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Post by Deleted on Oct 26, 2013 19:59:23 GMT -8
Authors allowed to post on this thread: Malicious Mike Madaris only.
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==Thirty-two years before the "present" time. 3,961 BBY: The Second Battle of Taris; Mandalorian Wars.==
The Mandalorian Wars had been going on for more than a decade at this point; fifteen years to be precise. They started when Mike was only a boy of three standard years of age. I suppose it should be noted that the official start to these wars were contentious in the discipline of history. Noted historians differed greatly, it seemed, on when the official start date of the Mandalorian Wars actually commenced. To move past these long, tedious conversations better reserved for the scholarly elite in the universe and, for story's sake, the start date of this war was approximately 3,976 BBY.
Mike was 18 years old at the time. A fresh-faced cadet from Coruscant, flown more than half-way across the galaxy to fight in a war between the Republic and the Mandalorians. Madaris was a handsome, athletic young recruit with a reputation for quick hands and even a faster mouth. His face cleanly shaven and his hair rich and full, the humanoid sat on the transport ship that was coming up closely to Taris with his long-range rifle in hand clad in the standard Republic Army uniform.
The transport was abuzz with the sounds of young, innocent, boys who conversed as if they had no true idea of the carnage of war that lay ahead of them - for indeed they hadn't. They couldn't. Even the mournful words, cautionary tales and forlorn descriptions of their senior officers seemed to not deter these boys' spirits. Untrammeled by what they heard, they sat in the transport itching for their chance at glory.
It was then that Madaris spied another soldier, same age as he, who sat in what seemed to be quiet reflection. Mike moved himself gingerly about the gear that lay about on the ground of the transport. Mike was about to speak when he noticed that this soldier's hands trembled noticeably on the long-range rifle that was held in his left hand. Mike noted this and the name above the soldier's breast pocket and then spoke up, somewhat quietly as he intended for the conversation to be between the two of them exclusively.
"Phi" said Mike "Are you okay?"
Madaris inquired. The trembling soldier he was talking to was Pvt. Vladimir Phi of Corellia. His father was some big shot in the Republic Navy and, initially he desired to blaze his own trail in the military, Vladimir enlisted with the Army. A boy of no more than 18 standard years of age as well, Madaris and Phi got on very well in training camp and though Phi was far more introverted than Madaris at this point, the two were rarely seen a part from each other. When they were given orders, from their superiors, that they would be headed into the same conflict, it brought the two of them great joy to think that they would be able to slaughter the Neo-Crusaders together. It was also somewhat manufactured joy given all of the propaganda that is flung about, on both sides, during any armed conflict.
Regardless, genuine or not, the pride and ease they felt quickly was replaced for Phi. After barely listening to Mike's superficial question about if he was okay, Phi turned to Mike and with a noticeable panic splattered across his face ignored the question and became speaking to Mike in a series of rhetorical ones himself.
"You know they call him Mandalore the Ultimate, right? That just cannot be for no reason." Phi said. After which, he moved his gaze from Madaris toward the floor in front of him as he absentmindedly began flicking his rifle. "Mandalore the Ultimate. That's who we're up against here. Did you hear what he did to Serrocco? Cathar? He nearly wiped those planets off the map and their species as well. The man knows no mercy."
"He's no man. He's an animal that needs to be put down." Madaris interrupted. He paid little notice to Phi's continual flicking of his rifle.
"And we are, Mike? We're men? We're engaged in this conflict with him too. His damned Neo-Crusaders." Phi snapped back with clear anger laced with his words.
"Vlad, I..." Mike started before he was interrupted by Phi's sudden jerk as he turned his gaze back to Madaris with his right hand holding tightly to Mike's wrist. With great intensity, Vlad stated "...look around you, Mike. Even if this war is the right thing to do. Don't you think we should have a bit more of a solemn outlook to this. War is a rich man's conflict in which they send poor boys to fight and die in. We're those boys, Mike! That's us!"
Madaris removed his wrist from the grasp of Phi and patted his friend on the back before he got up and moved elsewhere on the transport. He knew not what to say. At this point in his life, Madaris was not a philosophical man. He had no worldly experiences that taught him anything for certain. He was just a young recruit from Coruscant who desperately wanted to join in the, seemingly, glorious battle to safeguard the Republic and beat back the Mando scum. Everyone else was doing it so, to a young kid from the slums of the city-planet, it seemed like a way out.
And given that Madaris could not be counted on to say much and having to rely exclusively on his charm and handsome looks, Mike simply said to his friend "It'll be above before you know it, Vlad." And got up to leave.
"That's exactly what I'm afraid of" Phi said, somewhat under his breath.
Over the loud speaker in the transport, the soldiers were informed that the Republic Navy had been able to secure passage for the Republic Army and it appeared as though the Mandalorians were retreating.
The descent into Taris commenced.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 26, 2013 20:00:23 GMT -8
==Second Battle of Taris: Mandalorian Wars - 3,961 BBY==
Deafening explosions radiated throughout the Under City. Death silently paced, gently touching and subsequently claiming the lives of the young men, on both sides of this conflict. Screams of men violated the serenity that this planet once knew in what left like a lifetime ago. Long before the stain of war seeped into this, newfound, hell.
Above the Republic Army, the Navy was engaged in a heated exchange with the Neo-Crusaders who, until then, dominated the skies above Taris. When some of the larger starcraft exploded, you could see a small shimmer of light above and it was a beautiful, yet morbid, sight to behold.
After long hours, the Republic Army was able to drive back the Mando Crusaders. It took some skillful maneuvering, but eventually the Army was able to cut off half of the Crusader's forces while simultaneously flanking them. It was the benefit of having overwhelming numbers. General Shkuratov, the commander of the Republic Forces, took note of how few Mando Forces there were with paranoid, yet delighted, interest.
General Shkuratov was an older man, almost sixty years in age. His coutenance always seemed to be that of anger or annoyance. His voice was deep and powerful and his very presence was intimidating. The General was always well dressed and, unlike some of the other Generals in the Army, never engaged in the spoils of war. Although, it should be noted that the General found other, more deviant yet private, ways to enjoy a good victory in the field of battle - just ask his daughters and wife. What they were forced to do after any victory of his was almost unspeakable.
Let's not get too ahead of ourselves.
The General beckoned for his staff as he stated, with deep timbre to his voice, with his trademark look of anger."These Mandalorians... this is supposed to be a stronghold of theirs. Their meager display of resistance in this conflict suggests to me that this might be over sooner rather than later." One of his staff spoke up, his son, Radden Shkuratov. Radden was roughly twenty-five years of age and found himself holding a rank that most do not achieve in their entire career within the Army; Lt. Colonel. No doubt, it was due to the fact that his father was well-connected, and feared, to the point that General Shkuratov could get away with such things. Radden was as dark and twisted as his father but in more overt ways and his father loathed him for it. Their relationship was contentious at best.
Radden was tall and slender, much like his father was at that age. It should be noted that, even though the elder Shkuratov put on some weight in his old age, he was still every bit the strong warrior that he was in his youth. And though Radden looked much like his father, he had his mother's coloring of hair. His dark brown eyebrows and hair were quite the contrast to his ghostly white skin.
"Father. Could this not be a trap to lull us into a false sense of security?" Radden questioned.
The very sound of his son's voice clearly aggravated The General a fierce grimace streaked across the face of the elder Shkuratov. The General sighed loudly and for great length until he finally replied, still with his eyes closed. "Radden, if I wanted counsel from you I would have asked for it. However, seeing as you are resolute in pretending to be a wise strategist, I'll briefly entertain your thought." The General stated before he finally opened his eyes and coldly grinned at his son. The others in the General's staff fell silent. "No, Radden. Not only is it highly unlikely that this is some sort of a trick, the Neo-Crusaders are about as smart as you. Thusly, we haven't a thing to fear. You would do well to remember, Radden, that a man learns much by listening and observing and...less... through talking. Continuously." The General's words were laced with anger and his condescending tone was not at all lost on his son who returned a clearly angered gaze of his own as his brow folded whilst his eyes locked on his father's. There was something that brought them off his father's own, perhaps the realization that they were in the company of others, or something else. Regardless, the younger Shkuratov simply yielded to his father and did not press the matter any further.
"Sir! The Mandalorians are in full retreat. Their Army is being evacuated and their Navy has moved deeper into the Outer Rim. The Admiral is requesting to pursue the enemy." One of the Sergeants spoke up, having received the report as the two Shkuratov men were engaged in an awkward exchange. The elder Shkuratov brought his eyes to the young Sergeant with a chilling grin. "Tell Admiral Varr... forget it. Put him on the screen here. I will talk to him personally." The General requested. Within minutes, Admiral Varr was presented to the General and his staff, as they stood in a make-shift camp in the, now, Republic stronghold of the Under City on Taris.
"General Shkuratov." Admiral Varr stated with voice of a man who spent years smoking a dozen cigarettes a day; which, indeed he had. Admiral Chanis Varr was a man of no more than forty-six standard years himself. Unlike General Shkuratov, Admiral Varr was intimidating only in appearance. Varr was, by all other measures, a fairly warm man. However, if one were to simply judge him by his looks, they might never surmise such a thing.
Admiral Varr had a brutally scarred face. A victim of torture by a malicious and malvolent slaver, Chanis Varr knew of the true cruelty of humanity. Eventually he earned his freedom when his master became in-debted to a Republic Colonel and, taking pity on the young boy, the Colonel had young Chanis enlist in the Republic Navy. Accompanying the countless and painful-looking scars that decorated the face of the Admiral was an eye patch over his right eye. The loss of his right eye came, as you might have guessed, at the disturbed request of his master. The young Chanis looked for too long at his master's daughter and told the young boy that he was fortunate that he did not remove both of this eye for such a "stunt".
"Admiral Varr. Congratulations on your victory." General Shkuratov replied back and, without allowing Varr to state anything further, Shkuratov ceased the superficial pleasantries and continued on his line-of-thought. "I hear you want to purse the Mandalorians. Negative. We need you and your ships above us as we continue our pursuit of any Mandalorian cells that might still be here as well as some reports of their allies - The Exchange. Apparently, they reside in the Upper City. After that, we are due to rendezvous back with Central Command. There are plans for a final offensive. You will remain where you are until further notice." There was a brief silence between the two and though Varr tried with all his patience to remain dispassionate about the words that Shkuratov spoke, there was a clear resentment that appeared on his face before Varr did finally speak, with more-than-slight annoyance "Very well, General. We will remain in place." Before The General ceased the conversation, Varr killed the visual and audio feed. The General's first thoughts were to have Varr brought to military tribunal for his churlish behavior but, after a few moments forgot all about it as they continued in strategizing their offensive to claim the entire planet for the Republic.
Varr, meanwhile, upon cutting the feed to General Shkuratov had two simultaneous thoughts within his own head. The first being that he thought General Shkuratov was a dick and the second being the following, "The military and slavery - same thing, different uniforms."
And yet, Admiral Varr waited in place and ordered his fleet to do the very same as they remained ever-vigiliant for any returning Neo-Crusaders, their fleets or any potential allies to enter the skies over the planet of Taris. Down below, the troops of the Republic maintained an overwhelming presences in the Under City as the troops marched onward to the Upper.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 26, 2013 20:02:09 GMT -8
On the outskirts of the Under City, Lt. Zan Plotika received a message from General Shkuratov's Office. It was a pre-recorded message from the General's personal secretary for communications.
"To all platoon leaders, General Shkuratov has received the following directive from Coruscant. This order is to be carried out immediately. All slaves found in Taris are to be freed at once. Please inform them that they are being granted their freedom as newfound citizens of the Republic. In the following weeks, we'll send an envoy to oversee outreach for our new citizens. Thank you." The video cut out after the message was relayed completely. Lt. Plotika's eyes narrowed as he thought something was askew here. Sure, the Republic was against slavery and slave trade but to release the slaves this early into the conflict was suspicious. Lt. Plotika thought to himself "they are not solely doing this okay of the kindness of their hearts. There is an angle here." And indeed there was. Whilst the Republic had a firm stance on being against slavery, outlawing it in all Republic Systems, in this particular instance their strategy just so happened to be a good deed. It was not necessarily just something done out of good-will with no other agenda present. The Republic were hoping that it would squash, permanently, The Exchange's presence on this planet with an armed peoples who have recently been given their freedoms from the Republic. With The Exchange's influence all but nullified on the planet, it would make their control of Taris all the more smooth and irrevocable.
It was no surprise that Lt. Plotika would see through this. Zan Plotika was a highly intelligent man from Alderaan spending his youth excelling in his studies and making his father, a Hospital Administrator, proud. When Zan came of military age and enlisted, it ironically broke the heart of his father who wished for his son to find a job within one of the more prominent universities or practice law - something more becoming of a boy with his intelligence. Regardless of his father's wishes, there was no stopping Zan who, headlong, enlisted within the Republic Army given that he secretly dreamt of bringing glory to the family name within the Mandalorian conflict.
Zan Plotika, roughly thirty years of age, was an average looking man, not particularly strong nor did he have any unusual features. He was average height, average weight and was average at interacting with others. The only thing remarkable, outside of his un-remarkability, was his intelligence when it came to his studies though such things, within the military, did not make Plotika stand out at all. In fact, many of his superiors would often forget his name when he was mentioned in conversation or whenever they came across him. Zan was, more or less, a pretty forgettable individual within this Republic Army.
It is important to know, whilst away fighting in the Mandalorian Wars, Zan had fallen on some financial hard times. He was a married man and had a sickly child. The cost of care, coupled with the strain that it placed on his marriage, plagued the mind of the young Plotika. In fact, he had learned just prior to the conflict here on Taris, that his wife had filed for divorce from him which would only increase his issues with money.
After Lt. Plotika spent a few moments re-reading the letter sent by his wife's attorney, and with the scattered medical bills on his desk within his private quarters, Zan bunched everything together and calmly ripped up both the letter and the bills. Finally, he got to his feet and called out to his platoon who were on the outside of the tent eagerly awaiting their orders as they inched closer to the Upper City.
"Madaris!" The Lieutenant beckoned and, within a few moments, Pvt. Madaris was at the threshold to the entrance of the private quarters of his commanding officer. Mike would recall years later what the inside of the private quarters were like. The inside was dimly lit and smelled like cheap cigarettes and even cheaper whiskey and though Plotika never smelled like either, Madaris genuinely wondered who consumed these things and why these fragrances seemed to hover around Plotika but never -on- the man by any other measure.
"Sir?" Madaris replied.
"Madaris. Tell the others, we are leaving for the Upper Cities first thing in the morning. Get some rest and be ready to move out." Plotika ordered, unmoved his chair with his back to Madaris.
"Aye, sir! Sir! I also wanted to mention!..." Madaris started before being interrupted by Plotika with a simple lift of his hand. "Mother Anaxilea, Madaris. You do not need to scream everything. The Academy days are behind you now. Lower your damn voice..."
"Sir, yes sir..." Madaris replied with a lower tone than before as he continued "...Sir, the others would like to know what we should do with the slaves we have in our company. The ones we took from their Masters before killing the Masters...Do we release them now?"
Finally, and without delay, Plotika turned and looked to Madaris before he stood up and slowly walked over to the young Private. Zan's eyes scrutinized Madaris as though the young soldier challenged him to a duel. Ultimately, Zan spoke with a tone of arrogance yet certainty when he instructed to Madaris the following, "We're ordered to hold them for now. They are prisoners of war until further notice. Now get out, Madaris."
Without hesitation or question, Madaris made himself scarce. After he left, Plotika turned to his desk and picked up his personal com-link. Before he activated the link, his face displayed clear worry as beads of sweat began to expose themselves on the forehead of the young Plotika. In the end, Plotika pushed the button, activated the communication between himself and the mysterious person on the other end of the device. And for this, he cemented his destiny.
Once the com-link channel was activated, it took merely a few moments for a reply. On the other end of the link, there was a male's voice, in quiet tone, that inquired simply "Zan? Is that you?"
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Post by Deleted on Oct 26, 2013 20:02:58 GMT -8
The next day, the platoon commanded by Lt. Plotika made its way north into the Upper City. The Lower and Middle Cities were secured, the Under City was quite arguably the most protected of them all thus far and it was therefore the directive of Lt. Plotika to bring Republic control into the Upper City.
Taris, at that point, was immersed in a bitter humocentric state wherein the human upper-class shunned, with tangible ferocity, the lower class of the planet. The lieutenant thought very little of this place and its inhabitants regardless of social class. It was not a hate, it was simply a nearly indifferent disregard for a planet that appeared, to him, to be a sick and dying version of the great city-planet of Coruscant. Zan knew, however, that it was arguably one of the many reasons why Taris appeared to be a depressed, whimpering widow. A planet suffering the loss of relevancy all while facing famine, civil war and a shortage of resources. Although there was some beauty to this place, he supposed. Just after dawn, the sleepy sun stretched out slowly across the skies bathing the buildings in a golden glow and touching gently the scenic, though polluted, waters of this forlorn planet. The natural beauty, easily observed and appreciated by a man who did not have to live in this otherwise disconsolate planet, reminded the young lieutenant of home, on Alderaan in some very faint ways. If you squinted. And were drunk.
Plotika felt blessed to have been born and raised within the Core Worlds. He was a fortunate man indeed. When Zan's thoughts settled on his youth, almost immediately were they jerked to that of his son. Zan missed him dearly and loved still his wife. If only he could become successful in war and in business and earn the respect of his family, he would be complete. It was a foreign feeling for the young, average, lieutenant who was used to the adoration of his father and mother growing up. The burdensome weight of failure was more than he could stand and it riddled him with unspeakable anxiety. It was a boulder slowly crushing his spirits.
Elsewhere, within the orbit of Taris, sat two lieutenant commanders who peered, absent of mind, into the abyss of space. The stars, numerous and bright, seemed to return the gaze of the young, fresh-faced lieutenant commanders. They were young men as well, jovial and relatively at ease considering the impressive display of strength and cunning that was able to emerge victorious in the conflict with the Neo-Crusaders less than twenty-four standard hours prior.
They were both born and raised in Coruscant though they knew not of each other previously, before they joined the Navy. The first lieutenant commander was a short and stocky, good-hearted slob, named Gordon Duo. The second was Jom Farroq though they had a few similarities, in person of their physique, outside of that they were incredibly different from each other. First instance, their voices. The former’s was raspy and the latter’s somewhat soft for a man’s. It is important to highlight another trait where the two were extremely different from the other, and that was their hair. Duo had auburn hair and was, by all accounts, much more agreeable to the eyes. In fact, Duo was quite the lady’s man as he was rarely found without a female on his arm in the different cantinas and taverns across the galaxy. Some of the others within the Navy who knew of Duo would often joke about trying to guess the number of broken hearts left scattered across the galaxy in Duo’s wake. Farroq, on the other hand, effeminate in voice and rather unkempt was a bit awkward to behold and thus was rarely found with an interested lady, intellectually or otherwise, that did linger about him. Nevertheless, the two were good friends.
=Lt. Commander Farroq=
“The Neos aren't comin’ back. I don’t know why the Admiral is having us dock here.”
Lt. Commander Duo looked over to Farroq and gave a lazy nod of his head before returning his gaze to the stars outside.
=Lt. Commander Duo=
“Yeah, I agree. What a waste of time. If they really wanted to end the war sooner, they would have advanced. Makes you wonder why they want to prolong this conflict, doesn’t it?”
Lt. Commander Farroq nodded as well, in a similar half-hearted fashion and grunted what could easily be discerned as affirmation; an agreement of his friend’s words. Not a second after that non-verbal agreement were the two interrupted by the sound of someone standing behind them whom had just cleared his throat. Startled as all hell, they were quick to their feet and, once they saw who it was that stood before them, their eyes were wide with fear. Lt. Commanders Duo and Farroq had their hearts in their respective mouths when their eyes fell upon Admiral Varr who stood before the two with his arms behind his back.
In Admiral Varr’s usual voice, of clear indication of a person who smoked incessantly, though a bit softer than normal, the Admiral replied to his subordinates.
=Admiral Varr=
“It does make you wonder why we weren’t allowed to advance. However as you know, I am not the Supreme Commander of the Republic Forces.”
The Admiral said with a smile and a wink from his left, uncovered, eye. It was clear he eager to give off that he had taken no offense to their conversation.When Lt. Commander Farroq desperately tried to find his words and apologize, with Lt. Commander’s own echo of an apology not far behind, Admiral Varr waved it off jovially with flick of his wrist.
“I can certainly understand the questions, boys. No offense taken. Besides, it wasn’t my call. Anyways, enough of that. I only stopped by because I am looking for you, Duo. You’ve been given a new assignment that I wanted to personally deliver.”
Admiral Varr handed over a slip of paper to Duo. The Lt. Commander was quick to open it and inside he found the official seal of the Republic Navy and the signature of the Admiral that stood before him. Upon completion of reading the paper, Duo’s eyes returned to Varr.
“I am to go to the Under City?” Asked Duo
“That’s right, son. However, that’s not why I wanted to hand deliver this to you.” Replied the Admiral.
“Oh?” Duo asked, clearly confused why a seemingly basic re-assignment would warrant a personal visit from the Admiral.
Varr looked to Farroq and kindly asked him if he might have a moment alone with Duo. Farroq respectfully saluted his superior officer and made himself scarce, relieved that he faced no reprimanded for openly questioning the orders of Central Command.
Once Farroq was out of sight and after the Admiral looked around to see if he could spy any other person within an ear-shot of this conversation, the highest decorated officer in the Navy of the Republic spoke quietly to the young Duo.
“Duo, I like you so I wanted to be the first to offer *confidential* advice to you as you embark on this new assignment of yours.” Varr stated with a clear sternness to his voice. “Heed my words, son. Watch yourself around Shkuratov and his boy. You got that? You’re only being sent down as a representative from the Navy as the General requested one be present whilst we try to stabilize this area. Observe much and say little. When in doubt, have the General conference with me. You got that?”
Clearly confused, Duo did not know what to say. It was an honor to be respected to the point that he might serve on General Shkuratov’s personal staff. It was rare to be granted such an opportunity to potentially counsel the Supreme Commander of the Republic Forces. However, the gravity and austere words of the Admiral were certainly not lost on him and it was the precipice for this aforementioned bewilderment for which the Lt. Commander could only issue a half-hearted, clumsy, reply of “Yes...sir?”
“Listen to me, Duo. This is a temporary position for you. It’s just until we can stabilize a few things here and then you’ll be reassigned, most likely back to me. Regardless, if you stick it out and be weary of Shkuratov and his son, who is to say what you might be promoted to? Possibly a Captain or Rear Admiral if he likes you enough.” Duo’s ears nearly jumped up with delight. A Captain? A Rear Admiral? The possibilities could be endless for Duo then. The fame, the glory, the honor - all of it could be his. It was this lust for achieving rank and power, and with it the endless influence and respect, that Duo focused on more than the advice of Varr, though he heard it. Duo nodded his head and replied to his Admiral “Yes. Yes, sir. Of course. When do I leave?” asked the young Lt. Commander; to which Admiral Varr replied. “At once.”
Proudly and with great joy, Duo saluted Varr. With a smile, from ear to ear, Duo said “Thank you, sir. I promise, I won’t let you down.” Admiral Varr nodded his head, convinced that Duo heard him but unsure if his words meant much to the young soldier - only time could tell.
And with that, he turned around and walked briskly back to his quarters to inform Farroq, pack his things and catch a shuttle to escort him down to the Under City where operations for Taris’ liberation were headquartered.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 26, 2013 20:06:06 GMT -8
==The Second Battle of Taris: Day 3. Mandalorian Wars: 3,961 BBY==
“Right in here, Commander. General Shkuratov will be with you soon.” One of the staff for The General motioned to the young, handsome Lt. Commander Duo. The Commander stopped in his tracks and locked, in bashful hesitant, contested the direction given to him by the Private before him, “His personal quarters? Wouldn’t the General object to this whilst he is in another meeting?”
The private did not flinch and, with a grin, kept the flap open that lead into the private tent of the General and stated, “No, sir. The hospitality came directly from the General himself.” Lt. Commander Duo would press the matter no further and proceeded, with strange caution, into the private quarters of General Shkuratov as the Private closed the tent behind Duo.
When Duo noticed that he was alone, he scanned the inner sanctuary of the leader of the Republic Armed Forces. Everything seemed expensive, ornate and clean. Even for a mobile office, which this was, it seemed fascinating that the General would go to such length to be surrounded by some of the finer things in life. In a lot of ways, it was different than what Duo had seen of the planet so far since his re-assignment from a ship in the orbit of Taris to the ground itself. Duo had never been to this planet and the little he saw of it, intrigued him on some basic level. There wasn’t much to look at it, but how many men can say that they were present when a planet was liberated and made a part of the great Republic? It would make for a wonderful story to his grandchildren someday.
The handsome Lt. Commander made his way, slowly, towards a small desk that occupied the far right corner of the small tent. Directly in front of him, on one side of the desk, were two chairs that faced the towering chair for the general on the other end of the table. The chairs for the guests were made of steel and very cold to the touch whereas the chair for the General had a long, wooden back that stretched almost to the ceiling of the tent itself. The backing of the chair was draped in plush red carpet. On the nondescript desk, there was situated a small black book, closed though with a red ribbon inside of it proudly marking the page in which it was situated.
Gordon stopped himself for a moment and lurked over the book. Quickly, he turned around back towards the entrance to the tent to listen and to see. When he believed himself to be alone for the foreseeable future, Duo lightly lifted the cover of the book and peered down to read the contents of the marked page, with the red ribbon. His gaze was that of profound confusion as he simply was only able to make out a couple sentences. “…next year, we wish to engage the Mandos at Malachor V. The Mass Shadow Generator will be completed by then according to the Jedi.”
The newly assigned Commander wished mightily to read on but was sharply interrupted, in his intrusive and rude behavior, by a voice – that of the Private who ushered him into the tent of Shkuratov. “Yes sir, General! Lt. Commander Duo waits inside for you.”
With wide eyes, Duo acted quickly. He shut the book and made three quick strides away from the desk as he came more toward the middle of the tent. When the flap to the tent flung open, Duo greeted the General at the position of attention and saluted his superior officer. “Sir, Lt. Commander Duo reporting for duty, Sir!”
The General rolled his eyes and replied, with a noticeable sigh, “At ease, Commander. Come, take a seat at my desk.” The General slowly started to walk over to the desk, as did Duo who went to reach for one of the two chairs for the guests until he was interrupted by General Shkuratov.
“No. Sit in that chair.” The General said as he pointed to the wooden chair, with tall backing draped with red carpet. Duo was noticeably caught off guard by this and looked at the General while he politely tried to decline. “Sir, I couldn’t possibly…” but was unable to finish his thought at the General interjected with his trademark deep and commanding voice. “*Sit*. Down.”
And with those two words, there was an eerie and intimidating silence between the two until Duo, out of nervous habit, cleared his throat and quickly made his way to the chair behind the desk. Before he sat, Duo unfastened the two buttons on his Navy issued overcoat, on which the badges of his rank proudly were pinned. After he sat, General Shkuratov grinned before he seated himself in one of the cold, iron chairs left usually for one of his guests. Without many seconds passing between them, though they were in silence given that Duo was entirely too intimidated to speak first, the elder Shkuratov took out, from the sheath under his left breast a thin, silver blade and held it with his right hand. Shkuratov studied it as he rotated it in a bit in his hand.
“Commander, have you ever killed a man?” The General asked cryptically. He removed his eyes from the shiny, sleek blade and locked them squarely, and intensely, on Lt. Commander Duo.
“Yes, sir. I have.” Replied Duo confidently and with a thoughtful, yet sad gaze.
“I don’t mean in one of your ships, from thousands and thousands of meters away with the single push of a button, Commander. I mean up close…while looking in his eyes as you shoot him or send your blade, headlong, through his flesh and bone as he grabs at you as if to beg for a reprieve.” The General stated through almost gritted teeth and a curled lip.
“No, sir. I have not killed a man in the manner in which you mean.” Duo said with clear defeat in his mannerisms.
“The Navy. Of course not. Well, Commander Duo, do you at least like that chair that you’re seated in?” inquired Shkuratov with a much less intense gaze than moments prior.
“I do, sir. Yes.” Replied Duo instantaneously
“Maybe you’ll get to sit in one like it someday, Duo.” The General stated with a grin, still he held onto the small, thin blade in his right hand. “I wanted someone like you, Commander Duo. Do you know why?”
“I do not, sir”, Duo answered honestly.
“Of course you don’t. Look at you, Duo. Young and smug; I hate the very look of you. This war has been going on for more than a decade and you’ve been involved for far less than half of that time. Your hands are as soft as your mind and there you sit thinking you’re here based on your merit, your achievements. Ha! You’re here because I didn’t want Admiral Varr or his Vice Admiral or Rear Admiral or a Captain. I wanted someone young and inexperienced. Do you know why, Duo?” The General asked one last question to the young, handsome Commander before him. Confused and afraid, Duo answered with a voice now ripe with shaken uncertainty “N-no, no sir I do not.”
In one quick movement, Shkuratov brought his blade down and stabbed it with all the ferocity he could muster just a half inch away from the book that lay on the table with red-ribbon in between its pages. As he sent the forsaken blade into the table, Shkuratov came to his feet, and with his left hand reached for the collar of Duo, grabbed him tightly and brought him toward the center of the table. Shkuratov then leaned in and, as he stared with the intensity of a thousand suns, grinned and showed his rotten, nearly decayed teeth. With every passing sentence, Shkuratov gripped Duo’s collar tighter and shook him just a bit whilst he spoke. Duo did nothing to resist, mostly because Shkuratov was a superior officer and for as startled as Duo was, he did not forget where he was and with whom he was speaking too. “Because I like to watch young, ignorant men like you become consumed in the fires of war. You bastards with your ‘right’ and your ‘wrong’ and your arrogance in thinking that you know something that us older men either don’t know or forgot. I’ll enjoy watching you become miserable; become stuck; waiting for a promotion, waiting for the end of war. There is no end of war and you will learn it. There is only war and preparation for the next war. Young men like you do not understand this. Ultimately you will know it to be true. I wanted to see a young Naval Hand grow up to become something he hoped to never be. And that is why you are here, Commander Duo. That will be your fate. Don’t allow yourself to think that I will rely much on your counsel, if at all.”
The Commander’s eyes, wide with fear, looked back toward the General as he swallowed hard. After the elder Shkuratov finished speaking, he released Duo with a shove back against the plush chair from which he originated and left the young Commander seated there with the book and the blade before him.
General Shkuratov then turned and walked towards the threshold of the tent and, as he kept his back faced toward Duo, the old General said very plainly and with such sincerity that Duo would live in fear of Shkuratov for the rest of his days. “Don't count on being sent back to Admiral Varr. You're stuck on my staff until I am through you. Oh, and Duo, if you ever read through anymore of my personal documents without my say-so, I will personally gut you and hang you by your innards.”
And with that, he left the young Commander there, within his own private quarters. Duo sat in the chair in complete disbelief of the conversation that had occurred, nor how the old General knew he had read some of the personal notebook before their meeting commenced.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Oct 26, 2013 20:07:00 GMT -8
Throughout the arduous trek northward into the Upper City, some of the comrades of Madaris found themselves, absent of mind at times, staring at the man himself with great pity. The silence between them all felt necessarily obligatory. Not a single one of them knew what to say to their brother-in-arm, their friend, Mike Madaris.
Vlad Phi, Mike’s nearest and dearest of comrades in this war, was officially classed as “missing in action” but presumed to be deceased. All but four bodies were recovered from what was assumed to be an ambush by some of the Neo-Crusaders and the young Phi, and three others, were not recovered. And though many of the men in this army, within this platoon, had lost friends there was a close, genuine kinship that existed between Phi and Madaris.
The platoon made camp, on the outskirts of the Upper City on Taris, that night. From what they could see, the Upper City was relatively unblemished by the war. Lt. Plotika scrutinized what very little he could discern from the far-out distance at which they stood relative to the Upper City itself. Rather than push his troops though the Upper City, he elected to give them a night’s rest. They were already ahead of schedule. Plotika had heard stories about Taris and its fierce, unforgiving class warfare that was waged, daily, in the most asinine and humiliating ways on the poor. What limited resources existed on this planet, were instantly hoarded by the rich at the expense of the poor. Plotika hoped, with any luck, the emergence of Taris into the Republic might spare anymore loss of life to starvation, suicide or any of the abysmal fates that seemed to laughingly linger over the body of a poor person.
It is important to know, dear Reader, that it is true. Taris was admitted into the Republic in 3,966 BBY. However, in the five years since admittance, the depressed city-planet was slow to adopt the policies and rules that came with membership into the Galactic Republic. They still had slaves, for starters, and it was commonly understood that their membership was rushed based more so on corporate interest rather than humanitarian ones. The real change would have to come after Taris was secured and the Neo-Crusaders defeated and The Exchange dismantled. It was a work in constant progress and, this time, the Republic sought to remedy the situation: hence the *Second* Battle of Taris.
The camp, that Lt. Plotika ordered erected for the night, was enormous. The platoon that Plotika directly oversaw numbered to nearly one-thousand. It was almost double that but the losses they suffered in the Second Battle of Taris dwindled the numbers, though it still left them in a position to be a formidable force, should the Upper City prove to have any cells of Neo-Crusaders or, the pesky criminal organization, The Exchange. The lieutenant retired for the evening to his quarters as soon as his thoughts drifted to thinking about the cruel life of a poor person, but not any person, he was concerned with himself. Plotika closed his tent when he had decided that he was alone and, he combed through his pocket, until his hand stumbled upon his com-link. Plotika pulled it quickly from his pocket as though it was a weapon and he stared at it, sweat started to seep through the pores of his forehead.
At one part of the camp, sat a group of no more than fifteen men – Madaris being one of them; they discussed a wide range of things before their conversation, almost inevitability, landed on the conversational topic of their enemies; the Mandalorians. Kindly and with no malice, one of the members of the platoon tried to be diplomatic and optimistic when he offered some hallow words to Madaris, he hoped they would provide Mike some solace. “Maybe Phi is being held prisoner?” The soldier proposed out-loud. The young Madaris looked to him and did not scowl, nor smile. In fact, there was very little emotion on his face at all. Mike simply nodded his head as if to say “Yeah, maybe” though the words would not escape his lips. Instead, the young Madaris, tired and dirty from the day, rose from his seat in the dirt and made his way back to his tent. The nervous eyes of the others huddled around the small fire danced to and fro amongst each other.
Mike wished not to be rude or stoic. He simply had no desire to partake in conversations such as those. The ones that soldiers tell themselves and each other to bring optimism into something that could optimistic – war. Regardless, from everything Mike had learned, or could learn, about the enemy whilst he studied about them in the Academy; it seemed that Mandalore the Ultimate did not take prisoners. These Neo-Crusaders were warriors in the most pure and brutal sense of the word.
The young Private, en-route to his own tent, came upon the tent of Lt. Plotika and as he heard the Lieutenant on the phone, Mike stopped in his tracks. Initially, it was out of harmless curiosity but it took him a few seconds before he had to look around to make sure no one was coming by or spying on him, as he spied on Plotika. From inside the tent, Mike heard in a sort hushed, whispered kind-of screaming, “I don’t know! There’s about thirty of them. How am I supposed to know? Look. Look. Look. All I know is this: they are supposed to be released again. They’re citizens of the Republic technically but I can give you…I don’t know! I can’t worry about the logistics. Do you have any idea what would happen to me if it was discovered that I am giving you these…people? Uh-huh. I can’t give you more than half of what I got. I might even get some more too so let me get back to you tomorrow night and we can see who else we have. But listen. I want top-credit for them. I need the money. I have to…yeah, we can talk about it tomorrow. Okay.”
Mike’s eyes were wide as he listened in crippling disbelief. His heart seemed to nearly pump through his chest before he gathered himself and quietly stepped away from Lieutenant Plotika’s tent. Mike didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know who he could tell. He couldn’t tell anyone! Who would believe him? Wait, maybe he heard wrong. Yes, he was mistaken. All would be fine when, tomorrow, they would enter the Upper City, release the slaves and carry on with the rebuilding mission. It would be fine. Right?
What if it’s not? What would he do? Mike did not know if he could turn the other cheek on this one or if he could Court Marshal a superior officer. The reprimand that Mike might face for squealing on a superior officer would follow him throughout his career. On that night, Madaris elected to do nothing and simply sleep on it. He would allow what happened the next day to dictate how he would handle the situation. Mike could not think of anything better to do. The young, eighteen year old Private, had never been put in a situation like this before and he loathed it. His stomach was made sick from the very thought of this and he felt nauseous. Madaris quietly slipped into his own tent to retire for the evening with a plethora of thoughts on his mind.
~~Elsewhere in the Outer Rim aboard the main ship for Mandalore the Ultimate~~
In a dark, foul smelling cell, Vlad Phi lay half-conscious and shivering. Around him were three men, though only two were still alive. The third was someone from the Republic Army that he knew. The corpse was that of another eighteen year old Private, same as he, that Phi was somewhat familiar with from the Academy. There was a wound that seemed to originate from the corpse’s right leg. Phi looked at it, horrified until that horror was replaced by the startling jolt of hearing another voice call out to him from the cell, and it made Phi realize that he was not alone.
“He bled out.” One of the other soldiers from the Republic stated. The soldier was a little older, or appeared to be as such. He sat with his back against the wall, knees bent and to the chest, with his arms wrapped around his legs. Vlad didn’t recognize him, though he was wearing the traditional Republic Uniform and appeared to have bled from his mouth and had a bandage that looked self-made, wrapped around his head. On his lapel, his rank was displayed by his badges – Staff Sergeant.
Phi was badly bruised and bloodied. In fact, he was coming to that very realization and decided to take inventory of himself. All of his appendages were still in-tact; his eyesight seemingly was fine though it was difficult to tell given how dark his quarters were.
“You and I were about the only ones to escape relatively unscathed…for now.” The soldier in the corner continued as his head motioned toward another soldier near the door to the darkened, chilled cell. Phi, still not saying a word, simply looked back toward the door and noticed a soldier who appeared to be a couple years older than he, clumsily feeling the wall to the cell for reasons unclear to the captured Phi.
“He’s blind and deaf.” The Staff Sergeant in the corner stated. “You’ve been out for a while.” He continued before his stream of consciousness detoured to thoughts of going home, to his family, on Coruscant,
“If I make it out here…I just want to make it out of here.” He said with great sadness as his head shook.
Phi was about to speak up before the door to the cell opened and Mandalorian Guards rushed in loudly, handcuffed the three of soldiers and dragged them out of the cell. They kicked the corpse for a moment before ultimately resigning and returning their attention to the prisoners. Phi’s eyes narrowed significantly as they were unaccustomed to the light. In front of him, was the Staff Sergeant he had just been speaking with moments prior and in front of the Staff Sergeant there was the blind and deaf soldier.
After a few moments, the guards stopped. They stood in line as they were; two guards per one prisoner with the blind and deaf soldier at the front of the line as mentioned. Everyone was silent until finally one Mandalorian came out from a side hallway. From his studies in the Academy, Phi knew it was most likely not the infamous Mandalore the Ultimate as he was clad in the traditional garb of a Neo-Crusader. He spoke only one sentence at the blind and deaf soldier.
“What do you know about a Super Weapon being developed by the Jedi?”
There was no answer until the Staff Sergeant called out toward the Mando’a who stood before them all, “He’s been rendered blind and deaf from the battle”, before being turned to one of the guards holding him and squarely back-handed across the face, which caused him to recoil back into the second guard. Phi began to uncontrollably shake due to intense nervousness.
The Mandalorian before them all turned from the Staff Sergeant to the blind and deaf soldier and stated, in Basic so that the other two would hear him, “Well then, he’s of no use to Mandalor”. The Mandalorian simply walked up to the deaf and blind soldier, removed his blaster from his holster and shot the soldier in the head, killing him instantly. The two guards carried him away, out of sight from the dizzy Staff Sergeant and the frightened Vlad Phi.
“If you prove to be of no use to us, you both will meet the same fate as your comrade.” The Mandalorian stated as he motioned for the guards to advance that held the Staff Sergeant.
“I hate looking at your uniform.” The Mandalorian turned and looked to the guards who proceeded to strip the Staff Sergeant nearly bare. “Now, what do you know about the Super Weapon we have learned about being developed by the Jedi?” The Staff Sergeant replied back instantly, “We both know about it. Phi and I. We both know. You cannot kill us both as we’ll both be of use!”
The Mandalorian in charge looked to Phi and motioned for his guards to bring him forward. “Is this true, boy?” The Mandalorian inquired at Phi. Nervously, Phi shook his head and replied, eager to save his life and the Staff Sergeant’s “Yes, yes it is. I swear it.”
The Mandalorian in charge smiled and paced back to the Staff Sergeant. “I like him. I don’t like you and we don’t need both of you if you both know. One of you will be sufficient.” Upon saying as much, the very same Mandalorian walked up to Phi, stood him up on his feet, removed his binds and placed in his hand a six-inch blade.
“Kill him, boy and I’ll let you live. Refuse and I’ll kill you both.” The Staff Sergeant flinched and tried to get away before being restrained and held in place by his guards after they whacked him a few more times about the head.
“Honor! Have honor!” the Staff Sergeant screamed out as he pleaded to Phi who had just started to slowly advance toward him. The catalyst Mandalorian laughed as he watched this; the guards joined in as well with their own smirks.
Phi’s hands trembled greatly and the young soldier wanted to vomit. This went against everything taught in the Academy, everything he had ever learned to be true about glory and honor; the immortality of being a valiant soldier. However that’s all those things were to him now – stories. Vlad was legitimately afraid for his life. The young, eighteen year old, didn’t know what to do. When the Mandalorian in charge noticed that Vlad had stopped, thereby had taken far too long to give them all the gratification they had wished to witness he called out to his men. “Kill them both.”
Phi could hear the blasters be removed from their holsters and could feel the blaster kill him though a single shot was not fired. He did not want to die. Phi closed his eyes with every fiber of energy he had and screamed out, “NO!” and lunged forward toward the Staff Sergeant and stabbed him once in the neck. Phi then removed the blade and stabbed the Staff Sergeant eight more times throughout his body before the young Private threw the blade aside, and wept out loud. The Mandalorian in charge of this operation motioned for the guards to take Phi back to his cell whilst he laughed that Phi’s pain and the events that had occurred in front of him just moments prior.
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