~ " Plenty of time indeed," Jago agreed, nodding.
It did not take him longer before he was sweeping out of the hangar, moving to get prepped. To get ready for action.
There was a war to win, after all. ~
Hangar
-
Zuli Madoon
- Posts: 26
- Joined: Sun Nov 17, 2013 8:57 pm
Re: Hangar
"Very well. Gather your equipment and weapons. We leave in just under 15 minutes.. Diiiismissed.."
"Hello, old friend. I need you to look after my armor for me.."
"I can't take it with me where we're going. It'll only slow me down and hinder progress.."
Re: Hangar
~ It did not take long for him to return.
Normal attire gone and prepped for battle, the heavy rain cloak covering the majority of his short figure. The protective cover trailed slightly behind him, the open bay doors of the hangar allowing in the wind of the thunderstorm. Each push of wind revealed armor beneath, flexible leather braced with solid strands of exoskeleton underneath, none of it native to this corner of The Galaxy.
Jago Pulastra was coming up to Zuli's platoon as most, if not all, of the troops that would lead the strike were assembling as well. A motley collection of all manners of species were garbed in the Jungle Warfare blast armor of the JPT. Duros and Zabrak riflemen, a rather vampiric-looking Nagai armed with a long-barreled sniper rifle, a pair of Cathar hefting vibroswords, one grazing her claws down the metal to keep both weapons sharpened, and a massive Herglic with a pleasant smile and an E-WEB in his hands, carrying the large turret as if it were a carbine to him. These were just a few of the many that were prepared to fight, and kill, for their moon.
" Looks like the troops are assembled, Master Madoon," Jago observed upon coming alongside Zuli, looking over the group. They were armed and ready: the white-haired Jedi's saber was nestled at his left in the custom holster he had designed for the hilt of antique brass, whilst a heavy blaster pistol was on the right thigh. His true weapon was unseen but felt. Strong he was in it. Powerful in mind and spirit.
He exhaled slowly. When he drew in breath, he drew in The Force.
" I'm ready when you are."
He grinned lightly up at the Shi'ido Jedi.
" Let's go roll out the welcoming mat for our guests." ~
Normal attire gone and prepped for battle, the heavy rain cloak covering the majority of his short figure. The protective cover trailed slightly behind him, the open bay doors of the hangar allowing in the wind of the thunderstorm. Each push of wind revealed armor beneath, flexible leather braced with solid strands of exoskeleton underneath, none of it native to this corner of The Galaxy.
Jago Pulastra was coming up to Zuli's platoon as most, if not all, of the troops that would lead the strike were assembling as well. A motley collection of all manners of species were garbed in the Jungle Warfare blast armor of the JPT. Duros and Zabrak riflemen, a rather vampiric-looking Nagai armed with a long-barreled sniper rifle, a pair of Cathar hefting vibroswords, one grazing her claws down the metal to keep both weapons sharpened, and a massive Herglic with a pleasant smile and an E-WEB in his hands, carrying the large turret as if it were a carbine to him. These were just a few of the many that were prepared to fight, and kill, for their moon.
" Looks like the troops are assembled, Master Madoon," Jago observed upon coming alongside Zuli, looking over the group. They were armed and ready: the white-haired Jedi's saber was nestled at his left in the custom holster he had designed for the hilt of antique brass, whilst a heavy blaster pistol was on the right thigh. His true weapon was unseen but felt. Strong he was in it. Powerful in mind and spirit.
He exhaled slowly. When he drew in breath, he drew in The Force.
" I'm ready when you are."
He grinned lightly up at the Shi'ido Jedi.
" Let's go roll out the welcoming mat for our guests." ~
-
Dav Man'Sell
- Jedi Battlemaster
- Posts: 342
- Joined: Thu Nov 14, 2013 12:18 am
Re: Hangar
Alex, along with the rest of the Marines first squad, had not had far to go. Being as the Marines were ordinarily based on Yavin Station, or the ships of the Peacekeeping Taskforce fleet, they had come down to the Praxeum in a Kappa-class military shuttle. The shuttle itself still sat within the hangar, it's rear holds stocked with the Marine's equipment, and so it did not take them long to kit up.
None the less, they were the last to return to Master Zuli Madoon's group. The Marines prided themselves on being some of the best soldiers in the Galaxy, and where as plenty of armies liked to claim that - amongst them the Mandalorians knocking on their door - it was a claim that the Peacekeeping Taskforce Marine Corp took very seriously. And when faced with unfavourable odds, they liked to try and turn them around, make them favourable again. It was a hastily thrown together planning session in that regards that, on this day, delayed their return, but as they now crossed towards the open area towards the front of the Hangar, their faces completely concealed within forest-colours camouflage make up, their armour similarly decked in hues of greens, greys, and browns, they carried with them not only the equipment of their trade, but a focused confidence they hadn't possessed in the briefing before.
Amongst them, Alex Owains walked with his eyes on the rifle in his grasp, expert hands moving to each of the weapons moving parts, display screens, and controls. Though the weapon was intimately familiar to him, though just two days earlier, he had taken out dozens of Mandalorian warriors with shots aimed with laser-honed precision with that very rifle, there was a nervous energy to the Corporal as he run over the various things they had been told in their briefing. It had not gone unnoticed.
=Sergeant Carnor Don=
"You've checked that rifle three times in five minutes, Corporal."
The young Marine lefted his head, finding the squad leader, Sergeant Carnor Don, falling into step beside him, dark eyes locked on him, and his voice taking a hard, almost accusatory tone. The Corporal's jaw locked, as he waited for the inevitable follow up question.
=Sergeant Carnor Don=
"Something bothering you?"
He didn't know what to say. Something was bothering him, but to tell the Sergeant, especially when the Sergeant was in the take-no-shit mood he was in, would be, in all likelihood, exacerbating the problem.
I'm bothered by how tense you are. I'm bothered by how blood-thirsty you've become. I'm bothered by the worry that you might lose control on the battlefield.
=Corporal Alex Owains=
"Just being thorough, Sarge. There's a lot of moisture in the air."
Alex didn't think the Sergeant looked convinced, but he seemed to, at least ostensibly, accept the Corporal's explanation, giving him a slow, reluctant nod.
=Sergeant Carnor Don=
"Well, good. Good. We need your best today, Owains. I want you to hollow out as many Mando skulls as you can."
He turned, moving away, but the Corporal heard just the faintest mutter as the Sergeant moved off.
=Sergeant Carnor Don=
"As many as you can..."
Watching him go, the Corporal's jaw worked beneath his helmet and face-paints as he formed up with the rest of Master Madoon's group, his mind falling back on the instructions given by the Marine Squad leader within the shuttle.
In particular, the very strict instruction to take no prisoners.
Between the borderline unsettling comments, the readiness to jump down the throats of men he ordinarily trusted, and those orders, Alex Owains was beginning to feel uneasy serving under Carnor Don's leadership for the first time. He'd do his duty, and follow his orders, but he would also keep an eye on the Sergeant. Because something was up, and whatever that something was, Alex would be damned if he was going to let it get him, or anyone else, killed.
None the less, they were the last to return to Master Zuli Madoon's group. The Marines prided themselves on being some of the best soldiers in the Galaxy, and where as plenty of armies liked to claim that - amongst them the Mandalorians knocking on their door - it was a claim that the Peacekeeping Taskforce Marine Corp took very seriously. And when faced with unfavourable odds, they liked to try and turn them around, make them favourable again. It was a hastily thrown together planning session in that regards that, on this day, delayed their return, but as they now crossed towards the open area towards the front of the Hangar, their faces completely concealed within forest-colours camouflage make up, their armour similarly decked in hues of greens, greys, and browns, they carried with them not only the equipment of their trade, but a focused confidence they hadn't possessed in the briefing before.
Amongst them, Alex Owains walked with his eyes on the rifle in his grasp, expert hands moving to each of the weapons moving parts, display screens, and controls. Though the weapon was intimately familiar to him, though just two days earlier, he had taken out dozens of Mandalorian warriors with shots aimed with laser-honed precision with that very rifle, there was a nervous energy to the Corporal as he run over the various things they had been told in their briefing. It had not gone unnoticed.
=Sergeant Carnor Don=
"You've checked that rifle three times in five minutes, Corporal."
The young Marine lefted his head, finding the squad leader, Sergeant Carnor Don, falling into step beside him, dark eyes locked on him, and his voice taking a hard, almost accusatory tone. The Corporal's jaw locked, as he waited for the inevitable follow up question.
=Sergeant Carnor Don=
"Something bothering you?"
He didn't know what to say. Something was bothering him, but to tell the Sergeant, especially when the Sergeant was in the take-no-shit mood he was in, would be, in all likelihood, exacerbating the problem.
I'm bothered by how tense you are. I'm bothered by how blood-thirsty you've become. I'm bothered by the worry that you might lose control on the battlefield.
=Corporal Alex Owains=
"Just being thorough, Sarge. There's a lot of moisture in the air."
Alex didn't think the Sergeant looked convinced, but he seemed to, at least ostensibly, accept the Corporal's explanation, giving him a slow, reluctant nod.
=Sergeant Carnor Don=
"Well, good. Good. We need your best today, Owains. I want you to hollow out as many Mando skulls as you can."
He turned, moving away, but the Corporal heard just the faintest mutter as the Sergeant moved off.
=Sergeant Carnor Don=
"As many as you can..."
Watching him go, the Corporal's jaw worked beneath his helmet and face-paints as he formed up with the rest of Master Madoon's group, his mind falling back on the instructions given by the Marine Squad leader within the shuttle.
In particular, the very strict instruction to take no prisoners.
Between the borderline unsettling comments, the readiness to jump down the throats of men he ordinarily trusted, and those orders, Alex Owains was beginning to feel uneasy serving under Carnor Don's leadership for the first time. He'd do his duty, and follow his orders, but he would also keep an eye on the Sergeant. Because something was up, and whatever that something was, Alex would be damned if he was going to let it get him, or anyone else, killed.
Re: Hangar
~ The appearance of the Marine Corps integrating with the standard Troopers of the JPT made Jago realize that what they were setting out to do was no little recon detail, no tiny sap administered to the back of Manda’lor’s head. This was a dedicated strike, an assault: they were striking at the ankles and tearing at the throat once they toppled the bes’kar beast.
Good, Jago mused softly to himself: it was about time they stopped fighting on the defensive and showed the Mandos what it was like to come under attack, to be stalked in the dense Jungles and hunted like animals, much as they had tried to prey on the Jedi. He bristled a little under his armor, cloak folding open just enough to reveal the dark green pattern embellished onto his cuirass: a quick eye would spy the bowing branches of a willow tree.
” Time to move out, ladies and gentlemen,” he said simply, waving a hand over his shoulder as he turned without ceremony to their awaiting delivery vehicles.
Delivery vehicles they may have well been: A-A5 Speeder Trucks, converted for Yavin IV’s rough terrain with canvas covering to repel the rainwater, a secondary means of propulsion through the wheel tracks that sat in the middle of the body, flanked on both sides by the repulsors, and additional armor plating carefully welded onto the frame, all of it given a color scheme meant to blend in with the greens, browns, and greys of the jungle. Jago had heard the Marines endearingly refer to these personnel carriers as “Mail Trucks”: sending the message of peace (through firepower if necessary) to the roughest terrains in The Galaxy.
There were quite a few choice letters he, himself, had in mind for the Mandalorians.
The double score of soldiers piled into the waiting vehicles, crew already at the controls with the intent to deliver this strike team to the river as quickly and quietly as possible. It would do them no good to take air transport at a time like this: One Bessie patrol and they’d be finished. Overland was the only route, and a bumpy one it promised to be: reports had come in already of massive flooding. Jago paid them no mind. If they had to have this battle in the midst of a raging river, well, then he’d just have to make sure to bring a towel for afterwards.
The White-Haired Knight found himself boarding one of the trucks with a mixed contingent of Marines and Troopers, two men carrying longarms sitting across from him. He smiled softly, nodding in encouragement.
” Feln Qyren, right?”
The paler of the two, his dark, blue-black hair trimmed close to his head so it looked almost like a synthfiber helm, lifted his chin to nod at Jago, grinning a bit.
” Yes, sir. You remembered me.”
Jago’s lips became tight.
” I remember everyone I’ve served with. Fought alongside.”
The Nagai tilted his head inquisitively, the statement being a bit curious.
” Everyone ..?”
Azure eyes hardened to ice.
” Everyone.”
He turned towards the other, a human, like him. ... Just like him. Jago could feel a weight, an emotional pressure in his posture, the way he prepared himself for slaughter with routine and distance from the act and the intent.
” You’re ... Owains, right?”
It was Jago’s turn to incline his head to the side, inspecting the marksman over before giving a friendly smirk.
” They’re already telling stories about you, you know. Heard from a passing crew chief in the mess hall that ‘Corporal Owains used one rifle and turned aside one division’.”
” Color me impressed.”
” Lance Corporal, with how white your skin is, I doubt you could have any color to you.”
Feln snorted wryly, giving Alex a small nod in respect to his fellow sniper’s skill. It was only a second after that that the vehicle shifted, jostling the squad inside a little when it was put into gear. Slowly, the two A-A5s floated out of the hangar bay of the ancient Massassi Temple, the rain coming down in sheets on the canvas tops so it sounded more like a never ending drum roll more than the pitter-patter of a thunderstorm.
” The Mandos get to invade on a bright, sunny day; we picked a great time to begin our offensive!” the Nagai snapped sharply, clearly irritated at the idea of dodging blaster fire in the torrential downpour. Jago could only chuckle.
” We did, Feln. They’ll never see us coming in this, and by the time they’re getting the rust out of their buckets we’ll have already sent them running. The moon herself is fighting back, you know. We all are."
He grinned. The brigandine armor tightened ever so slightly as his muscle’s tensed. Energy was coursing through his every cell. The Force coaxed him to at once relax, yet the adrenaline that pumped through his system came from the life of all living things.
Jago was ready.
" Today is the day that The Yavinites Strike Back.”
Good, Jago mused softly to himself: it was about time they stopped fighting on the defensive and showed the Mandos what it was like to come under attack, to be stalked in the dense Jungles and hunted like animals, much as they had tried to prey on the Jedi. He bristled a little under his armor, cloak folding open just enough to reveal the dark green pattern embellished onto his cuirass: a quick eye would spy the bowing branches of a willow tree.
” Time to move out, ladies and gentlemen,” he said simply, waving a hand over his shoulder as he turned without ceremony to their awaiting delivery vehicles.
Delivery vehicles they may have well been: A-A5 Speeder Trucks, converted for Yavin IV’s rough terrain with canvas covering to repel the rainwater, a secondary means of propulsion through the wheel tracks that sat in the middle of the body, flanked on both sides by the repulsors, and additional armor plating carefully welded onto the frame, all of it given a color scheme meant to blend in with the greens, browns, and greys of the jungle. Jago had heard the Marines endearingly refer to these personnel carriers as “Mail Trucks”: sending the message of peace (through firepower if necessary) to the roughest terrains in The Galaxy.
There were quite a few choice letters he, himself, had in mind for the Mandalorians.
The double score of soldiers piled into the waiting vehicles, crew already at the controls with the intent to deliver this strike team to the river as quickly and quietly as possible. It would do them no good to take air transport at a time like this: One Bessie patrol and they’d be finished. Overland was the only route, and a bumpy one it promised to be: reports had come in already of massive flooding. Jago paid them no mind. If they had to have this battle in the midst of a raging river, well, then he’d just have to make sure to bring a towel for afterwards.
The White-Haired Knight found himself boarding one of the trucks with a mixed contingent of Marines and Troopers, two men carrying longarms sitting across from him. He smiled softly, nodding in encouragement.
” Feln Qyren, right?”
The paler of the two, his dark, blue-black hair trimmed close to his head so it looked almost like a synthfiber helm, lifted his chin to nod at Jago, grinning a bit.
” Yes, sir. You remembered me.”
Jago’s lips became tight.
” I remember everyone I’ve served with. Fought alongside.”
The Nagai tilted his head inquisitively, the statement being a bit curious.
” Everyone ..?”
Azure eyes hardened to ice.
” Everyone.”
He turned towards the other, a human, like him. ... Just like him. Jago could feel a weight, an emotional pressure in his posture, the way he prepared himself for slaughter with routine and distance from the act and the intent.
” You’re ... Owains, right?”
It was Jago’s turn to incline his head to the side, inspecting the marksman over before giving a friendly smirk.
” They’re already telling stories about you, you know. Heard from a passing crew chief in the mess hall that ‘Corporal Owains used one rifle and turned aside one division’.”
” Color me impressed.”
” Lance Corporal, with how white your skin is, I doubt you could have any color to you.”
Feln snorted wryly, giving Alex a small nod in respect to his fellow sniper’s skill. It was only a second after that that the vehicle shifted, jostling the squad inside a little when it was put into gear. Slowly, the two A-A5s floated out of the hangar bay of the ancient Massassi Temple, the rain coming down in sheets on the canvas tops so it sounded more like a never ending drum roll more than the pitter-patter of a thunderstorm.
” The Mandos get to invade on a bright, sunny day; we picked a great time to begin our offensive!” the Nagai snapped sharply, clearly irritated at the idea of dodging blaster fire in the torrential downpour. Jago could only chuckle.
” We did, Feln. They’ll never see us coming in this, and by the time they’re getting the rust out of their buckets we’ll have already sent them running. The moon herself is fighting back, you know. We all are."
He grinned. The brigandine armor tightened ever so slightly as his muscle’s tensed. Energy was coursing through his every cell. The Force coaxed him to at once relax, yet the adrenaline that pumped through his system came from the life of all living things.
Jago was ready.
" Today is the day that The Yavinites Strike Back.”
-
Joshua Kierra-Solo
- Posts: 51
- Joined: Sun Nov 24, 2013 1:41 am
Re: Hangar
=Cray Molnar=
"Hooraah..."
=Shen Miralas=
"Looks like we're sharing a ride, rookie."
=Cray Molnar=
"Is it that obvious?"
=Shen Miralas=
"Stiff posture, wild eyes, pale face..."
=Shen Miralas=
"Relax, kid. Stiff will get you killed."
=Sergeant Gorman=
"You okay, kid? You looked a bit shaky earlier."
=Cray Molnar=
"Yessir. Butterflies in the stomach but nothing I can't handle, sarge. Time to show these bucketheads what happens when they piss in our backyard."
=Sergeant Gorman=
"That's the spirit, private. Spoken like a true Yavinite."
-
Lita Trykk
- Resident Zabrak
- Posts: 84
- Joined: Thu Nov 14, 2013 1:57 am
Re: Hangar
~ Truth be told, the flight personnel needed very little direction from Lita once Jago's voice had called over the intercom. None at all, in fact, as each of the starfighters were taxi'd into formation, their cross-shaped wings sealed together in the closed launch position.
Lita walked between the double-helix, counting the ships. There were gaps in the quartets, had been since before this accursed war began; but they would be meeting with the wayward members of the Dragon Squadron, and for the first time in a long time, as she understood it, the dragons would be whole again.
She stopped at her own StealthX, pitch black and non-reflective. But an unmarked vessel. It did not have the battle scars that the others carried, that her own Firespray bore proudly. It did not have anything whatsoever at all to mark it as personal, the only ship among them to lack stenciling or nose art. To identify it as belonging to anyone. Was she deserving of it? Would she earn the right to fly with the Jedi squadron? Would her signature of flight and battle fit in with those whom had a far deeper, far longer-lasting connection to each other?
Could she ever fill the hole that Jago's lost wingmate left behind? Or would she be doomed to follow in Ksandra's legacy, and make the same emotionally-driven mistakes in flight that nearly got both her and her betrothed killed? She visibly winced, her lip pulling back from sharp teeth. There were many risks she was taking by accepting this position, not all of them concerning the mission they faced.
She turned to walk and inspect the next lead ship in line. Her palm brushed over the marred green paint of his trademark tree. But as she turned the corner of the nose to the other side, she found a new stencil had been painted on its flank. Her eyes widened briefly, then narrowed critically as recognition hit her, a slight flush darkening her cheeks. When did he make the time to do that...? There would be a mention of this from her, later...after this mission was done.
Once she had satisfied herself that each of the ships had been thoroughly inspected, their fuel cells checked and each one green to fly, there was little left for her to do except to climb into the cockpit of her bird. She shrugged out of her outer robes to reveal the flightsuit beneath even as an astromech unit was being loaded behind her with a series of clicks and beeps in acknowledgment of the Zabrak.
She tossed the robes to the attendant below and secured her uniquely-fitted helmet over her horns.
The attendant called out to her in objection.
"You can't fly out now! The rest of the squadron hasn't even gotten here, yet."
Lita huffed even as the shield hatch began to lower.
"I'm going to scout ahead a bit, make sure we do not find any surprises in atmo. I'll return to the formation once the dragons have reached the upper mesosphere."
The cockpit sealed before the boy could shout out any further objections. Lita was a fine pilot, but too accustomed to flying alone. She needed a few minutes on her own, to get the feel of the beast that carried her.
Breaking out of the line of starfighters, her fusial thrust engines glowed a bright crimson before launching her out of the bay and into the rain-choked skies of the jungle moon. ~
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