Kuat's Open Orbit

Space. Cold. Empty. Well, not so empty. Emotionless. The darkness speckled with light carried none. The only emotion, feeling, was given by the beings that inhabited that darkness. And in this particular darkness, lit by the control panel in front of his face, a face that was scarred, seemingly chiseled from beskar, beskad hilt poking above his right shoulder, a pin point of emotion. An anger and hatred so deep that even the most useless of Force adepts could sense it.....Like an avalanche of destruction coming for those who COULD sense it. His green eyes focused on the readouts in front of him......scanning the defenses, the attacking forces....His own men....The people he was technically in charge of. Something....something was drawing him here. A fight. Another fight. Always a fight. The one thing he was bred for. The destruction of the Force and those that used it. Created in a lab on a distant planet, colder even than the space around his battered freighter. a life time ago. A lifetime of violence. A childhood filled with images of death. Destruction. Surgeries. Tubes, bacta, DNA re-sequencing. Training. Every day training. Learning to fight against that which is seemingly impossible to beat. Fitting then, that he found the Mandaloirians. Ironic that he was brought into the fold by a Force using manda'lor who then turned his back on the People and joined the Forcies...Only to disappear and deny him the satisfaction of pulling his traitorous head from his shoulders....

He looked out the view port onto the battle ground, Kuat Drive Yards rings bustling, even from this distance. The sector filled with ships. It almost brought a tear to his eye. almost. If he cried. Which he didn't, no matter what Corr said. He scanned the planets surface looking for a place to land and set out to attack whatever he could get his hands on......He looked...There. He almost pointed at the screen, out of habit from his pirate days, and Maliks apparent inability to pay any attention to what he was doing. He mentally shook his head, then punched the co-ordinates into the nav Computer......He turned his head to face the three men in the back through the open door, nodding once. He didn't need to say anything. These three men, and Duke, were really the only remnants of Clan Australis, Kaine having gone missing, Exchequer having gone to ground, and the Sith framing the Jedi by destroying his clan on Myrkr....His anger doubled and he refocused on his plan of attack. Pointing the Fortuitous in the direction he needed, he punched the throttle, the little ship rocketing (heh) forward, running the defenses, heading for what appeared on his screen as a 'Fist'.....nothing more than 5 rocky outcroppings that happened to look similar, and offered him a perfect place to start......This. This was going to be fun. he opened a com to the Mandalorian forces as he blasted through space.....

Ladies and Gentleman. This is Ashrah. Make me a hole, I am coming through. OYA!!

Zulu and the Menda brothers simply knelt on the ground slowly and placed their hands behind their heads, knowing that removing their backpacks and other equipment would be too inconvenient. From the side, Kray Kutler was peering out from the Justice's cargo bay. His black armor made him nearly invisible in the shadows, and he had considered attacking the Stormtroopers, but he was aware of the situation, just as Zulu was aware of his presence. He activated his cloaking device, silence projector and radar nullifyer with a mere thought, and mentally adjusted his exterior armor temperature to match the temperature around him. Kray was, for all intents and purposes, invisible. He stepped down onto the hangar floor and stood near Zulu and company, just in case they needed some form of protection.

Ander felt the ship below him rumble as the vessel's repulsors warmed up. Admiral Staton was repositioning the fleet on the port flank of H'rel's forces, which were proving more than adequate at neutralizing the Kuati defenses. As he received back-briefs from his soldiers on their mission, Ander's HUD flashed with notice of an incoming transmission from Taung H'rel. What are your ships doing on this side of the planet and not protecting your troop ships where they were planned to be, and who appear to be about to be overrun by a superior enemy force and slaughtered long before they can come near their objectives.
Ander frowned within the darkness of his helmet, responding quickly and curtly. Our boarding forces are still tucked inside our Destroyers. We'll launch our boarding parties once we've closed in on the shipyards. I'm using your fleet as a shield for our Destroyers, considering the firepower you've brought along. I'll let you know when we launch; I may need covering fire from one or more of your ships. Ander returned to his briefings as he awaited a response from H'rel. The warlord was as fierce in his thinking as he was in his fighting, a quality Ander appreciated greatly. Taung's forces, and those of the rest of the Mandalorian Clans would be carrying the greatest portion of the burden in this battle, and Ander was content knowing the quality of their soldiers far exceeded the numbers of the Kuati defenders.

Inside the Bow Hangar Bay of the Basterd's Hand...

Delmani smirked as Australis replied with confidence. It had been some years since Delmani had spoken with a fellow Mando'ad outside of a professional environment. His time with the Yavin 4 Defense Force, and now GALSAF, was spent as an advisor, a commander, a leader. Despite the openness with which Tagira ran their operation, Delmani had never been able to shirk the military bearing that had been ingrained so deeply in him as a Commando of the Grand Army. He had always wondered if this adherence was a result of his training, or the genetic alterations made by the Kaminoans so many decades ago. At the end of the day he didn't care, Delmani was a Commander, and his time was best spent leading his fellow soldiers, not acting as their friend. Even so, he enjoyed the moment of camaraderie he now shared with Australis. The man was true Mando'ad, born of combat, like himself.
"Cold, clean and precise is always best. Kill quickly, kill quietly, kill calmly. Quickly and quietly, kill calmly. Calmly, kill quickly and quietly." Delmani muttered the only words that could be said to be the Black Operations Group's motto. However much he enjoyed their conversation, Delmani was forced to change topics. "We'll be striking for Kuat City in advance of the main force, of course. We'll be working in pairs, doing whatever we can to be a nuisance, as you put it. We want the main force to be able to push through while their forces are distracted by our activities. Once we're on the ground, we'll scout out several of their largest skyscrapers to topple with demolitions. Hopefully we can scatter portions of their forces that way."

Commander Fordo stood watch as his vessel fired its weapons at the invading enemy fleet encroaching upon the southern pole. The hololithic display had proven to be a wonderful modernization effort made by the Kuati drive yards in an effort to see that her warships had proven to be deadly no matter the era they had originated from. As the battle had been playing out in microcosm before him, Fordo began planning theoretical counter attacks to the predicted avenues the Mandalorians would exploit. That deed however did not last long, as the Captain of the Maleficent had appeared at his side and pointed out the squadron of TIE fighters they had sent out nearly an hour ago. “It seems Terror flight has engaged a hostile target, which appears to be coming our way at best speed. Have you planned for that Commander?” Fordo shook his head remorsefully. “No sir, I thought Terror flight to be capable enough pilots to handle that vessel without extra support. Though as we are now two pilots short and the vessel is speeding towards us with alacrity, a fresh reprimand will be required if they survive this fight.” The Captain chortled. “That is if we survive this skirmish as well, Commander.”

Fordo nodded after a moment of hesitation, before turning his gaze back towards the swarming TIE fighters and the target caught within their maw. Captain Ventris was right, and as he was still learning the efficacies of command Fordo was grateful for the lesson. He was still myopic when it came to battle strategy, focusing upon one point before moving onto the next. While that was good in a theoretical sense, it made a poor choice in the practical realm of reality. As the Firespray rocketed ever closer towards the holographic representation of the Maleficent, Commander Fordo began pulling up the available assets needed to intercept the damaged vessel. The last remaining squadron that was within their bowels was being prepared for another purpose, and sadly could not be re-tasked at this point in time. Terror flight had better be able to take out that Firespray, or so help –

“All marines stand ready, prepare to repel boarders.” The Maleficent’s captain had said, cutting off Commander Fordo’s train of thought. “Arm the point defense laser batteries about port hangar theta, once the hostile ship is within range… turn it to radioactive space dust.”

Within the silence of space, the autoguns surrounding the hangar bay had rumbled to life. The point defense cannon occupants had sent fresh life through non-living metallic flesh as they took their posts. As the carbon scored nozzles of the manned defense arrays had spun to life, their auto targeting system had kicked in. With the chime of target lock, these super-heated plasma cannons had unleashed a steady stream of stuttered beams at the rapidly advancing Mandalorian craft.

The firepower Captain Kale had found herself standing off against out stripped the amount of guns she had at her command. Five Victory II –Class Star Destroyers would stand little chance against the sheer brutality of the vessels staring at her from across the sea of infinite black. The added reinforcements, which to her eyes seemed more like cowards eager to suckle upon a mother’s teat, made her situation a dire one indeed. Now her naval front was outnumbered and severely out gunned, leaving her to adorn the mantle of some desperate tactics. Removing her gaze from the forward viewport, she stared blankly down at the tactical map before her. Her mind ran through the options, seeing dozens of theoretical routes she and her flotilla could take in order to garner some type of advantage over the massive Mandalorian terrors. Ill-fated as that line of thought was, she knew that she would have to do something or be consigned to live through the excruciating pain Commander Sisco and the crew of the Defiant had endured.

From the holographic representation of her tactical table, she had noted her flotilla was in the direct line of fire from the larger Mandalorian guns, an error she had ordered to be rectified by a subtle wave of her hand. Drawing a line from the point of her convoy to her intended destination, she began calculating the variant angles of attack from the hostile vessels. She smiled weakly as she saw that there was little she and her fellow Captains’ could do in order to break open their beskar clad hulls to reach the precious mandalorian meat within. Swallowing her doubt, Captain Kale had accepted her fate. If she was to die, then she would ensure that these bastards went down with her, following her blaze of glory right into the darkest depths of hell.

She watched as the azure representations of the enemy fire had been launched from their guns, streaking through space with the intent to take lives with every bolt. The images of her flotilla had been moving steadily in a forwards arc, seeking to deny the enemy of the frontal advantage. It was cleaver of the Mandalorians to design a vessel that the Imperials had been commanding for two separate eras. However as made clear by the sheer firepower of the ship, the design had been perfected in the matter of speaking. “Captain.” A voice at her side had spoken up, pulling her from her trance like state. Though the ships before her were like the ugly duckling, she could not help but feel attracted to such deadly weapons of war. “Yes, Commander, what is it?” The commander of the Yzma, a man whom prided himself on being one of the youngest officers ever to hold the Executive officer’s seat upon a warship, pointed at the trailing Star destroyer and the flickering of its shields. “The ‘Ursla’ has sustained heavy damage soaking up the fire that had missed a majority of our fleet. The shield generators of the craft are gone, their capacitors are blown and they have no way to recover them in time for the next volley. They'll be dead in the water long before then if their reactor fails them.” He paused for a moment to consider the options, guessing the orders she might give that would effectively throw thousands of lives into the deadly mix. Captain Kale bit her lip before turning to look at Tarvik, her second officer.

“Have the Ursla spin up her hyperdrive coils and set a course for the outer edges of the system. Heading; Nine-Seven point three by, Eight- Two point nine.” Tarvik donned the masque of surprise as he consulted the tactical display before them. He couldn’t believe that his commanding officer had just ordered a jump, in system, and targeted one of the massive Mandalorian craft. “You can’t be serious.” Kale looked at her second officer and stared daggers into his very soul, wounded by such a promise of violence the man was cowed and did as he was told. Tearing her gaze from the commander, she focused upon the display before her. Seeing that the large guns had fired, they had begun to cycle and refresh giving her a short window of opportunity. Twenty seconds was her window to make a move and with the ‘Ursla’ critically damaged, she hoped that the ship would survive that long before following in the Defiant’s footsteps.

As the formation of Victory II’s had moved into the starboard turning arc, they had left the ‘Ursla’ behind as they skirted close to the planets gravitational axis. That smoking and damaged warship had begun spooling up it’s hyperdrive, as if it sought to leave the system before more damage had been accrued. However its destination was much closer to home that the dying crew had wished it to be. Their shields were gone and the ability to return fire had been stripped from the vessel, had they been remaining still the Defiant would not be the only craft to fall within the first minutes of Kuat coming under enemy attack. The ‘Ursla’s’ hull had been compromised and the safeguards about the hypermatter reactor were starting to fail. Making the jump into the realm of hyperspace would be deadly for the crew, as the relativistic shielding had been compromised, thus leaving the crew to the fates of whatever occurred when the two realms were merged into one. Venting flammable gases into the silence of space, the Captain and Crew of the doomed Victory II gave a rictus grin. Though they would be cast adrift between worlds, what would occur next had the chance of tipping the balance more into the defender's favour.

Captain Kale watched as the smoking representation of the ‘Ursla’ stretched across her display and vanished from her sensors. Though she could not see where the ship was, she knew where it had been sent too. A Mishmure’cya class Light Star Cruiser tagged with the IFF transponder named Skira, the mando’a word for settling scores. Captain Kale smiled at the irony of the situation as she saluted the terminal before her, taking the moment of respite to honour the sacrifice of a noble naval officer. “Stay the course gentlemen; we need only hold out for a few more hours. Then these cowards will taste the true might of the Tide’s navy.”

The sergeant reported back about the apprehension of the ship's crew but some of his guys started to look strangely at a static-y white noise emanating from thin air directly next to one of the kneeling Mandalorians. It had walked down the ramp, the footsteps might have been masked by the hustle and bustle of the hangar but the silence projector was a dead giveaway. One of his men on the other side of the ship signaled to him about a cloaked target to the side of the leader and the sergeant moved his blaster muzzle to the sound of white noise coming from the invisible man.

"Gig's up. Decloak and put your hands up or we shoot." The sergeant looked down at the leader, his vocoder masking his annoyance. "Yeah, you brought cloaked troops to help."