence of inclement weather as high as the charged particles in the ionosphere, appeared in the heavens, struck the battlefield, sending the few remaining stormtroopers running for any cover they could find. Even if the dark lightning failed to strike Taylor or Whitfield, it would be incredibly distracting.

As the burst of Force lightning faded, Ebolus shifted his concentration from the proxy Force storm to fully bending Taylor to his will, for he sensed he was almost there. He poured yet more concentration into the effort, through his Wraiths; he only needed one...
Several fighters were downed by the devastating Force lightning, but that's not the worst of it. Taylor's mecha was struck by the Force Lightning hard enough to force an eject before it detonated, and Taylor did so, shooting high into the air before landing a little hard. The good thing about it is that he can now devote more attention to warding off the Sith Lord.

You are my servant. It is your destiny.

After Whitfield evaded the Force lightning strokes, he sensed that Taylor once again faced imminent danger. He gathered all the strength in the Force he could muster after the dark lightning strike, and directed his thoughts to the nearest Wraith, through whom he could see the Dark Lord...

"Darth Ebolus, you are not so powerful as you assume, for even now you become desperate to hold onto points on a map that you can no longer claim!"

As Whitfield hurled forth these words, Darth Ebolus flew backwards, through a locked door, and its mahogany wood shattered from the impact. Ebolus felt several vertabrae break, and the blow left him physically paralyzed from the abdomen down. He used dark Sith techniques to suck the life force out of the plants decorating the room, and as they rapidly withered, his physical pain waned.

He concentrated once again on Taylor...
With the lull in the psychic pressure, Taylor began overloading another mecha's reactor with the Force. Once that was done, Mouko came along, and Taylor jumped to mount the large mecha cat's back. He figured that moving quickly to decrease the lock Ebolus has on him and taking down the larger mecha with Mouko's pack will kill two birds with one stone.

Meanwhile, the saturation of enemy fire destroyed four of the Sith Wraith 'Mechs, with two of the kills scored against the heaviest units, both of them headshots that killed the Wraiths piloting them instantly, the other two of the lighter Shadow Cat IIC chassis. A fifth suffered moderate damage as the enemy directed leftover weapons capacity against it.
As the weapons cycled to cool down, the remaining mecha, having just lost another two, moved swiftly to avoid return fire and once the heat was dissipated, they continued concentrating fire on another Wraith as the other armored units continued to attack the enemy.

As the weapons cycled to cool down, the remaining mecha, having just lost another two, moved swiftly to avoid return fire and once the heat was dissipated, they continued concentrating fire on another Wraith as the other armored units continued to attack the enemy.

The last remaining Shadow Cat fell to the heavy enemy fire, as well as the two eighty-ton, fourth-generation Timber Wolves that had somehow escaped the concentration of enemy fire after they had had half of their weapons destroyed. This left two of the heavy assault 'Mechs and one of the heavies...

Several fighters were downed by the devastating Force lightning, but that's not the worst of it. Taylor's mecha was struck by the Force Lightning hard enough to force an eject before it detonated, and Taylor did so, shooting high into the air before landing a little hard. The good thing about it is that he can now devote more attention to warding off the Sith Lord.

With the lull in the psychic pressure, Taylor began overloading another mecha's reactor with the Force. Once that was done, Mouko came along, and Taylor jumped to mount the large mecha cat's back. He figured that moving quickly to decrease the lock Ebolus has on him and taking down the larger mecha with Mouko's pack will kill two birds with one stone.

The Wraith targeted by Taylor's efforts to overheat his 'Mech followed the same order given the Wraith who had encountered the massive unexplained heatspike before, and ejected less than a second before his reactor went critical, leaving only the two heaviest 'Mechs in its wake...

As Taylor positioned his lighter, somewhat more agile Mouko for melee attacks, the mindrape returned in full force as Darth Ebolus recovered his concentration, for even if the two remaining 'Mechs met destruction, the Dark Lord could still channel his Force war through the Sith Wraiths that had ejected...

Do not think I am so easily defeated, young one. I shall own you as I own my cloak. Succumb now, or become a Wraith, just like them. You have no choice. It is your destiny.

Jedi Whitfield sensed the renewed psionic assault, and quickly reached out with the Force to find one of the ejected Sith Wraiths, one not in immediate danger of death, one through which he could retaliate against Ebolus. He found one of them, and scanned deep into his mind for information on Ebolus' surroundings, and through him, he saw Ebolus crawling on the dark wooden floor...a potent fuel source.

Your evil shall be purged by flames of purification, Dark Lord, and your dark hold over this island shall be broken.

That will not work, rebel scum. Taylor already tried that, and it didn't get him anywhere...

How quickly you forget what happened the last time, Darth.

As Whitfield said this, he concentrated intensely on the Dark Lord's surroundings as the floor and walls around him ignited, surrounding him in flame. However, Whitfield remained careful to leave a buffer zone of a few feet lest the Dark Lord absorb the energy and redirect it into another mini-Force storm.

You shall die for this, rebel scum! Darth Ebolus issued angry parting words as he was forced to turn his attention to events closer to home.

Your hold over Great Woodytowne is broken.

As the Dark Lord summoned his brainwashed guards to pull him out of the fire, his concentration on Taylor and the Wraiths surrounding him broke...

...and as the influence of the Dark Lord was purged from the Sith Wraiths "defending" Great Woodytowne, they were left as braindead as their previously liberated counterpart. Now unable to understand their surroundings, they stopped everything, stopped their fire, and having had their experience purged and replaced by what Darth Ebolus had desired, were left with nothing. They could not even recall how to exit their mecha.

Whitfield, knowing from experience what had just happened, immediately reached out to scan their minds, and once again found masses of dead neurons surrounding the few left alive, attempting to fire but having nowhere to send their messages. He knew that the former Wraiths had the neither the mental capacity to continue fighting, nor the capacity to surrender.

He scrambled to extract his comlink from the pockets of his Jedi robe. As soon as he found it, he switched it on to say presicely one thing to the entire attack force:

"HOLD!"

---------------------------

Meanwhile, on Jurai...

Tsunade smiled a bit as she knew she was getting back on track, but she wasn't about to stop now. Not when a man's life was at stake. Not when she's getting closer and closer to victory over the Dark Side. She continued to heal, to knit neurons back together, to fight for his mind and soul, in effect. And she would not stop until he was healed, no matter what.

As Tsunade continued her operation, her patient's mind flared up in another vision, of the present, a galaxy away.

The one who liberated me continues his campaign, bringing an assault force to another landing zone. He brings with him another powerful person, a person whom the one who enslaved me covets. The dark one seeks a replacement...

It was the Force war between Taylor Masaki and Jacob Whitfield on one side and Darth Ebolus on the other that he sensed...

...As a former Sith Wraith, with his mind only partially repaired, he was especially sensitive to such things. And the surge in Dark Force energy through the Dark Lord's other proxies put him in significant danger of relapse.

His still-developing mind struggled in the subconscious to repel the dark energy, aided by the sheer distance between him and the other Wraiths. Tsunade would sense a sudden burst of neural activity outside of her control in the limbic system and portions of the cerebral cortex.

The former Wraith did all he could do at this point, with only a developing mind and only the subconscious mind to work with. This is wrong. Enslavement is evil... It was more a reflexive emotional reaction...

...But it would just barely be enough. His fight against relapse to the Dark Side needed only last a few minutes, as he sensed the Dark Lord finally overwhelmed, and the liberation of four more slaves, such as he had existed. A thin smile crossed his face, even as he drifted back into full slumber.

His reconstruction neared completion as more neurons ressurected themselves and knitted together. He would regain consciousness by daybreak, about ten hours away.

The last remaining Shadow Cat fell to the heavy enemy fire, as well as the two eighty-ton, fourth-generation Timber Wolves that had somehow escaped the concentration of enemy fire after they had had half of their weapons destroyed. This left two of the heavy assault 'Mechs and one of the heavies...
The concentration of fire continued on one of the assault mech as 1st Lieutenant Ross and the remaining five mechas, all in various stages of damage, continued to fight for a land not their own and yet for the freedom that they will bring. Two pilots from the other broken five managed to bail out of their mechs while three died, making it seven pilots still alive, not counting Whitfield and Taylor.


The Wraith targeted by Taylor's efforts to overheat his 'Mech followed the same order given the Wraith who had encountered the massive unexplained heatspike before, and ejected less than a second before his reactor went critical, leaving only the two heaviest 'Mechs in its wake...

As Taylor positioned his lighter, somewhat more agile Mouko for melee attacks, the mindrape returned in full force as Darth Ebolus recovered his concentration, for even if the two remaining 'Mechs met destruction, the Dark Lord could still channel his Force war through the Sith Wraiths that had ejected...

Do not think I am so easily defeated, young one. I shall own you as I own my cloak. Succumb now, or become a Wraith, just like them. You have no choice. It is your destiny.
"Aaah!" Taylor clutched his head as waves of pain from the Dark Lord's latest assault pounded his mind. He struggled to concentrate, to strengthen his mental shields, to fight back. He was always the weakest telepathist of the Clan but he still is strong enough to give Ebolus the good fight.

Jedi Whitfield sensed the renewed psionic assault, and quickly reached out with the Force to find one of the ejected Sith Wraiths, one not in immediate danger of death, one through which he could retaliate against Ebolus. He found one of them, and scanned deep into his mind for information on Ebolus' surroundings, and through him, he saw Ebolus crawling on the dark wooden floor...a potent fuel source.

Your evil shall be purged by flames of purification, Dark Lord, and your dark hold over this island shall be broken.

That will not work, rebel scum. Taylor already tried that, and it didn't get him anywhere...

How quickly you forget what happened the last time, Darth.

As Whitfield said this, he concentrated intensely on the Dark Lord's surroundings as the floor and walls around him ignited, surrounding him in flame. However, Whitfield remained careful to leave a buffer zone of a few feet lest the Dark Lord absorb the energy and redirect it into another mini-Force storm.

You shall die for this, rebel scum! Darth Ebolus issued angry parting words as he was forced to turn his attention to events closer to home.

Your hold over Great Woodytowne is broken.

As the Dark Lord summoned his brainwashed guards to pull him out of the fire, his concentration on Taylor and the Wraiths surrounding him broke...
In the link with Ebolus, Taylor 'saw' what Whitfield did and then he was released from the painful blows, gasping for breath as if he's been running all day. He learned at least one lesson out of several: that Whitfield was not as senile as the young Knight thought. Another tactic in the bag...

...and as the influence of the Dark Lord was purged from the Sith Wraiths "defending" Great Woodytowne, they were left as braindead as their previously liberated counterpart. Now unable to understand their surroundings, they stopped everything, stopped their fire, and having had their experience purged and replaced by what Darth Ebolus had desired, were left with nothing. They could not even recall how to exit their mecha.

Whitfield, knowing from experience what had just happened, immediately reached out to scan their minds, and once again found masses of dead neurons surrounding the few left alive, attempting to fire but having nowhere to send their messages. He knew that the former Wraiths had the neither the mental capacity to continue fighting, nor the capacity to surrender.

He scrambled to extract his comlink from the pockets of his Jedi robe. As soon as he found it, he switched it on to say presicely one thing to the entire attack force:

"HOLD!"
The force of Whitfield's command was such that everyone stopped, aside from infantry fighting infantry. The larger mechas, walkers and other armored vehicles like heavy tanks and such all ceased firing on the enemy mecha.

And Taylor and several other of the Jedi within the military understood why...

---------------------------

Meanwhile, on Jurai...

As Tsunade continued her operation, her patient's mind flared up in another vision, of the present, a galaxy away.

The one who liberated me continues his campaign, bringing an assault force to another landing zone. He brings with him another powerful person, a person whom the one who enslaved me covets. The dark one seeks a replacement...

It was the Force war between Taylor Masaki and Jacob Whitfield on one side and Darth Ebolus on the other that he sensed...

...As a former Sith Wraith, with his mind only partially repaired, he was especially sensitive to such things. And the surge in Dark Force energy through the Dark Lord's other proxies put him in significant danger of relapse.

His still-developing mind struggled in the subconscious to repel the dark energy, aided by the sheer distance between him and the other Wraiths. Tsunade would sense a sudden burst of neural activity outside of her control in the limbic system and portions of the cerebral cortex.
And so Tsunade did, as she poured her own calm energies into aiding the former Wrath fight off the dark energy, at the same time continuing to heal.

The former Wraith did all he could do at this point, with only a developing mind and only the subconscious mind to work with. This is wrong. Enslavement is evil... It was more a reflexive emotional reaction...

...But it would just barely be enough. His fight against relapse to the Dark Side needed only last a few minutes, as he sensed the Dark Lord finally overwhelmed, and the liberation of four more slaves, such as he had existed. A thin smile crossed his face, even as he drifted back into full slumber.

His reconstruction neared completion as more neurons ressurected themselves and knitted together. He would regain consciousness by daybreak, about ten hours away.
Tsunade smiled a bit. Halfway through. But something tells me that there's going to be more than this one coming in. Best prepare for that event, girl.

The concentration of fire continued on one of the assault mech as Sergeant Furey and the remaining five mechas, all in various stages of damage, continued to fight for a land not their own and yet for the freedom that they will bring. Two pilots from the other broken five managed to bail out of their mechs while three died, making it seven pilots still alive, not counting Whitfield and Taylor.

A third-generation Timber Wolf staggered backwards as it absorbed the last rounds of the battle, its pilot oblivious to what was going on. However, its heavy armor absorbed nearly all the punishment dealt to it, with minor damage to internal structure, fortunately for the hapless former Wraith inside.

Had Jedi Whitfield not been so quick with the commlink, he most certainly would have died just about ten seconds later.

"Aaah!" Taylor clutched his head as waves of pain from the Dark Lord's latest assault pounded his mind. He struggled to concentrate, to strengthen his mental shields, to fight back. He was always the weakest telepathist of the Clan but he still is strong enough to give Ebolus the good fight.

In the link with Ebolus, Taylor 'saw' what Whitfield did and then he was released from the painful blows, gasping for breath as if he's been running all day. He learned at least one lesson out of several: that Whitfield was not as senile as the young Knight thought. Another tactic in the bag...

Whitfield sensed the young Knight contemplating today's lessons, and smiled as he got up, although he knew there was more to be done...

The force of Whitfield's command was such that everyone stopped, aside from infantry fighting infantry. The larger mechas, walkers and other armored vehicles like heavy tanks and such all ceased firing on the enemy mecha.

And Taylor and several other of the Jedi within the military understood why...

Whitfield stood up, a bit stiff from the aftereffects of the Force lightning, a stiffness that he had willed away and ignored whilst he concentrated on the Force war. However, as the ache made itself known, Whitfield thought it might be a good idea to get checked out by the medics, albeit after more urgent business was addressed.

"Colonel, please ready medical transports, and initiate search-and-rescue operations for the Sith Wraiths that ejected. I know the latter is an unusual request, but they are no longer servants of the Dark Lord, their minds shells emptied of the Dark Side. They are too confused to fight and too confused to surrender, for they depended on their former Master for instruction.

They are now innocent, having been forcibly enslaved by Darth Ebolus. They are now emancipated, but they have no capacity for thought left, for it was purged and is beyond my ability to replace.

They will need their entire brains reconstructed at Jurai, as quickly as possible."

After making this request, Whitfield walked toward the battlefield as quickly as his stiffness would allow, in other words, not very quickly at all. He activated his primary lightsaber to deflect stray blaster bolts from the remaining infantry-to-infantry fighting.

As he approached the damaged, but still standing 'Mech that now appeared frozen in time due to lack of pilot action, he shortened his lightsaber blade to the minimum two feet before using the Force to flash-cool half-melted rungs. He climbed up the cooled rungs, used the lightsaber to cut open the ingress hatch, and quietly removed the biofeedback helmet from the former Wraith's head, receiving only a listless look in turn. He simply waited for the medics to arrive, and he would similarly assist the brain-damaged pilots of the other two surviving 'Mechs after he had offloaded this one.

---------------------------

And so Tsunade did, as she poured her own calm energies into aiding the former Wraith fight off the dark energy, at the same time continuing to heal.

Tsunade smiled a bit. Halfway through. But something tells me that there's going to be more than this one coming in. Best prepare for that event, girl.

The unknown man vagely gave thanks deep within the recesses of the subconscious mind, then drifted back off to sleep.

Whitfield stood up, a bit stiff from the aftereffects of the Force lightning, a stiffness that he had willed away and ignored whilst he concentrated on the Force war. However, as the ache made itself known, Whitfield thought it might be a good idea to get checked out by the medics, albeit after more urgent business was addressed.

"Colonel, please ready medical transports, and initiate search-and-rescue operations for the Sith Wraiths that ejected. I know the latter is an unusual request, but they are no longer servants of the Dark Lord, their minds shells emptied of the Dark Side. They are too confused to fight and too confused to surrender, for they depended on their former Master for instruction.

They are now innocent, having been forcibly enslaved by Darth Ebolus. They are now emancipated, but they have no capacity for thought left, for it was purged and is beyond my ability to replace.

They will need their entire brains reconstructed at Jurai, as quickly as possible."
"All right. Thanks for the info." The Colonel said. Then he made a quick call to his other Jedi to confirm it. Once it was confirmed, a medical ship was called in to pick up the former Wraiths, not to mention the other wounded.

After making this request, Whitfield walked toward the battlefield as quickly as his stiffness would allow, in other words, not very quickly at all. He activated his primary lightsaber to deflect stray blaster bolts from the remaining infantry-to-infantry fighting.

As he approached the damaged, but still standing 'Mech that now appeared frozen in time due to lack of pilot action, he shortened his lightsaber blade to the minimum two feet before using the Force to flash-cool half-melted rungs. He climbed up the cooled rungs, used the lightsaber to cut open the ingress hatch, and quietly removed the biofeedback helmet from the former Wraith's head, receiving only a listless look in turn. He simply waited for the medics to arrive, and he would similarly assist the brain-damaged pilots of the other two surviving 'Mechs after he had offloaded this one.
While Whitfield was doing the assisting on the mechs, Taylor led a charge to rout the stormtroopers crawling around and keep them off Whitfield and the now braindead Wraiths, using his lightsaber and Force abilities as well as the cougar to defeat the white-clad enemies. Once or twice, he even managed to snap his fingers, sending out red sparks that surrounded a trooper and ignited him until the suit became deadly hot for him.

---------------------------

The unknown man vagely gave thanks deep within the recesses of the subconscious mind, then drifted back off to sleep.
Tsunade broke off for a moment to take a drink of water and then she went right back to work healing the man's mind.

As the last stormtrooper holdouts were cut down, medics arrived on the scene, and Knight Whitfield frisked the former Wraith for his lightsaber. The Wraith did not seem to care, offering Whitfield only a glazed look in his eyes. "Get up and walk to the medics outside, hands up."

If there was one thing that these former Wraiths still understood, it was following orders; however, Wraiths freed from the Dark Side would follow any order, not just those of their (former) Master. This was why they required treatment so quickly...

Whitfield exited the 'Mech first, so the former Wraith would have room to get out. The former slave walked to the nearby medical transport without really knowing why.

As Whitfield ascended the rungs of a second 'Mech, he summoned the Colonel over the commlink. "Don't forget about the Wraiths that ejected--they need to be found and treated as well." He activated his lightsaber and cut the door open without waiting for a response, and repeated the process of directing the freed Wraith to the waiting medical transport.

After delivering up the second emancipated Wraith, he repeated the process for the third and final (excluding the search and rescue operations for those who ejected) braindead combatant.

OOC: I will RP the Tsunade/former Wraith treatment after a few NS hours, a.k.a. a few posts, have passed.

The other former Wraiths were found and also ordered to follow the soldiers to the medical ship. The ship quietly waited for the brain dead before it will take off.

As Jedi Whitfield completed his "urgent business," he turned his attention finally to his own needs, most notably the treatment for the aftereffects of the Force lightning, both that fired at his 'Mech and that from the mini-Force storm. Stiffness mostly, probably due to some combination of bone calcification and light central nervous system damage. He wiggled his fingers and noticed they were a bit less dextrous than normal.

He approached a Coredian medic and requested a bit of help in the matter...

After treatment, he intended to oversee salvage operations. With lots of headshot kills to go around, he figured the salvage should be quite good, although there wouldn't be enough pilots for all the salvaged equipment...

...though that meant the pilots that survived would have a bit more leeway in choosing their 'Mech.

The medic took a cursory look at Whitfield and noticed the familiar effects of lightning damage, likely from a Sith Lord. "Ah. Then you'll need some de-paralysis potions. I believe the field hospital over there has a few." He pointed his thumb to a few hundred meters to the east where a MCV (Mobile Construction Vehicle) just set up a forward base now that the enemy was defeated.

Taylor however, needed no such treatment, though the Colonel insisted on him getting a checkup anyway. His usual cocky response was, "Hell, I've been shocked so many times by Daniel, I've developed a resistance to Force Lightning attacks."

"Yes, yes. But you're not immune, so hop to it." The Colonel smirked before continuing the assessment of the Battle for Great Woodytowne. Taylor grumbled but headed to the treatment center anyway. Colonel Hughes took a look at the casualty reports. "Five of those new mechas down, ten fighters gone, three gunships destroyed, six standard vehicles gone. One hundred fifty soldiers lost so far, but it's slacking off now that we've captured the city...hum hum...not a bad start, all thing considered...better make sure that all resistance is gone..."

He then had squads of troops go through the city section by section to make sure that there's no resistors.

Jacob Whtifield walked slowly to the indicated field hospital to request the treatments the medic had told him about. While he waited in line for the medication to be dispensed, he came across Taylor, whose displeasure towards the Colonel for ordering him to submit to a checkup would have been obvious to any Jedi.

"Watch that hothead, Major, for that is why the Dark Lord targeted you, and no matter how much you may boast about the outcome, I doubt you want to go through that experience again.

Speaking of the source of your...displeasure...do you know where I might find the Colonel after I receive treatment?"

Taylor sighed at Whitfields admonishment. "You're right. I don't want that experience again. The Colonel's over at headquarters." He pointed.

As Taylor responded to Whitfield's question, his turn in the line came up. "Excuse me for a moment."

He turned to the pharmacist, who upon learning of Whitfield's Force-lightning injuries, handed him a tiny bottle of clear liquid, saying only, "Here's a dose of what you need. Should start working in a half an hour." She seemed quite stressed by her ever-increasing workload.

Whitfield drank the dose of medicine, then turned to face Taylor again. "Thank you for the information. May the Force be with you." He then headed towards the small prefabricated building, still somewhat under construction, that Taylor had pointed to.

Upon reaching the temporary headquarters, Whitfield found the Colonel. "Hello again, Colonel Hughes. I come to you with additional counsel..."

"Ah. I see." The Colonel pulled off his glasses and rubbed them with a hanky. "Just a couple of things. What possessed you to order my troops to hold their fire? And then there's that little bit when you ordered the new mecha pilots to fire upon you. What the hell is up with that? As much as I hate to say it, I agree with Taylor that you may be losing your touch..."

Whitfield took a deep breath. "After I had the trainees fire upon me, I explained that everyone, from the 'MechWarrior to the top command, should expect the unexpected when engaging Woodian forces.

Taylor sees why I did this now. As you are not Force-sensitive, you remain unable to see this, for half the battle remained hidden from you. The 'unexpected' that I had warned about came about in a form far more sinister than the tractor-beam ramming observed in space a few days ago.

The Dark Lord attempted to mindrape Taylor, through his Sith Wraith slaves, and convert him to the Dark Side. This was the 'surprise' that I counseled your forces to expect, but only the Jedi would have been affected by the resulting Force war, while everybody else, from the infantry up to you, remained oblivious to it. The only manifestation of the Force war you would have noticed is the brief Force storm that forced Taylor to eject.

My order to hold fire is closely related to the outcome of this Force war. As Taylor defended himself against the mindrape attempt, I managed to break the Dark Lord's concentration and divert his attention to more...local...issues. Let's just say that the Dark Lord isn't too eager for another Force war at the moment, but I digress a bit.

When the Dark Lord lost his concentration, he relenquished his direct control, his mindlink, over the Sith Wraiths. As he had purged their brains a month or so ago of any capacity for independent thought, and replaced their thoughts with his own malice, the severing of the mindlink left them nearly completely braindead.

While under normal circumstances, the three survivors would have surrendered, they lacked the ability to even initiate a thought process that would lead them to surrender precisely because they had been mindraped a month ago. While I could sever the link between the Dark Lord and his slaves, emancipating them from the Dark Side's continuing influence, I could not restore to them their sentience, their ability to think, their ability to realize 'oh, fudge, i better find a white flag, and quick.' Yet only Jedi would realize this quickly enough to stop firing. By the time your conventional troops would have realized the enemy was no longer interested in fighting, at least one of the Dark Lord's freed victims would have died. The person whom I extracted first would not have lived another ten or fifteen seconds without intervention, and the death of someone who had been enslaved, and left with the mental capacity of an infant, unable to enjoy or even understand his newfound freedom, would have been not only a tragedy but morally reprehensible, accidental or not.

Hence, I was forced to intercede on behalf of those I freed from Ebolus, and issue the order to hold fire. As I believe I said before, they will need intensive neuralregenerative therapy to recover, therapy that neither I nor anyone on this planet that I know of can provide. They will have to be sent to Jurai.

You can confirm all of this with Taylor if you wish, Colonel Hughes. I apologize for any misunderstandings, and hope I have adequately explained my position."

Despite fighting the boredom of a politician's speech, Colonel Hughes gave it some thought. He knew he would never have the same gifts as the Jedi had. But he has been around them too long to deny the Force's strength. And dangers. "I guess under the circumstances, we all did what we had to do. But please, please try to warn me -or at least the Major with that telepathy of yours- before doing something like that again. It's disconcerning to say the least." He put his glasses back on. "Well, what's next in this campaign?"

"Well, once the Force war started, Taylor and I were both a bit busy to warn you about much of anything, and occasionally I need to react to events with no chance to give advance warning. Nevertheless, I see where you would find such things disconcerting, and I will take your concerns into account.

As for what is next, several of the downed 'Mechs are salvageable. If you can find some heavy airlift capability, I'd advise moving the MFB and its technicians over here for repairs and salvage ops. Even if we can't find enough pilots for all of the 'Mechs, we would be able to give more of our existing pilots access to heavier equipment, in place of the scout 'Mechs, which are largely redundant with your existing reconaissance abilities.

You would probably never think to salvage one of your walkers in the way our mecha are designed to be salvaged, but ours are insanely expensive to build and therefore, reused whenever possible."

"Well, sometimes we can salvage our walkers if they managed to survive relatively intact, but I disgress. I'll see what I can do to get the MFB over here." The Colonel then made for his comms and speed-dialed a number. "Hughes here. I'll need airlift capability for the Mobile Field Base down...oh? Ok. Thank you."

"They said if it's disassembled, we can carry 'em. and a transport will be provided for the techies." The Colonel said to Whitfield.

"Excellent. The next closest enemy landing zone is Fedawoody Island, about sixty nautical miles to the west-southwest. Not quite as heavily populated as Great Woodytowne or Olde Woody City, but a city-state nonetheless. It is home to the most elite hospital Evil Woody Thoughts maintained on Earth, fully modernized, and as such, it should have discharged most of the local insurgency casualties by now. Perhaps it could be used to take a bit of stress off of your field medics." After he had finished hinting at his plan, he excused himself and left.

While he waited for the field base to arrive, he found a relatively quiet area, away from the hustle and bustle of logistical personnel scurrying around. As he sat down to meditate, he turned his thoughts towards White Diamond.

And he found one imprisoned five-year-old, bullshitting his way through a "school" that taught nothing more than Dark Side propaganda, while silently rejecting the teachings deep within his mind.

A boy only about three hundred miles from Darth Ebolus, who had sensed the great Force war a half hour or so ago due to said proximity of one of the participants, a boy who had silently struggled to fight off the aftereffects of the Dark Lord's mindrape attempt on Taylor, and somehow managed to conceal it from his "instructors," who fortunately for him were not Force-sensitive, only brainwashed zombies.

As the nurturing of the Light Side, unknown to the child, had assisted the former Wraith in his fight against remission, so did Whitfield's strength in taking the initiative away from the Dark Lord buy young John Watsen just enough time, strength and mental fortitude to resist the shadow of the mindrape attempt on Taylor.

As Whitfield meditated, he sent a message to the youngling, one of hope: Do not despair in your surroundings, for this day saw liberation of people enslaved to the Dark Side. He sensed the flame of joy rise deep within the boy's mind, even if he was too afraid at the moment to reply, understandable given his surroundings.

Meanwhile, to the north, technicians disassembled the mobile field base into about twenty prefabricated parts and loaded them upon the Coredian transport craft. By noon, the technicians and the mobile field base they were charged with operating had arrived at the Great Woodytowne encampment. As the technicians rushed to reassemble the MFB within an hour, Jedi Whitfield concluded his meditation, for he now had work to do.

He 'borrowed' a couple of technicians, and walked with them around the battlefield to evaluate the salvageability of fallen mecha. Both Whitfield's and Taylor's mecha were found to be highly salvageable, with nary a destroyed weapon, just some electronics to rewire and cockpits to rebuild. They then surveyed the other fallen mecha, and it became clear that, because there were so many easily-salvaged headshots in the battle, the rebellion would be in the somewhat unusual position of ending the battle with more equipment than it began.

At least it would be unusual to the Coredians, who seemed accustomed to losing equipment in battles and only recovering a little bit from salvage operations, and perhaps a bit more from captured, but not destroyed technology.

Unfortunately, the rebellion also ended the battle with fewer MechWarriors available to operate said equipment. Nevertheless, Whitfield requested that everything be salvaged, so that ejected 'MechWarriors could obtain a 'spare' and fight while their own 'Mech was being rebuilt.

Technicians also managed to pilfer a few operational weapons off of the shells of 'Mechs whose power plants had been completely torn asunder by the battle, whose reactors had gone critical, leaving nothing but their shells. A few weapons were all these 'Mechs had to offer. While the techies perused the fallen equipment, mecha that had withstood the battle were sent, one by one, to the Mobile Field Base to have their damaged armor replaced.

As the ejection pods were recovered and nightfall set in, technicians spent several hours remounting the fallen 'Mechs' cockpits, repairing internal structure, replacing a few destroyed weapons with the extras pilfered off of the otherwise useless, totaled mecha. These salvaged 'Mechs were then sent off one by one to the Mobile Field Base to have their armor and ammuntion refitted, in a timely, automated manner.

By morning, six, not the original four, heavy-assault Timber Wolf IIICs had been made ready for another battle, as well as five of the somewhat lighter Timber Wolf IVCs and six of the Shadow Cat IIC scout 'Mechs. It was quite clear that the nine surviving 'MechWarriors (including Whitfield and Taylor) would be receiving an aggregate upgrade in equipment.

However, the MFB's supplies were not inexhaustible, and seemed likely to run out after the next battle. Whitfield sent a proposal to the Colonel that the landing on Fedawoody Island be conducted away from the DropShips, while a small escort attended to the Free Woody Thoughts Navy as it would wait until after the establishment of a beachhead to bombard said DropShips at long range. He hoped to draw the Wraiths away from the DropShip, a likely event considering his mere presence, so a "replacement" MFB could be captured.

Unfortunately, in the firestorm of this battle, the enemy Mobile Field Base had been too damaged to use...

Meanwhile, on Jurai...

As the first rays of sunlight appeared over the horizon, deep within the hospital ward, the unknown former slave finally awoke.

His eyes fluttered open, then squinted at the bright florescent lights of a hospital room. He saw a mysterious female standing above him, but was not afraid, for he sensed that this was the same healer who had helped him so much, helped him fight the darkness, conferred upon him the ability to enjoy and understand the gift that the mysterious Whitfield had given him three days ago.

While most of his capacity to independently think of questions had been restored, he still struggled to articulate them. While he wanted to know where he was, and where Whitfield was, he struggled to find the words to ask. Nevertheless, he felt strangely at peace...

"Where...am I?" He paused for a few seconds as he formulated his next question. "And where...is Mr. ...Whitfield?"

OOC: His mental restoration is about 80-85% complete, just so you know.

The rebellion will pay.

As the Dark Lord grudgingly gave consent to a trip to the bacta tank to address his below-the-waist paralysis, he found himself unable to think of anything other than plotting his revenge upon the traitorous rebellion.

An orbital siege hadn't worked.

Invasion hadn't worked.

But he realized there was still one option as he meditated in the bacta tank, for there was nothing else for him to do, really, except simmer over the loss of more of his Sith Wraiths, and Taylor Masaki's...escape.

An option given to him by, of all people, Jacob Whitfield, the one whom he hated, some forty-odd years ago. If I cannot subjugate the rebellion, then I will flatten it.

After his stay in the bacta tank, he would have to peruse the strategic deterrent information locked deep within the military...documents that up until now, he had scarcely noticed because the deterrent in question had been declared "obsolete" with the mass procurement of more "advanced" technology since.

"Excellent. The next closest enemy landing zone is Fedawoody Island, about sixty nautical miles to the west-southwest. Not quite as heavily populated as Great Woodytowne or Olde Woody City, but a city-state nonetheless. It is home to the most elite hospital Evil Woody Thoughts maintained on Earth, fully modernized, and as such, it should have discharged most of the local insurgency casualties by now. Perhaps it could be used to take a bit of stress off of your field medics." After he had finished hinting at his plan, he excused himself and left.
"Hmm. Would be a good idea..." The Colonel mused and then he let Whitfield leave to conduct planning ops with his aide, Captain Havoc.

While he waited for the field base to arrive, he found a relatively quiet area, away from the hustle and bustle of logistical personnel scurrying around. As he sat down to meditate, he turned his thoughts towards White Diamond.

And he found one imprisoned five-year-old, bullshitting his way through a "school" that taught nothing more than Dark Side propaganda, while silently rejecting the teachings deep within his mind.

A boy only about three hundred miles from Darth Ebolus, who had sensed the great Force war a half hour or so ago due to said proximity of one of the participants, a boy who had silently struggled to fight off the aftereffects of the Dark Lord's mindrape attempt on Taylor, and somehow managed to conceal it from his "instructors," who fortunately for him were not Force-sensitive, only brainwashed zombies.

As the nurturing of the Light Side, unknown to the child, had assisted the former Wraith in his fight against remission, so did Whitfield's strength in taking the initiative away from the Dark Lord buy young John Watsen just enough time, strength and mental fortitude to resist the shadow of the mindrape attempt on Taylor.

As Whitfield meditated, he sent a message to the youngling, one of hope: Do not despair in your surroundings, for this day saw liberation of people enslaved to the Dark Side. He sensed the flame of joy rise deep within the boy's mind, even if he was too afraid at the moment to reply, understandable given his surroundings.
Meanwhile, on Jurai, somewhere within the Jedi Temple...

Old Alex sits at his marbleoak desk, looking through an old-fashioned crystal ball that actually is designed to boost clarivoyant ability when he meditates with it. He often uses it to check up on certain people in the galaxy and even places beyond.

"Hello. Who's this?" He asked when in one of his meditation sessions, he spotted a small boy sitting in what looks like an average classroom. But there was something different about the child. The Light Side surrounded this very small John Watsen like a shield, protecting him from the Force wars currently raging at Woodian Archipelago. Then his farsight gaze turned back to Taylor. He put two and two together. "Hmm. It appears this child will be important to Taylor in the near future. I shall have to watch him closely."

Alex continued to meditate as a spectator to the battles raging on Earth.

*snip long-winded posts*

By morning, six, not the original four, heavy-assault Timber Wolf IIICs had been made ready for another battle, as well as five of the somewhat lighter Timber Wolf IVCs and six of the Shadow Cat IIC scout 'Mechs. It was quite clear that the nine surviving 'MechWarriors (including Whitfield and Taylor) would be receiving an aggregate upgrade in equipment.

However, the MFB's supplies were not inexhaustible, and seemed likely to run out after the next battle. Whitfield sent a proposal to the Colonel that the landing on Fedawoody Island be conducted away from the DropShips, while a small escort attended to the Free Woody Thoughts Navy as it would wait until after the establishment of a beachhead to bombard said DropShips at long range. He hoped to draw the Wraiths away from the DropShip, a likely event considering his mere presence, so a "replacement" MFB could be captured.

Unfortunately, in the firestorm of this battle, the enemy Mobile Field Base had been too damaged to use...
In the morning, after everyone has gotten at least a few hours of sleep, the so-called 'Mechwarriors decided that they would be taking the larger mechs and leaving the scout mechs here due to the fact that the hover MRLS vehicles and (Godulan-bought) Timberwolves will easily double as nimbler recon units. Besides, they can always be used for spare parts.

Then, a few hours after sunrise, the Master Yosho sea battlegroup reached the archipelago after fighting their way through a particularly nasty early winter storm that slowed them down. They will surely add their considerable firepower and logistical aid to the battle.

The Order of Battle of the famous battlegroup of the First Coredian Fleet (there are three sea fleets) are as follows:

1 Force-class Supercarrier, the Master Yosho itself.
3 Saber-class escort carriers (VTOL craft)
3 Knight-class battleships
4 Lightbearer-class missile cruisers
6 Starbeam-class multirole destroyers
7 Thunder-class frigates

3 Shadow Wolf-class attack subs

Note: Antiaircraft weaponry are high-ROF laser cannons. The main cannons of the battleships fire railslugs that are capable of being thrown at hypersonic speeds.

Meanwhile, on Jurai...

As the first rays of sunlight appeared over the horizon, deep within the hospital ward, the unknown former slave finally awoke.

His eyes fluttered open, then squinted at the bright florescent lights of a hospital room. He saw a mysterious female standing above him, but was not afraid, for he sensed that this was the same healer who had helped him so much, helped him fight the darkness, conferred upon him the ability to enjoy and understand the gift that the mysterious Whitfield had given him three days ago.

While most of his capacity to independently think of questions had been restored, he still struggled to articulate them. While he wanted to know where he was, and where Whitfield was, he struggled to find the words to ask. Nevertheless, he felt strangely at peace...

"Where...am I?" He paused for a few seconds as he formulated his next question. "And where...is Mr. ...Whitfield?"

OOC: His mental restoration is about 80-85% complete, just so you know.
"You are in the Jedi Temple's neurology ward. I am Tsunade of the High Council. Jedi Whitfield is on Earth, fighting to liberate Free Woody Thoughts." Tsunade smiled. "I am almost finished with the healing. Hold on a little longer. Can you remember your name?"

"Hmm. Would be a good idea..." The Colonel mused and then he let Whitfield leave to conduct planning ops with his aide, Captain Havoc.

Whitfield glanced around the room, looking for this Captain Havoc. He found someone with a captain's insignia quite quickly, wearing a winter camoflage. battle-dress uniform. He quickly glanced at the namestrip, surrounded by patches of white, grey, and light, icy blue, and confirmed that this was indeed the person he was looking for.

He realized he would need to contact Commander Suskind to plan further logistics than what he had already outlined. Sensing that Captain Havoc was not interested in the State of the Rebellion Address, and that he hadn't paid much attention to the speech he gave to the Colonel, he instead broke out pen and notepad and started scribbling down a summary of his plan. When he was finished, he handed his proposal to the captain. "Captain Havoc? Would it be possible to discuss this with the commander of the rebel navy?"

Meanwhile, on Jurai, somewhere within the Jedi Temple...

Old Alex sits at his marbleoak desk, looking through an old-fashioned crystal ball that actually is designed to boost clarivoyant ability when he meditates with it. He often uses it to check up on certain people in the galaxy and even places beyond.

"Hello. Who's this?" He asked when in one of his meditation sessions, he spotted a small boy sitting in what looks like an average classroom. But there was something different about the child. The Light Side surrounded this very small John Watsen like a shield, protecting him from the Force wars currently raging at Woodian Archipelago. Then his farsight gaze turned back to Taylor. He put two and two together. "Hmm. It appears this child will be important to Taylor in the near future. I shall have to watch him closely."

Alex continued to meditate as a spectator to the battles raging on Earth.

The boy sensed a small, probing, but harmless prick on his mind, and could sense no malicious intent from the probe. It was almost friendly, more inquisitive than anything else, and somehow concerned his future. But a dark future it was not...

...This probe was not of the Dark Lord.

He considered asking the unknown presence to identify itself, but did not want to make a stir in the propaganda class, for he was afraid to be identified in such a hostile environment. Maybe if this presence had come while he was in his prison cell, where he only had to deal with the guards instead of faking acceptance of the propaganda fed to him, he would have...

The presence vanished as quickly as it came.

"You are in the Jedi Temple's neurology ward. I am Tsunade of the High Council. Jedi Whitfield is on Earth, fighting to liberate Free Woody Thoughts." Tsunade smiled. "I am almost finished with the healing. Hold on a little longer. Can you remember your name?"

A look of confusion crossed the young man's face as Tsunade spoke. He knew nothing of the Jedi Temple or the High Council. He figured that the word "Jedi" had something to do with what he had been through in the last month.

Of course, he had never learned of any of these things, even before his enslavement, so some level of confusion would have been natural...

However, he did understand the latter half of Tsunade's words, that the one who had liberated him continued to liberate others. And he understood that he was not fully healed...that much was obvious from his speech impairment.

He struggled to recall his name, for his memory had not recovered. A bad feeling overcame him, a sense that he would never be able to recover his past, a sense that he could spend his entire life researching what his life was like as a child, and yet see it as from the third person...

He dug deeper into the recesses of his brain. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he finally spoke. "Keith...Allaire." He paused for a few seconds. "Where is...the Jedi Temple, and what is...the High Council? Those institutions...I know nothing about."

Whitfield glanced around the room, looking for this Captain Havoc. He found someone with a captain's insignia quite quickly, wearing a winter camoflage. battle-dress uniform. He quickly glanced at the namestrip, surrounded by patches of white, grey, and light, icy blue, and confirmed that this was indeed the person he was looking for.

He realized he would need to contact Commander Suskind to plan further logistics than what he had already outlined. Sensing that Captain Havoc was not interested in the State of the Rebellion Address, and that he hadn't paid much attention to the speech he gave to the Colonel, he instead broke out pen and notepad and started scribbling down a summary of his plan. When he was finished, he handed his proposal to the captain. "Captain Havoc? Would it be possible to discuss this with the commander of the rebel navy?"
"Yeah, sure, sir." Havoc answered with a slight drawl, and what looks like a straw in his mouth. "Comms center of this little base is a few meters northwest. Sergeant Fuery's a nice kid, a whiz with the comms tech."

A look of confusion crossed the young man's face as Tsunade spoke. He knew nothing of the Jedi Temple or the High Council. He figured that the word "Jedi" had something to do with what he had been through in the last month.

Of course, he had never learned of any of these things, even before his enslavement, so some level of confusion would have been natural...

However, he did understand the latter half of Tsunade's words, that the one who had liberated him continued to liberate others. And he understood that he was not fully healed...that much was obvious from his speech impairment.

He struggled to recall his name, for his memory had not recovered. A bad feeling overcame him, a sense that he would never be able to recover his past, a sense that he could spend his entire life researching what his life was like as a child, and yet seeing it as from the third person...

He dug deeper into the recesses of his brain. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he finally spoke. "Keith...Allaire." He paused for a few seconds. "Where is...the Jedi Temple, and what is...the High Council? Those institutions...I know nothing about."
"The High Council is the leadership of Coreworlds, a powerful but benevolent nation. And an ally of Whitfield." Tsunade explained as she continued to knit his neurons together. With most of the brain now repaired, Keith can remain conscious and let her know how he's doing. Unconsciousness was a precaution to ensure that the person remains sane while the brain is repaired. "You are on our capital of Jurai, where the Jedi Temple resides."

"Yeah, sure, sir." Havoc answered with a slight drawl, and what looks like a straw in his mouth. "Comms center of this little base is a few meters northwest. Sergeant Fuery's a nice kid, a whiz with the comms tech."

"Would it be possible for you to come with me?" Whitfield desired a three-way conversation between himself, a representative from CoreWorlds who had some form of authority over logistical decisions, and the Free Woody Thoughts commander, but he could make do with only a two-way communication if absolutely necessary. "If you are tethered to your post, I understand..."

"The High Council is the leadership of Coreworlds, a powerful but benevolent nation. And an ally of Whitfield." Tsunade explained as she continued to knit his neurons together. With most of the brain now repaired, Keith can remain conscious and let her know how he's doing. Unconsciousness was a precaution to ensure that the person remains sane while the brain is repaired. "You are on our capital of Jurai, where the Jedi Temple resides."

Keith, his questions answered, quickly turned his attention towards his thirst and the rumblings of his stomach. The intravenous fluids administered to him to keep him from dehydration and malnourishment during his multi-day surgery had certainly kept him alive, but left him with hunger pangs when he awoke. Apparently, whoever had calculated the dose underestimated the basal metabolism of a six-foot-two twenty-something with a heavy frame. "Thank you...for that information." A pause. "Next question. Would it be possible...to get a large...glass of water...and something to eat?"

"Would it be possible for you to come with me?" Whitfield desired a three-way conversation between himself, a representative from CoreWorlds who had some form of authority over logistical decisions, and the Free Woody Thoughts commander, but he could make do with only a two-way communication if absolutely necessary. "If you are tethered to your post, I understand..."
"Hmm. Could be possible if I..." Havoc trailed off. "Reynolds, Garm! I'll be back in a few!"

"Ok!" His aides answered.

"My helpers." Havoc said by way of explanation as he got up. "Follow me."

He lead Whitfield to the comms center where a rather young and nerdy looking kid with close-cropped black hair was manning the trancievers that allowed communications between bases. He seemed to enjoy it immensely. "Sergeant!"

"Captain, sir." Sergeant Fuery shot out of his seat and saluted.

"At ease. Jedi Whitfield here wants to talk to his naval commander." The captain said.

"Ah. All right." The young sergeant nodded. Picking up a headset, he handed it to Whitfield. "Just tell me where to send the signal and I'll get you linked."

Keith, his questions answered, quickly turned his attention towards his thirst and the rumblings of his stomach. The intravenous fluids administered to him to keep him from dehydration and malnourishment during his multi-day surgery had certainly kept him alive, but left him with hunger pangs when he awoke. Apparently, whoever had calculated the dose underestimated the basal metabolism of a six-foot-two twenty-something with a heavy frame. "Thank you...for that information." A pause. "Next question. Would it be possible...to get a large...glass of water...and something to eat?"
"Sure." Tsunade nodded and called some nurses to get him some food and drink. "Almost finished with your healing, though you will still have amnesia in some parts of your memory. Just eat up."

"Hmm. Could be possible if I..." Havoc trailed off. "Reynolds, Garm! I'll be back in a few!"

"Ok!" His aides answered.

"My helpers." Havoc said by way of explanation as he got up. "Follow me."

He lead Whitfield to the comms center where a rather young and nerdy looking kid with close-cropped black hair was manning the trancievers that allowed communications between bases. He seemed to enjoy it immensely. "Sergeant!"

"Captain, sir." Sergeant Fuery shot out of his seat and saluted.

"At ease. Jedi Whitfield here wants to talk to his naval commander." The captain said.

"Ah. All right." The young sergeant nodded. Picking up a headset, he handed it to Whitfield. "Just tell me where to send the signal and I'll get you linked."

"Sergeant Fuery, the Free Woody Thoughts fleet should be about twenty to twenty-five miles to the northeast. Hail any capital ships in that area, and tell them that I wish to speak to Commander Suskind. There should be two battlecruisers there."

"Sure." Tsunade nodded and called some nurses to get him some food and drink. "Almost finished with your healing, though you will still have amnesia in some parts of your memory. Just eat up."

Keith guzzled the water, and the food in front of him disappeared within about ten minutes. He turned his attention back towards thinking of the Jedi Whitfield, and figuring out who exactly the Jedi were. Whatever they did, they seemed a lot more...benevolent...than the Woodian military as of late.

I catch my breath as I finish my ten-kilometer morning run, dripping with sweat in one of the first real muggy mornings of the summer. Only fifteen minutes to rest before target practice. Today, I get tested for a sharpshooter endorsement to add to my heavy-assault qualification, and my long-range and pulse laser endos...

I report for the test, and start blowing off head chunks of drone mecha running at top speed at maximum range for my weapons. An order comes over the intercom: target arms. So I blow off a few mecha arms and take a few "enemy" weapons, too. Target legs. Easy. Scout mecha running at a hundred fifty klicks, max range? No problem, not even with ballistics. Knocked over with Gauss Rifles. Passed, no problem.

After the test, my commander hands me a questionaire. "Where'd this come from?" I ask.

"Came down, orders of the admiralty."

"The admiralty, huh? This must be important." I tell my commander I'll have it done by lunchtime, then go to my barracks to fill it out.

"What the hell are these questions for?" I ask out loud as I read them. Questions having to do with my political affiliation. With who I voted for. What I think of the civilian leadership's role in managing the military. "Well, a few of the questions are legitimate, but most are none of the admiralty's damn business! It's unconstitutional for the military to ask citizens who they voted for, even if they're in the military!" I answer a few but either leave the rest blank, or answer "other" if it's an option for the question.

I meet my CO not long after and hand it to him. He looks at the questionnaire and notices a little more than half of it is blank, and asks me why.

"Because I am sworn to uphold the constitution of Evil Woody Thoughts, and collecting this kind of information is a direct violation of the Constitution, sir!"

He writes that down on the survey. Something's up...

A few days later, a bunch of goons in white plastoid armor show up. "Did they come up with new uniforms or something?" I ask them.

I see a bright flash of blue light, then faint...

...When I wake up, Admiral Bielski is standing over me. He looks like he wants to beat the shit out of me, and just might be able to, because his reach is about four inches more than mine.

I freeze, as he's a hell of a lot scarier than he was the last time I saw him. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh! What is he doing? What the hell? I forget everything. Absolutely everything. All my thoughts, beliefs, memories, torn away in a matter of seconds...

"Congratulations! Your loyalty is now assured, and you will serve your country well."

"Yes, sir." I can say nothing else. I can only remember what I was trained to do. Kill. Send a two-hundred pound projectile through someone's head from a kilometer away, while leaving the rest of his body intact. I have no emotion. No fear, no nothing. Except for the emotions of Master.

"NOOOOOOOOO!"

Keith Allaire suddenly jumped up, breathing heavily and suddenly drenched in cold sweat, and looked throughout the room, eyes darting from place to place. "Not you again!" He wasn't about to lose his freedom from the Dark Side, not here, so why did he fear it?

[OOC edit]For those of you reading who might not remember, Darth Ebolus was known as Admiral Chris Bielski before he revealed his intentions to the universe at the beginning of this thread.[/OOC edit]

"Sergeant Fuery, the Free Woody Thoughts fleet should be about twenty to twenty-five miles to the northeast. Hail any capital ships in that area, and tell them that I wish to speak to Commander Suskind. There should be two battlecruisers there."
"Ah, thanks." The young sergeant then moved the little tranciever dish so that it would connect to the fleet and then made the link. "Hello, hello? Do you read me?"


Keith guzzled the water, and the food in front of him disappeared within about ten minutes. He turned his attention back towards thinking of the Jedi Whitfield, and figuring out who exactly the Jedi were. Whatever they did, they seemed a lot more...benevolent...than the Woodian military as of late.

I catch my breath as I finish my ten-kilometer morning run, dripping with sweat in one of the first real muggy mornings of the summer. Only fifteen minutes to rest before target practice. Today, I get tested for a sharpshooter endorsement to add to my heavy-assault qualification, and my long-range and pulse laser endos...

I report for the test, and start blowing off head chunks of drone mecha running at top speed at maximum range for my weapons. An order comes over the intercom: target arms. So I blow off a few mecha arms and take a few "enemy" weapons, too. Target legs. Easy. Scout mecha running at a hundred fifty klicks, max range? No problem, not even with ballistics. Knocked over with Gauss Rifles. Passed, no problem.

After the test, my commander hands me a questionaire. "Where'd this come from?" I ask.

"Came down, orders of the admiralty."

"The admiralty, huh? This must be important." I tell my commander I'll have it done by lunchtime, then go to my barracks to fill it out.

"What the hell are these questions for?" I ask out loud as I read them. Questions having to do with my political affiliation. With who I voted for. What I think of the civilian leadership's role in managing the military. "Well, a few of the questions are legitimate, but most are none of the admiralty's damn business! It's unconstitutional for the military to ask citizens who they voted for, even if they're in the military!" I answer a few but either leave the rest blank, or answer "other" if it's an option for the question.

I meet my CO not long after and hand it to him. He looks at the questionnaire and notices a little more than half of it is blank, and asks me why.

"Because I am sworn to uphold the constitution of Evil Woody Thoughts, and collecting this kind of information is a direct violation of the Constitution, sir!"

He writes that down on the survey. Something's up...

A few days later, a bunch of goons in white plastoid armor show up. "Did they come up with new uniforms or something?" I ask them.

I see a bright flash of blue light, then faint...

...When I wake up, Admiral Bielski is standing over me. He looks like he wants to beat the shit out of me, and just might be able to, because his reach is about four inches more than mine.

I freeze, as he's a hell of a lot scarier than he was the last time I saw him. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh! What is he doing? What the hell? I forget everything. Absolutely everything. All my thoughts, beliefs, memories, torn away in a matter of seconds...

"Congratulations! Your loyalty is now assured, and you will serve your country well."

"Yes, sir." I can say nothing else. I can only remember what I was trained to do. Kill. Send a two-hundred pound projectile through someone's head from a kilometer away, while leaving the rest of his body intact. I have no emotion. No fear, no nothing. Except for the emotions of Master.

"NOOOOOOOOO!"

Keith Allaire suddenly jumped up, breathing heavily and suddenly drenched in cold sweat, and looked throughout the room, eyes darting from place to place. "Not you again!" He wasn't about to lose his freedom from the Dark Side, not here, so why did he fear it?

[OOC edit]For those of you reading who might not remember, Darth Ebolus was known as Admiral Chris Bielski before he revealed his intentions to the universe at the beginning of this thread.[/OOC edit]
Ninety three percent healed. Tsunade diagnosed the brain until he suddenly jumped up. She consoled him. "He is not here. Your memories have returned, I take it? Good. I fear, though, that they will never entirely return."

"Ah, thanks." The young sergeant then moved the little tranciever dish so that it would connect to the fleet and then made the link. "Hello, hello? Do you read me?"

Aboard the EWS Justice

"Commander, someone is hailing us." A sixty-year old formerly retired captian turned to Commander Suskind, as he too had come out of retirement to serve his country in its need.

"I'll take it." Suskind had a feeling it was related to what to do next. "This is Commander Suskind aboard the Justice. Please identify yourself."

Whitfield quickly scanned the note he had written earlier. Suskind didn't particularly like speeches either; therefore, Whitfield asked the sergeant to transmit a copy of his idea. As he handed the note to the sergeant, he whispered in Captain Havoc's ear. "You might want to coordinate your fleet with his a bit."

Then he turned his attention to Suskind. "Commander Suskind, I am transmitting a proposal for our next action now, and this requires a bit of coordination with our friends. Captain Havoc has some information you'll be interested in."

Ninety three percent healed. Tsunade diagnosed the brain until he suddenly jumped up. She consoled him. "He is not here. Your memories have returned, I take it? Good. I fear, though, that they will never entirely return."

Keith's heartrate and breathing slowly returned to normal as he failed to find any trace of darkness in the room other than his own memories. "Why is it then that I only remember the bad?" He did have that nagging feeling about losing his identity again...

Aboard the EWS Justice

"Commander, someone is hailing us." A sixty-year old formerly retired captian turned to Commander Suskind, as he too had come out of retirement to serve his country in its need.

"I'll take it." Suskind had a feeling it was related to what to do next. "This is Commander Suskind aboard the Justice. Please identify yourself."

Whitfield quickly scanned the note he had written earlier. Suskind didn't particularly like speeches either; therefore, Whitfield asked the sergeant to transmit a copy of his idea. As he handed the note to the sergeant, he whispered in Captain Havoc's ear. "You might want to coordinate your fleet with his a bit."

Then he turned his attention to Suskind. "Commander Suskind, I am transmitting a proposal for our next action now, and this requires a bit of coordination with our friends. Captain Havoc has some information you'll be interested in."
"All right." Captain Havoc grabbed another headset. "Commander? Havoc here. A little while ago, our sea battlefleet just arrived in the area, you probably already spotted it via radar and such. What we're thinking is that we could coordinate our respective ships for the strike on Fedawoody Island. What do you say?"


Keith's heartrate and breathing slowly returned to normal as he failed to find any trace of darkness in the room other than his own memories. "Why is it then that I only remember the bad?" He did have that nagging feeling about losing his identity again...
"Your memory is very recent, I would suspect." Tsunade answered. "The Dark Lord has been quite thorough too."

"All right." Captain Havoc grabbed another headset. "Commander? Havoc here. A little while ago, our sea battlefleet just arrived in the area, you probably already spotted it via radar and such. What we're thinking is that we could coordinate our respective ships for the strike on Fedawoody Island. What do you say?"

"Give me a moment please, Captain." Commander Suskind turned to look at the radar scopes as one of his aides handed him a recent printout with Whitfield's name on it.

"We read your fleet as thirty nautical miles to the south, twenty-four surface vessels and a bit of evidence of underwater activity. Which means subs. Your fleet should be here in about another hour; maybe you think they're already here because they should have already visually sighted Woodymanjaro Island coming up from the south. The island you're standing on.

Jedi Whitfield, I approve of your idea. We would be able to be within firing range of the DropShips in about two hours. You better go ahead and get your beachhead established, if you want to draw enemies away from the DropShips before we get there. Or we could just delay our departure, which seems likelier."

Suskind silently swore to himself because Evil Woody Thoughts had squandered an oppurtunity to upgrade its watergoing navy when it had commissioned the spacefleet. The arrival of the Coredian fleet would be so...embarrassing.

"Your memory is very recent, I would suspect." Tsunade answered. "The Dark Lord has been quite thorough too."

Keith thought for a moment. "Yeah, about two months ago about. Early June I think. But I don't remember much of anything before that, unless it's related to the military. I remember my training quite thouroghly, but not discussing it with other friends. I remember tactical classes, I remember logistical engineering classes, but not my classmates. I remember all of my practical tests, you know, the tests where you're graded for your performance during wargames and such. But I don't remember a damned thing from before I joined the military...

Did I have siblings? I don't know.

Who were my parents? I don't know.

Are they still alive? I don't know, but I would guess not after what the admiral did to me.

What planet did I grow up on? Well, political geography tells me I have two possible answers--Earth and White Diamond Prime. But I don't know which one.

Hell, the only reason why I remember my name, I think, is because it showed up on military ID and all those tests I remember so well.

Did I have a life before the military? I don't know. All I remember is enlisting when I turned eighteen forward...

...and even then, I don't remember anything fun, unless it was shooting something."

"Give me a moment please, Captain." Commander Suskind turned to look at the radar scopes as one of his aides handed him a recent printout with Whitfield's name on it.

"We read your fleet as thirty nautical miles to the south, twenty-four surface vessels and a bit of evidence of underwater activity. Which means subs. Your fleet should be here in about another hour; maybe you think they're already here because they should have already visually sighted Woodymanjaro Island coming up from the south. The island you're standing on.

Jedi Whitfield, I approve of your idea. We would be able to be within firing range of the DropShips in about two hours. You better go ahead and get your beachhead established, if you want to draw enemies away from the DropShips before we get there. Or we could just delay our departure, which seems likelier."

Suskind silently swore to himself because Evil Woody Thoughts had squandered an oppurtunity to upgrade its watergoing navy when it had commissioned the spacefleet. The arrival of the Coredian fleet would be so...embarrassing.
"Hmm. They could actually fire their missiles from range if they need to." Havoc answered. "Of course, the closer they are, the better. May I link you to the Rear Admiral?"


Keith thought for a moment. "Yeah, about two months ago about. Early June I think. But I don't remember much of anything before that, unless it's related to the military. I remember my training quite thouroghly, but not discussing it with other friends. I remember tactical classes, I remember logistical engineering classes, but not my classmates. I remember all of my practical tests, you know, the tests where you're graded for your performance during wargames and such. But I don't remember a damned thing from before I joined the military...

Did I have siblings? I don't know.

Who were my parents? I don't know.

Are they still alive? I don't know, but I would guess not after what the admiral did to me.

What planet did I grow up on? Well, political geography tells me I have two possible answers--Earth and White Diamond Prime. But I don't know which one.

Hell, the only reason why I remember my name, I think, is because it showed up on military ID and all those tests I remember so well.

Did I have a life before the military? I don't know. All I remember is enlisting when I turned eighteen forward...

...and even then, I don't remember anything fun, unless it was shooting something."
"Hmm. I would believe that the Dark Lord stripped you of everything 'irrelevant' to him and left you with only things of military value. Let me see if I can help you get your other memories back." Tsunade said after she too took some light meals and moved again to help him.

Meanwhile, the hospital ship carrying other former wraiths took off from Woodytowne and because it was hyperdrive-capable, headed into space and made the jump to Jurai as well.

"Hmm. They could actually fire their missiles from range if they need to." Havoc answered. "Of course, the closer they are, the better. May I link you to the Rear Admiral?"

Commander Suskind scowled. More embarassment. "Uh, we haven't been in port since the DropShips landed. All the missiles we have in our VLS at the moment are AA. We'd have to get within range of our ballistic weaponry to do anything. Though we have rocket-assisted shells stored onboard that we could use from here, we prefer to save them for the Woodyeen Island campaign, so we can bombard inland with some punch. You may link me to your admiral if you so desire."

"Hmm. I would believe that the Dark Lord stripped you of everything 'irrelevant' to him and left you with only things of military value. Let me see if I can help you get your other memories back." Tsunade said after she too took some light meals and moved again to help him.

Meanwhile, the hospital ship carrying other former wraiths took off from Woodytowne and because it was hyperdrive-capable, headed into space and made the jump to Jurai as well.

Keith thought for a moment. "Yeah, that would be him. And I know he wanted to find more of us, too." Keith thought for a moment. "Weren't more of the Dark Lord's slaves freed a couple of days ago in that weird...I don't know how to describe it...mind nuking contest? When will they receive treatment?"

Yes, he wanted his memories back, but he had the feeling that they would never be fully restored, that he would spend the rest of his days tracking them down, in the third person, as a detached historian. He did remember his days as a Wraith quite well, though the Dark Side control over him had been purged from him, the memories had not, probably for a reason that he would learn later.

But his liberated brothers...they were in a far worse position than only having amnesia to worry about. They took priority.

He restated his position a bit more bluntly, even as Tsunade continued to work on him. "If further treatment causes my brethren to be put on a waiting list, I wish to defer it. Because they need it more than I at this point. I might not remember who my drinking buddies were, but I do remember Semper Fi."

Commander Suskind scowled. More embarassment. "Uh, we haven't been in port since the DropShips landed. All the missiles we have in our VLS at the moment are AA. We'd have to get within range of our ballistic weaponry to do anything. Though we have rocket-assisted shells stored onboard that we could use from here, we prefer to save them for the Woodyeen Island campaign, so we can bombard inland with some punch. You may link me to your admiral if you so desire."
"All right. Here you go." Captain Havoc nodded to the Sergeant, who began to work his techie magic and link the Rear Admiral Basque to the other commander.

------
Rear Admiral Basque, commander of the First Fleet of Coredia, was summoned to the communcations center of his beloved carrier.

"Sir, we've got incoming. From a Captain Havoc of the army." The comms officer reported.

"Yes?" Basque answered the comms.

"Havoc here, I'm linking you to Commander Suskind of the rebellion navy." Havoc said, and then the comms guy was then linked to the other Commander.

"Admiral Basque here." The Admiral said into the mic. "How are you, Commander?"

Keith thought for a moment. "Yeah, that would be him. And I know he wanted to find more of us, too." Keith thought for a moment. "Weren't more of the Dark Lord's slaves freed a couple of days ago in that weird...I don't know how to describe it...mind nuking contest? When will they receive treatment?"

Yes, he wanted his memories back, but he had the feeling that they would never be fully restored, that he would spend the rest of his days tracking them down, in the third person, as a detached historian. He did remember his days as a Wraith quite well, though the Dark Side control over him had been purged from him, the memories had not, probably for a reason that he would learn later.

But his liberated brothers...they were in a far worse position than only having amnesia to worry about. They took priority.

He restated his position a bit more bluntly, even as Tsunade continued to work on him. "If further treatment causes my brethren to be put on a waiting list, I wish to defer it. Because they need it more than I at this point. I might not remember who my drinking buddies were, but I do remember Semper Fi."
"I understand." Tsunade nodded and broke off the healing. She needed to get a little rest too. "Is there anything else you want?"

The Hospital ship will arrive in another three hours.