Temple of the Blueleaf Cluster

"So. What's next?" First Sergent Ursk Gormand growled. The Trandoshan's long, scaly arms were crossed over his plated chest, an indiscernible look on his face. Gormand had enlisted with GALSAF on accident, when Ander had originally put out the word on a grand scale over two years before. The Trandoshan had been under the impression GALSAF was a mercenary organization that would be taking any sort of job for a spot of cash. Because of the exemplary military record Gormand had brought with him, he'd caught Admiral Jethroe Staton's attention. Needless to say, when Gormand learned GALSAF soldiers received no recompense for their enlistment, he'd been angry. Angry enough to smash the desk in Staton's office on board the Basterd's Hand. Ander had told Gormand he was free to leave if it pleased him, but the Trandoshan had chosen to stay, for reasons Ander never learned, or asked for.
To this day, Gormand was a seething pit of anger, but he held himself under an impressive amount of control for a Trandoshan. Ander had no idea how he pulled it off, and again, did not ask.


"Well, Tagira? What have you got?" Gormand grunted.
Ander looked up at the man, a bemused smile on his face. He waited another moment, just to get under Gormand's skin, then gave the man his answer.
"We have armor we need delivered. Second and Fourth Battalion are dropping in with their support, packing MAT-TE's and other vics, along with some supplies. Once everything's ready and here, which should be…" Ander checked his chrono, "No more than ten or so minutes, we'll be able to gear up and prep for movement."
Gormand nodded. "Right then," he replied, then turned and began shouting in his deep, booming voice. "Baker Company!!!" Commandos in the area looked up from their card games, weapons and whatever else currently had their attention. "Get your asses off the ground and your gear prepped! We've got armor coming, then we're MOVING!"

The encampment outside the Temple burst into an ocean of activity. GALSAF had contributed as large a force as most of the Mandalorian Clans, and a larger force than some. Commandos began repacking their gear, reassembling weapons and applying armor plates for those who had taken them off. Others broke away from the rest and entered the Temple to help gather whatever gear remained inside that was to be brought on the assault.
As the commandos busied themselves with their individual tasks, Gormand turned back to Ander. "I'm off to get my own gear. I'll meet you in the Fortress, when it shows up." Ander nodded and watched the Trandoshan leave before looking around the camp for Ashrah.

The fight between the Mand'alor and Darian had been ended, and Intalbo was wrapping that cursed chain back around his arm. Ander stood and pulled his buy'ce¹ over his head, then made his way towards Ashrah.
"Are we done here?" Ashrah was saying as Ander approached. "A nice little distraction. Now we have a war to win."
Ander stepped up to the Mand'alor and wrapped him on the shoulder with a knuckle. "Oy, Mand'alor," Ander spoke through the vocoder in his helmet. "I've got beskaryc trat'ade² on the way. Any vode³ need a ride? We'll have plenty of room."

At that moment, a deep, boisterous thrumming sounded in the sky over the clearing. The noise was echoed in several other directions, and as Ander looked up to the sky he caught sight of an entire wing of LA-AT's gunships dropping down from overhead with great speed. Everywhere around the clearing, trees and bushes and grass was being washed violently back and forth by the repulsor engines of over a dozen gunships sinking like rocks towards the ground. Each vessel selected an area just outside the perimeter of the encampment to land.
Ander grinned beneath his helmet and clapped Ashrah on the shoulder. "That'll be them."
All of the gunships were painted matte black with dull, maroon accents and First Battalion's unit emblem, a two-headed eagle under the old Imperial military crest and over a solid black "1," splashed across the wings.



Four of the larties were carrying Baker Company's MAT-TE tanks, older All-Terrain Tactical Enforcers with V-shaped bottom hull plates, added crew-operated repeating cannons, improved communications gear and a small shield generator to protect the crew-pits of the vehicle.
These gunships dropped low over the grassy clearing and released their payload with a loud clunk before their engines revved again and they broke for the sky.
Without skipping a beat, each MAT-TE began lurching forward and picking up security positions around the encampment, their rail-gun operated mass drive cannons scanning the hills surrounding the Temple and their anti-personnel cannons swiveling as, they too, scanned their own sectors.
Other carrier gunships dropped off support vehicles, such as a squad of four TX-130 Fighter Tanks, a pair of AAC-3 Anti-Aircraft Combat Tanks, an A-6 Juggernaut and All-Terrain Open Transport, two Artillery Pod Walkers, and an A-9 Floating Fortress.

As they dropped their payloads, the carrier larties broke for the sky, disappearing from sight and sound. The rest, a pair of medical-varient LA-AT's and several regular infantry-varients, landed in the grassy spaces along the encampment perimeter and began dismounting troops and supplies. Baker Company's commandos made their way to help pull out equipment and vehicles from the gunships, including a quad of scout speeders and eight Mark-III Walker Droids.
Platoons began organizing around the assigned vehicles and gear as Baker Company's commander, Captain Shoro Fenwall, made his way over to where Ander was standing beside Ashrah.
"Tagira," the Corellian man called, "Now tha' we've got our armor, I'm organizing the company for movement. All four MAT-TE's are readay to go, we're jus' gonna load up our excess gear."
Ander nodded, "Good, we'll be moving on the Mand'alor's orders, so make sure you're ready." He replied, then turned back to the only man he was ready to label his superior. "Beside Baker Company, I've got three more in reserve, ready to deploy as needed. Each one's got the same compliment of armor we have here. On top of that, we still have three more battalions in reserve, held in orbit, for the moment. We're ready when you are, Mand'alor."


1: buy'ce: Mandalorian helmet, literally "bucket"
2: beskaryc trat'ade: armored forces, specifically armored vehicles. i.e. tanks
3: vode: brothers, comrades

"Nothing. Nothing is what you say. They needed a distraction. An outlet. I gave it to them. Do you honestly think I would let them actually kill me, or hurt me more than your average Bar Brawl? Give your head a shake man. If I didn't want to at least see what your boys were made of, I would never have come over here. Look at them"

He motioned to the crowd now dispersing, most trying to hide the grins on their faces from the fist fight. The tension between Ashrah and Clan Vhett was already legendary, and the fact that Corr had mostly accepted him and was fighting with him said something about the enormity of the War.

"I won't second guess your dressing down. That is not my place. But next time, tone it down a little. Now. Business. Any word from Corr? I have been......Busy."

He chuckled at the last statement. He HAD had a lot of fun, and felt it a little harsh to call Darian dar'manda, but they were Mereels men, and his to dress down.

Ander looked to Mereel, nodding his armored head. He did not recognize the word buy'ca, but from the other Mando's abrasive tone, Ander guessed it was some sort of thinly veiled insult, perhaps half-joking, likely to be entirely serious. The older man took it all in stride, reaching out with a gauntleted hand and clapping it onto Mereel's shoulder.

"We can load up everyone in the Jugs and transport walker. And I can assign you one of our MAT-TE's as well, and simply shift another platoon over to the Jugs. Ner beskar'gam…" Ander pressed his other palm against Mereel's chest, patting it, and was about to continue speaking. The two men looked as if one were forcing the other into a hug.
After a moment, of silence the former Jedi huffed, "Hmmm, I can't remember the Mando'a adjective for to be."
Ander's black and red helmet tilted to the side momentarily before he patted Mereel on the chest once again, "Well that's alright, what I meant to say is My armor is your armor, my friend. But it looks like I've forgotten my connecting words."
The GALSAF commander released Mereel from his grip, stepping away and sweeping his hand over towards the vehicles that had recently been deployed.
"Well, lads, after you. Best we get a move on."

Ander was just stepping off as Intalbo began shouting out orders. The former Jedi was struggling to chew on the Mand'alor's comment about mangling other worlds when he heard Ashrah scream about the communication situation with the Mando forces in orbit. He stopped where he was and looked back to Intalbo.
"We actually fixed that, or should have. We've got shady comms with our boys on the ground, but decent communication with our forces in orbit. We'll have someone dump the calibration data into your systems before we head off."
With that Ander looked back towards the vehicles that 2nd and 4th Battalion had dropped off. MAT-TE's were dropping their passenger hatches as their gunners climbed inside and drivers called out orders. Several more LA-AT/i gunships had arrived, all emblazoned with the GALSAF crest and ready to provide air support for those troops footing it to the Temple. Ander had considered riding with one of the larties into the fight, but figured it would be best for his relationship with the other leaders if Intalbo and Mereel were able to keep a visual on him.
He opted to remain on the ground, where Baker Company was finishing up gathering gear and loading kits. Weapons were being looked over, armor plates tightened and wiped over with oil, and vehicles were being oriented in the direction of the Praxeum Temple, far to the North-West. Ander double-checked the load on his rifle, okaying mentally, then flagged down First Sergent Gormand for a quick word. Gormand would be leading the armored force against the Jedi, providing heavy armor support in order to get their commandos close enough to the shield's edge to slip in.
Gormand rattled off his numbers to Ander, who approved them, and sent the Trandoshan back to the Floating Fortress.

Ander called for Baker Company to him using his helmet's text systems for a quick chat.
"First off, get a comm's officer over to the Mandos to load up that calibration data." Ander began. Second Section's Leftenant picked up and trotted off to meet with one of the Mandalorian communication's operators and provide him with the datachit that contained the calibration data for surface-to-orbit communications.
Ander looked back to the commandos collected before him, nothing but a lake of metal faces. Many of GALSAF's personnel were former soldiers of the Yavin 4 Defense Force, which had served as the Jedi Praxeum's primary line of defense for years.
Ander had formed the Y4DF nearly on his own, with more help from Jedi such as Masters Dav Man'Sell, Ksandra Mallan and Tebana Sor after their arrival on the sanctuary moon. His loyalties were to GALSAF, and GALSAF's loyalties lay with the people of the galaxy that faced oppression and suffered under evil. By the history, all Force Users were enemies of such people. The wars that had raged between the Jedi and the Sith for thousands of years had claimed more lives than could be counted.
Such conflict had to end.

But did it make any sense to end war with more war?
Most Jedi Ander had known would deny that logic on the basis that peace can be achieved through diplomacy.
Most Sith Ander had met would deny that logic for the simple fact that they thrived on the oppression and suffering of others.
The Jedi weren't evil, the Sith were.
But the Jedi had committed acts of evil. They had instigated war, at times intentionally, and at times from their mere existence.
The solution, Intalbo had concluded, was to exterminate Force Users from the galaxy. Ander didn't entirely agree with this process. While he believed the SIth to be better off dead, for the betterment of the galactic population as a whole, his belief stemmed from the fact that Sith nature was incongruous with the will and desire for peace.
The Jedi, however, did not seek out the oppression of others. They achieved it merely with time, and the place they created for themselves within the galaxy. For them, Ander believed arrest and deportation to some backwater world bereft of space-worthy transportation would suffice.
To permanently expatriate them from the galaxy and ensure that, while they still lived, they would be unable to influence the galaxy.

It seemed like a fitting solution, one that left more room for negotiation. Ander had the feeling, however, that Intalbo and the Mandalorians would never accept this judgement. They were after revenge, revenge for millennia of abuse and oppression they suffered at the hands of Force Users.
For many of them, the Clone Wars had been the last straw.
Ander wasn't sure what to think, but before speaking again, he ensured his words were being broadcast wholesale across the commnet. Even the Jedi would be able to hear his words, if they were bothering to listen.

"We're here to take control of the Jedi Praxeum and its personnel," Ander continued after his moment of thought. "We're here to secure all Jedi and supporting personnel, detain them, and prepare them for transport somewhere they can be denied access to the rest of the galaxy. Those who choose to fight will be fought, and killed. Those who choose to submit to arrest will be detained and deported."

Ander took another moment to look over the hidden faces of Baker Company's commandos. No one moved, no one spoke. They merely waited for Ander's next words.

"I understand that many of you are former Why-Four-Dee-Eff. You are now, however, commandos. Our job is to rid this system of those who maintain control over the population here. Our reach will eventually spread, with Mandalorian support, to other systems. We will supplant all Force Using leaders with civilian-elected officials. We will allow the galaxy to govern itself. There will be no Jedi Queens. There will be no Sith Lords. There will be only people, average, innocent, regular people, left to run their own lives. No more wars between Jedi and Sith Orders, no more Emperors to take control of the galaxy in the grasp of fear and death."

Ander pulled his helmet from his head, so the commandos could see his face, and dropped it onto the ground. The buy'ce rolled slightly in the soil beneath, leaving a brown smear on the forehead.

"If anyone doesn't like where we're heading, or why we're here, speak up. If you do, you'll be free to leave. If not, then anyone who acts against the interests of the mission will be designated as hostile and will suffer whatever fate their comrades wishes them to suffer."

He looked around one more time, then tapped the side of his own head, signaling the entire company to remove their own helmets. One by one they did, with little hesitation. Those who did, Ander made a mental note of. He was here as much to establish justice as he was to prove his worth to the people who's culture he had been denied for so long. Secretly, Ander hoped the display was made obvious to the Mandalorians around them.

"Swear it now, or leave." Ander ordered, once all the helmets had been removed.

One by one, each commando quietly repeated the words "I swear it," before pulling their helmets back over their heads. In some faces, Ander saw worry, in others, anger and even fear. Most, however, expressed nothing.
Once the entire company had replaced their buckets on their heads, Ander nodded, clutching his rifle just forward of the receiver and waved his hand outwards in the direction of the Great Temple.

"Good. Now let's form up and move."

The Mando's got their shit together with startling efficiency. They didn't seem to DO anything but the camp was organised, packed up and everyone made ready to move out within fifteen minutes. The Vhett boys drifted off with so much as a word to any of the commanders, their nomadic ways still at the very forefront of their mannerisms. There would be no controlled march for them. They would drift into position of their own volition and be ready to strike when the time came. Some of the more military minded vode assembled in front of the Blueleaf temple, forming up in much the same way that Anders men did. They had no companies or fancy squadrons, unless you counted some of the specific Ori'ramikad units. They stood, watching the men of the GSAF with amusement as they went abut their meticulous readiness routines.

Just passed the temple, in a clearing no larger than a cloudcar, Sheva sat on a large rock staring into a bubbling stream. The rain lashed down around her, matting her hair and flooding away the hot tears that streamed down her face. Her shoulders hunched and trembled with wracking sobs and she shuddered as she sucked in each breath. Mereels words still burned hotly in her ears, their scathing tone re-opening stinging wounds with each recollection. The look on Ashrah's face, imagined or not, haunted her too, his disapproving eyes seeming to follow here in her subconscious, mocking her with their judgment. Most thought of Mando'ade women as hardened warriors, harder than the men even, who could chew nails and wore Beskar thongs. This was partly true yet, like all of their race, Mandalorians nurtured a soulful ad caring side. One that could be scared deep by one who they respected. Liked. Loved...

A soft clearing of the throat alerted her to Darians presence at the edge of the clearing. She could tell it was him from the diffident way that he made the noise. He so didn't want to be here doing this, she knew. Even from childhood the guy had been an emotional retard. A man sculpted for war from birth. Teasing him had been a waste of time, any mock jibe landing flat. Unlike Sven who could fly off the handle at any imagined slight.

=Sheva=
"Usen'ya, Darian. Ni vaabir nayc copaanir bah susulur bic."
{Fuck off, Darian. I don't wanna hear it.}

He approached warily, as if closing on some wild animal. Worse. A wild FEMALE animal protecting her young. He drew level, the rain pattering off his helmet, keeping his gave dead ahead.

=Darian=
Suvavire... Ni shi mirdire gar linibare kar'taylir ibac mhi'r narise dayn.
{Okay... I just thought you should know that we're moving out.}

His voice growled out of his helms speaker but still managed to contain the throbbing sympathy he felt for her. It wasn't lost on him how much she looked up to Mereel. He would even go so far as to say she adored him. Ashrah too in a strange way. Tehre wasn't the history but... The whole thing with the fight. The way she had acted. It was... They were very much children when it came to matters of the heart and Darian had no answer. He's solution to troubles was the same as Svens. Kill it with fire. Still, this was something he could see and it pained him to see his friend in such turmoil.

As she shrugged and growled a muttered acknowledgement, he awkwardly put out a hand and patted her on the shoulder.

=Darian=
Kaysh nayc vercopa bic, sister...
{He didn't mean it, ner tat...}

With that he turned and headed back towards the camp, confident that she would do her duty despite her heartache.[/font]