New story here if you hadn't guessed. Set in Star Wars: The Old Republic.
This time not written entirely by me and instead by the fellows below (All can be found on this very site):

Robhumph - Yours truly
NihilXIII - Creator of all things awesome
Mardya - The leader of our band of merry men

Disclaimer: Neither Star Wars nor The Old Republic setting is owned by us and all rights go to Disney, EA and Bioware. We three only claim ownership of our various OCs

Please read on and feel free to slap a review on this when you're done. Enjoy.

CHAPTER I
THE ENCLAVE

"The time to act is now. The longer we wait, the more time we allow the Jedi to reorganize into a cohesive unit, and that simply cannot happen if we are to deliver a swift, killing blow to the Republic. Were such decisions up to me, I'd take as many resources as can be spared while the Republic is distracted by our main force, and destroy their sacred grounds and gathering places. Flush them out in smaller droves, and systematically wipe them out before their Order can reform and give you Sith another reason to become distracted from our galactic conquest."

- Commodore Vahn Stahl of the Imperial Navy, appealing to Lord Kelzan following the defeat of Zakuul, shortly before his promotion to Admiral.

Dantooine System
Raioballo Sector
0800 Hours (local time)

Dantooine; hardly the most impressive of worlds in the vast Republic, but it was part of the Republic nonetheless. Therefore, a small flotilla had been stationed above the planet to protect it and its populace from the likes of the Sith, Mandalorians and any other would be conquerors or pillagers. Host to a Jedi Enclave, the planets importance was symbolic, rather than strategic, and although such sites were numerous throughout the galaxy, the one on Dantooine had a more storied history than most.

Captain Remal thought of this as he idly paced on the bridge of the Star of Alderaan, a Valor-class cruiser that had served the navy since the early days of the Great War. Three months he'd been stuck here on glorified guard duty, alone to safeguard a useless, grassy mound. Well, he thought, alone until the Admiral showed up and stuck his fleet on the far side of the blasted planet.
Three months that could have been better spent raining death upon the Empire. On Balmorra maybe? The Sith had recently renewed their efforts to demolish one of the primary foundries of the Republic.

He was roused from his thoughts by the voice of an ensign. "Captain. Something on the long range scanners."

Remal sighed. "Anything more specific than 'something'?"

"It's big, sir. Clarifying transponder signatures." A pause while the ensign studied the results of the scan more closely. "Imperials!"

Well, perhaps today wouldn't be so boring after all. "Ah, at last. We'll show these Imperials what happens when they encroach on my territory. Battle stations!" Remal bellowed and focused intently on the bridge viewport, as if willing the enemy fleet to arrive sooner, so he could crush them faster. "Alert the rest of the flotilla! I want every ship prepped and ready for those womp rats! And alert Master Gabrian!"

The Bridge exploded in activity as crewmen rushed to and fro, preparing for the coming storm.

"Sir?" The same ensign piped up in a questioning tone, which just irritated Remal.

"What?"

The junior officer shrunk a little. "Shouldn't we inform Admiral Loran?"

Ah yes, how could he forget Loran. Insufferable Nautolan. How was that alien a higher rank than him? It never failed to make Remals blood boil. "Yes, yes. Inform the good Admiral." He waved the idea aside to the ensign.

The other captains under his command signalled their response and soon maneuvered themselves into a defensive formation with the Star of Alderaan at its heart, ready to take the brunt of the attacking force.

There was a lull, there always was. The quiet before the storm as you waited for the enemy to exit hyperspace.

Then, it happened. Just within visual range, the Imperial fleet dropped out of hyperspace. The first to appear was a Harrower-class dreadnought, the typical capital ship of the Empire. Something about this one seemed off, however; it was fast, maybe too fast. Remal pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, they were of no use now, for the rest of the Imperials had arrived. Four Terminus-class and two Gage-class. A small force, what were the blasted Imps playing at?

"Captain, they've launched fighters," a voice informed him from behind. "There's a squadron heading for the planet, looks like they're escorting a landing party," followed by an urgent "enemy targets incoming!"

"Bah. They think they can land? Launch all fighters!" Remal roared. "Full power to forward shields and batteries! I want turbolasers ripping into them as soon as they're within range!"

The Battle for Dantooine had begun, and Remal was determined to go down in history as its victor. He'd sooner marry an Ulgo than let Loran take the credit for another one.

...

When the pilot of the Imperial Assault Shuttle Aurek IV brought the troop carrier down through the clouds, Krysil unbuckled his crash webbing and stood, leaning in between the pilot and the middle-aged Sith in the co-pilot's seat.

"What's going on, Kevaarn?" he demanded, peering down towards the green meadows and grassy slopes stretching out before them. "Your father promised us a battle such as the Empire hasn't seen since the Outlander took the Eternal Throne. And look! What do we get?" Krysil pointed towards the window. "Force-forsaken buttercups and daisies!"

He might have been exaggerating but not by much. A landscape of green hills and lush meadows rolled out before them. Far away, in the distance, an azure lake shimmered in the sunlight. The antlers of grazing Iriaz bobbed peacefully in the grassy fields, and a flock of geese took flight, startled by the ship's roaring engines.

Kevaarn chuckled and loosened his own crash restraints. "Think of it as your very own sacking of Coruscant, Krys. I know I am."

"I plan to do a lot more than sacking," Krysil promised, fingertips trailing over the hilts of his lightsabers. "Lower her down," he instructed the pilot, leaving the cockpit to stride between the rows of men seated on each side, and making for the sealed hatch. Kevaarn grabbed his helmet and followed close behind, listening when Krysil turned his head toward him. "I thought Lord Kelzan would put you in charge," he confessed, keeping his voice at murmur. "You're his son, after all."

The older Sith shrugged and pushed the helmet over his head, securing it tightly to the neck guard underneath. "Maybe he thought it past time you started doing something useful?"

Krysil grimaced at the words of his friend, only too aware of the reputation, or lack thereof, he held among the Sith. 'Lazy, irresponsible, overconfident and full of himself', those were the traits his superiors used to describe him. Whatever! Their contempt was preferable to their goodwill, especially after Lord Strafe had dropped his interest in apprenticing the younger Sith. I got lucky, Krys thought. Let them think me a fool, good for nothing. I got away from Strafe, and no other will apprentice me now.

Ever since, he had avoided assignments for fear of drawing renewed attention from potential Masters. There had been a backlash, of course. Once the ire of his superiors had become known, many of his allies had turned against him, eager to demonstrate their zeal and prowess at the expense of the 'rebel'. It had been a good time; there had been no lack of challengers and he had seized the opportunity to show them why he had been Lord Strafes first choice. After that, they had left him alone and he had chafed at his self-imposed inactivity.

When word had reached him of Lord Kelzans intentions to attack the Jedi, he couldn't hold back any more. Surprising friend and foe, he had stepped forward and volunteered for the mission. And if that had not been enough to shock his fellow Sith, Lord Kelzan had not only accepted his offer of service but had placed him in charge of the ground troops. He had not given an explanation for his decision and Krysil, speechless and awed, had not thought to ask until the Sith Lord had dismissed him and the opportunity had been lost.

"You know what? It wouldn't surprise me." Krysil replied wryly.

He pulled the release lever and opened the hatch to the elements, reeling against the wind that battered against his sleek armor and whipped his sandy-brown hair into a frenzied mane. Gaining a hold of the bulkhead above the opened hatch he leaned forward into the wind and looked back. Five more ships followed the Aurek IV. Two of them held troops, ordinary foot soldiers that Krysil considered expendable. The remaining three were dropships, modified to carry transports and the heavy artillery that would breach walls and bring further ruin to the defences of the old Jedi enclave. Further behind, no more than dots on the horizon, was a squadron of Supremacy-class Mark VI starfighters, to provide air support after a brief skirmish on their way to the planet.

The ship touched down in the fields closest to the enclave approach, and Krysil jumped to the ground. Behind him two more assault shuttles landed and behind them, the dropships had begun their final descent. Imperials ran back and forth in organized chaos, establishing a perimeter while they offloaded the heavy artillery. Controllers navigated Imperial Walkers down into the hastily prepared staging area, and once the siege crawler transports had been deployed, troopers began to file on board. Eventually, the fighter squadron approached, and fell into a standard air patrol to safeguard the Imperial forces while they prepared to move out.

Krysil didn't stay to watch. The men were well trained and each knew their task, leaving Krysil with a few minutes to spare. He walked away from the perimeter, jogging up the hill to look out over the plains that separated them from their enemy. He stretched out into the grass and raised a pair of macrobinoculars before his eyes. Scanning the fields and walls surrounding the enclave, he finally turned his attention to the arched entrance where tiny figures in Republic armor gathered. He narrowed his eyes upon spotting a pair of robed men, and tapped his comlink.

"Kevaarn! Tell the men to hurry!" he said, with renewed urgency. "The Republic knows we're here and they're gathering in the courtyard. Fifty men at least, including two Jedi. There may be more, but I can't see them yet. Six turret nests on the perimeter and - wait! They got an anti-air missile launcher! How'd they get one already?"

He scrambled away from the hilltop and jogged down the slope. "Get the vehicles ready! We're on the move!"

...

The interior of the Jedi enclave spoke of the neglect during the centuries since it had been laid to ruin, though nothing could be done to remedy that just now. Astromech units rolled to and fro, assisting with the repairs and maintenance on the scant few Manka-class APC's and PT-7 bombers that the Republic had eventually agreed to loan. Hastily rigged holo-terminals and tactical displays dominated the crumbling atrium, around which officers and soldiers bearing a mixture of Republic and Dantooinian insignia were crowded. The local militia, few though they were, had rallied upon hearing of an Imperial strike force coming to erase their most prominent historical monument, and though the Republic response team seemed equally as sparse, they outnumbered the local militia almost two to one.
Dust and debris littered down from the ceiling periodically, as the concussion of the approaching walkers shook the ruined enclave to its foundations. The structure, however, was sturdy; its remains had withstood the test of time. Surely, they would withstand an Imperial strike force.

Captain Roza Echo of the Republic 202nd battalion, her white and tan armour bathed in the ghostly light of a holodisplay, was going over details one last time with two of her men.

"The Imperials will be exiting through this valley here," she said, as the northernmost valley illuminated itself on the display. "We'll have cover set up in the field beyond the perimeter for the opening exchange, but it won't take them long to push us back into the perimeter ruins," she explained, and once more the map updated, highlighting a vast network of ruins surrounding the entrance to the enclave courtyard.

"Guerilla tactics coming into play, ma'am?" Lieutenant Hathor asked, leaning forward and studying the map.

"It's one solution. I'm going to be splitting the 202nd into squads. The Imperials have the numbers advantage over us, but if we use the ruins to our advantage and cross our firing arcs, we can cover more ground," Echo explained.

"Squads, captain? I don't know-"

"I've seen what the Empire's bringing to the table, Hathor," she berated. "Com-scan indicates they outnumber us, and they're bringing heavy artillery, whereas we can barely get three refitted APC's up and running," she hissed, gesturing to the makeshift hangar behind them.

"Squads, then," Hathor conceded. "Not a bad strategy, but it won't take them long to flush us out of there".

"I know, Lieutenant," Echo replied tensely, "but we need to slow them down. If their walkers breach the perimeter, there'll be nothing between them and the enclave".

"We have bombers," Private Tarvi piped up, imitating the Captain and gesturing to the hangar.

"Yes, but they won't be repaired in time," Hathor replied, before Echo had the chance.

"We're estimating that the Imperial forces will be upon us before our artillery and air support is functional," Echo elaborated. "Ordinarily that would be a problem, but we know their air support is effectively grounded until they're desperate enough to risk going up against that AA launcher".

"Right," Tarvi muttered, sounding unconvinced.

"Private, have a little faith," Echo ordered. "When we move out, I want you on cover detail. Find yourself a team and a cargo handler. Any spare cargo container, any unused speeder, anything not bolted down, I want it out in the field."

"Yes ma'am!" Tarvi saluted.

"Lieutenant, find Private Sora. He was impressive during the Mygeeto campaign, I want him in our squad for this one".

"Affirmative," Hathor nodded.

"Once you've located him, begin assigning squad leaders. We'll regroup at 0900 local time," the Captain instructed. Both men turned to leave with their captain, but were halted abruptly by a voice yelling from across the atrium.

"Captain!" a militiaman shouted, while jogging across to Captain Echo. He skipped around a squad of troopers jogging toward the staging area, and deftly weaved around machinery and over cables and pipes snaking all the way to the massive generators at the back of the atrium, before coming to an abrupt halt before her.

"Captain," he saluted, "I have the latest update from Admiral Loran."

Captain Echo took the proffered datapad from the militiaman, then removed her helmet and placed it atop the dust-covered tactical display that she and the others had been hunched over. Brushing her sweat-slicked blonde hair from her forehead with one hand and scanning the datapad with her steely eyes, it took her a moment to realise that the militiaman was still saluting her expectantly.

"At ease," she murmured, leaning back against the tactical console. "You're on comm support?"

"Affirmative, ma'am," the man beamed, his dark eyes twinkling with admiration for her. She resisted an urge to roll her own eyes, then turned to address her men. When the militiaman still didn't return to his station, she stepped aside for him to join her.

"You got a name?" she asked, clapping him hard on the shoulder.

"B'nath, ma'am," the man beamed, looking to the other two armoured soldiers with equal admiration. "I've always wanted to serve with the Republic. There isn't usually this much excitement here on Dantooine, even with the war going on."

"Yeah?" Lieutenant Hathor piped up. "Let me tell you now, B'nath, you'll be praying for the quiet life before this battle is over."

"Making friends with the locals again, El-Tee?" Private Tarvi chuckled, giving B'nath's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Ignore the Lieutenant. He's a soft-touch really."

"Not as soft as you, Tarvi," Captain Echo smiled, gently pushing him back and steering B'nath away from the others. "Listen, B'nath. We've got a battle to plan," she explained. When he looked crestfallen, she smiled as warmly as she could manage. "We'll talk when this is over. Maybe there's a commission waiting for a capable comms officer somewhere in the Republic army," she winked, and sent him away beaming brighter than ever before.

Once he was out of sight, Echo replaced her helmet, and motioned to the others to follow when she began marching for the exit.
"I'll deliver this to the Jedi," she declared, waving the datapad still held in her hand.

While the atrium was a fine example of controlled chaos, the courtyard - now the staging ground for the Republic response team - was oddly serene. Troopers went about their business, setting up repeater turrets and finalising the setup of the AA launcher that had been reluctantly provided to them, but without any seeming urgency. It was clinical and precise, and at the heart of it all stood two Jedi; one tall and quite powerfully built beneath his robes, the other slight, and almost lost in the folds of his own garb.

"I expect they'll be upon us within the hour, Master," the slighter of the two commented, with an ill disguised air of impatience. "I've studied the lay of the area, it's not easy to land in these parts. The valleys will funnel their artillery, too."

"They will arrive whenever they arrive, Cael," the larger of the Jedi replied. He stood perfectly still, and yet completely at ease, his hands clasped together before his chest, forefingers steepled toward his furry chin. "Your impatience will not see the sun rise any faster."

"The sun has risen, Master Gabrian," Cael muttered under his breath, indignantly gesturing to the sky above.

"An expression, young Padawan," Gabrian sighed with exasperation, opening his feline eyes and giving the younger Jedi a stern look. "For the moment, we bask in the serenity of a new day. We do not know how long this peace will last, but we can use this time to focus our minds, to gain clarity within the Force," the Cathar lectured.

"And yet around us are men preparing for battle…" Cael countered, folding his sinewy arms across his chest. "It's difficult to find clarity in peace when that peace will not last. It never lasts."

"Careful, Padawan," Gabrian warned, his voice rumbling with discomfort at Cael's words. "We prepare not to defeat an enemy through violence, but to protect and preserve a bastion of peace and justice. This enclave could be a beacon of hope for our Order," he went on, gently guiding Cael by the shoulder to turn and drink in the sight of the ruined enclave.

"And if it falls? If we fail, Master?"

"Then its memory will live on, and, Force be willing, it shall serve as a reminder that conflict can bring only misery."

Cael raised a brow, finding it difficult to challenge Master Gabrians words, but was relieved from the trouble of having to do so when a voice called to them from across the courtyard.

"Master Jedi!" It was Captain Echo, walking as briskly as she could, tugging off her helmet with one hand and brandishing a datapad in the other.

"You bring news, Captain?" Gabrian asked, taking the datapad and tapping against its screen delicately with his foreclaw.

"Word from the fleet. Admiral Loran has engaged the enemy, sir."

"Indeed?" Gabrian asked, scanning through the transmission, his whiskered nose twitching with amusement. "It would seem the good Admiral was wise to keep our fleet hidden on the far side. A surprise retaliation will not have been expected."

"I believe that's why it's called a 'surprise', sir," the Captain replied, with a wink at Cael while Gabrian busied himself with the report. Cael shook his head and resisted smirking at his Master's expense.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, quite so," Gabrian agreed thoughtfully, "but I doubt the Empire expected us to muster Republic support so quickly, to respond to the information leak about this pending attack".

"Could be that they don't know they have a leak," Echo suggested, with a mild shrug. "Their attacks on Ossus and Lothal were uncontested, they had no reason to suspect we'd suddenly become wise".

"I'd be interested to know the source of this leak," Gabrian pondered, giving Echo a sly look that suggested he suspected the Captain possessed such information.

"All I know is that it's supposedly someone under Stahl's command," the Captain replied cautiously, "and that's strictly off the record. Anything else is on a need-to-know basis".

"Very well Captain, I'll ask nothing that will compromise you," the Cathar agreed with a solemn nod.

"Can Admiral Loran win this battle, Master?" Cael asked, stretching to see over the Cathar's thick, bristly forearm and read the information for himself.

"I fear that depends on the numbers and strategy of the Sith he faces, Padawan," Gabrian admitted, with a heartfelt sigh. "Alas, the Admiral is far better suited to naval warfare than you or I. If he believes his tactics are sound, then we should have faith."

"As you say, Master," Cael replied, perking a brow but bowing his head all the same.

"With respect, Master Jedi, scans indicate that the Sith ground force is comprised of siege tanks and walkers, with a full supplement of troops," Captain Echo reported, glancing out to the fields where the enemy would soon spill and where battle would commence.

"And have your scouts detected any Sith among them?" Gabrian asked, curling a tuft of fur beneath his chin with a single claw.

"Uncertain, Master Jedi," Echo admitted, "though if the previous attacks on installations such as this are any indication, I'd bet my bottom credit on it."

Troubled, but no less deterred, Master Gabrian gave his Padawan a squeeze of the shoulder, and then lowered the hood of his robe. Cael discarded his entirely, the indigo fabric pooling on the floor behind him, and to his Masters chagrin, his hand found the gleaming, etched hilt of his lightsaber.

"As my Padawan appears so eager to wade into battle, I'd suggest you order your men to their battle stations, Captain," Master Gabrian mused, while gently plucking Cael's hand away from his lightsaber.

"Master? They'll be on us any minute, I-"

"You will be patient, young one. Conflict is inevitable at this stage, and I see no advantage in rushing to meet it head on."

Cael inhaled deeply, and sunk to his knees, to meditate on the Force and Master Gabrians teachings. All around him, the gears of war set into motion, but somewhere within it he knew he must find equilibrium.

He didn't know how long it had been when a sense of impending danger spiked at the back of his mind, but when Cael Serasai opened his eyes and snapped from his meditative trance, it was clear that the peaceful dawn was about to be torn by battle.

The first of the enemy crawler tanks burst through the valley and onto the plains, followed by a second, and a third. In their wake, barely visible through the dust churned up by the transports, were the three-legged Imperial Walkers, plodding their death march single-file through the valley. In short order, they'd also join the fray, raining down heavy fire that Cael wasn't sure they could repel.

Perhaps if the Republic had given us more resources, Cael thought to himself with mounting frustration, we could have defended the entrances to the enclave rather than let them walk right in and kill us.

"Padawan, focus!" Gabrian again admonished, sensing the tension in his Padawan.

"Oh, I'm focused alright," Cael ground out through gritted teeth. This time, when his hand found his lightsaber, he unclipped it and thumbed the ignition plate. Bathed in brilliant blue-white light, he opened himself to the Living Force, and without awaiting further protest from his Master, waded into the thick of battle.

The crawlers disgorged their bowels upon the plains, spilling a sea of black over the lush green field and filling the air with the stench of ozone, as blasters began firing across the expanse from both sides. The morning glow burned with green and crimson, the birdsong drowned in the cacophony of shells firing and exploding, and the light breeze nursed the embers of battle into roaring fires that swept between the battle lines.

Relieved of their loads, the crawlers were repositioned and began laying siege to the enemy front, unleashing heavy cannons and mortar launchers alike, while remaining steadfast against the bolts of return fire that peppered their armoured hides.

Imperial troopers descended upon their objective relentlessly; some fell in the opening moments of battle, felled by the searing bite of the Republic heavy repeater cannons, or swept aside by concussion grenades launched by the local militia.

Captain Echo was one of the first into the fray alongside her three squad mates. The opening salvos had superheated the moisture of the morning air, and in minutes, the battlefield was layered with mist and smoke, illuminated by the flashes of discharging blasters and flaring whenever a missile struck home. It was nothing she hadn't seen a dozen times before, but this time, she was acutely aware of the numbers advantage that the Empire had over them.

"Captain, those crawlers will tear us to pieces!" Lieutenant Hathor called over the noise, during a moment of respite found behind the bulk of an overturned and largely destroyed cargo speeder.

"Concussion grenades won't do it, we need those APC's," added Sora. He was hot-headed, but he continued to prove her instincts about him right.

Private Tarvi nodded in stoic agreement, barely managing to tear himself from the staccato bursts he was pumping into the advancing enemy. Captain Echo hunkered down behind the overturned speeder and pulled out her comlink and macrobinoculars.

"Base command, this is Captain Echo, requesting ETA on artillery support," she called into the mouthpiece.

"Roger, Captain Echo. Artillery is en-route, please supply target co-ordinates," a voice replied. It was B'nath, the comms officer she'd spoken with before the battle had begun. She smiled behind her helmet; a familiar voice in combat was always a comfort.

"Co-ords incoming," she replied, then signalled her men to provide cover-fire while she inched her head above the speeder, and pinpointed the crawler tanks with her macrobinoculars. After marking each tank, she quickly ducked back down and hit the 'transmit' button.

"Co-ordinates received and relayed, Captain. May the Force be with you."

"And you, B'nath," Echo sighed with relief, once the communication had ended.

After several long minutes of exchanged fire, the Republic APC's lumbered into the fray, their weapons brought to bear on the crawler tanks that were wreaking havoc from across the battlefield. Their focused fire disabled one of the tanks, and a smattering of cheers was barely audible from the Republic forces, though such jubilation was short-lived; one of the APC's received a huge blast from the mouth of the valley, and exploded into a brilliant cloud of smoke and flame, scattering shrapnel across the Republic battlelines.

Screaming as white-hot shards of metal pierced their armour, the Republic soldiers scattered from the remains of the APC, just moments before the burning fuel that had spilled from its wrecked fuselage ignited a stockpile of blaster cells, which promptly discharged spectacularly and vapourised anything - or anyone - unlucky enough to be within the blast radius.

"What in the name of…" Lieutenant Hathor began, shielding his visor from the glare as his helmet lenses failed to polarise quickly enough, and he squinted through the dense smoke to see the wreckage.

"Where did that blast come from?" an angry Private Sora demanded, blindly tossing a concussion grenade out into the ranks of the Imperial soldiers.

"I can't tell in this damned fog," Captain Echo snapped, the barrel of her rifle beginning to glow and hiss, a sign it was overheating. "Cover me, I need to get to higher ground".

"What're you planning, Cap?" Private Tarvi asked, discarding his own overheated rifle and drawing a pair of blaster pistols.

Echo quickly surveyed her surroundings, and found that one of the turret nests above them was no longer pouring out fire. Though she couldn't see clearly, her gut told her that the gunner was incapacitated or dead.

"There," she pointed, moments before taking off as quickly as her feet would carry her. Blaster bolts narrowly missed her, and her armour was peppered with soil and dirt churned up by a small explosion somewhere in her vicinity, but she didn't stop to look around. Only once she reached the access ladder to the turret nest did she halt, and then only to change direction and begin her ascent.

Another APC fell victim to a violent lance of crimson energy, and the distant screaming of the burning crew, spilling out of the doomed tank and onto the grass, was all she seemed to hear on her climb to the top. Not now, Roza, she told herself. Mourn the horrors of war later. Win the battle first.

When she finally reached the nest, Echo gently pulled aside the fallen gunner, retrieving the identity chip from his armour in the process, and then took up position behind the turret. Peering through the enhanced scope, she surveyed the battlefield. It was easier to determine the number of Imperials that had been killed, as they were incredibly uniform in their frontal assault. Scattered here and there were her own soldiers, but as more fell, the individual squads co-ordinated their efforts and covered more ground between them.

Finally, she spied a pair of lightsabers; one burning white in the distance, carving into the left flank of the enemy advance, the other closer to the perimeter, a green flame batting aside blaster fire as though it were some kind of game.

At least the Jedi are still with us, Echo smiled to herself. We may actually win this yet...

Another explosion rocked the battlefield, and the third Republic tank went up in flame, its troop compartment ablaze while the squat little walker itself continued to plod toward one of the Imperial crawler tanks. It finally ground to a halt meters away from the crawler, but with a stroke of luck, seemed to block the Imperial tank from gaining a firing solution without having to reposition.

Echo panned the turret up, and her heart sank; emerging from the valley were the Imperial Walkers. Their cannons were already rotating, seeking the next high-priority target.

"Imperial Walkers!" she announced from her vantage point, her hand slapping the comm built into her helmet to send her warning to anybody left alive.

"Fall back!" Master Gabrian ordered, his emerald blade swatting blaster fire back into swathes of advancing Imperials.

Steadily, the Republic force gave ground, falling behind the cover offered by the ruins of the enclave's perimeter.

Cael soon joined his Master behind a plinth of crumbling stone, his sweat-stained face blackened from smoke and dashed with small cuts from flying debris.
"That was very foolish of you, Padawan," Gabrian scolded, his black lips curling to show his feline fangs and display his annoyance.

"They have us outnumbered, Master," Cael replied, deftly sidestepping the issue and yet another lecture. His indigo robes were ripped in places and his bare arms bled, and in his heart Cael knew that was enough evidence to prove his Master right; it had been foolish, but it had felt so fulfilling.

"It matters not," Gabrian replied with a calmness at odds with the chaos around them. More blaster fire punctuated the air, followed by muffled screams as soldiers were either hit, or buried beneath falling rubble. "Our men fight for a just cause. The Sith Empire will not so easily wrest this enclave from our hands!"

Captain Echo had rejoined her men on the ground, and swapped her overheated rifle for a heavy cannon that had fallen from the hands of a dead soldier, occasionally levering it around the edge of her cover and spraying the Imperials without prejudice. Her squad positioned themselves nearby, also carefully picking their moments to break cover and harass the enemy.

"We won't be able to keep this up for long, Cap!" Hathor snapped, after risking a glance to gauge the progress of the enemy's advance. The Imperials seemed to be slowly picking their way through the perimeter ruins, occasionally falling prey to Republic soldiers behind cover, but more often than not, flushing them into the open and mowing them down. It was systematic elimination, and it was dwindling their numbers drastically.

"Orders, Captain?" asked Sora, his finger squeezed tightly on the trigger of his rifle, firing blindly through a space in the ruins.

"Retreat to the courtyard," Echo decided after a moment. "We'll be out of range of their mortar fire, and the perimeter ruins will slow their walkers".

"You heard the Captain, retr-"

A snap-hiss drowned out the rest of the command, and a blade of crimson protruded through the ruined stone serving as cover for Echo and her squad, where it had pierced Lieutenant Hathor in the spine and out through his chest. He twitched noiselessly for a moment, and then hung limp, slowly slipping from the blade and to the ground.

"Sith!" a voice shouted from a few feet away, and through the smoky haze, Captain Echo spied two luminescent beams of violet, dancing with fluid and deadly grace.
"Fall back!" Echo roared at the top of her lungs, and retreated with her heavy cannon laying down suppressive fire. Once more, the knell of war boomed over the battlefield, as the Republic forces exposed themselves and began another exchange with their enemy.

Kevaarn uttered a low growl when his blade failed to find the Captain of the Republic response force, but rather than be deterred, he was incensed; prowling across the broken scenery and picking his way over corpses of Republic and Imperial soldiers alike, he batted aside blaster bolts like flies and wherever he spied a hint of white battle armour, his fist would clench and crush that armour around the being trapped inside of it, or his blade would slither through the plating like a knife through a tender steak. He didn't allow himself to be distracted by the plentiful opportunities to bestow death, for these soldiers were a mere irritant, barely even an obstacle in his path, but should one of them stumble across him he saw no reason to begin displaying mercy.

No, his main quarry was the Jedi. Krysil had specifically reported seeing two of them, and he'd felt their presence in the Force; one so sickly serene and self-assured, the veil of his delusion pulled so thickly over his eyes that he believed himself to be one with the Force, and an extension of its will. The other… less so. A little more turbulent around the edges, a little less pliant to the dogma of the Jedi, and far more susceptible to frustration. Perhaps that one he would target; it would be quite the victory to slay a Jedi this day, but to turn one completely against his doctrine would be a far greater achievement.

"Are you looking for something, Sith?" a deep, guttural voice called out. Kevaarn peered through the mist and the smoke of a hundred small burning fires.

"I think I just found it, Jedi" Kevaarn sneered, rounding in the direction of the voice, and after a few moments, finding himself looking up at a Cathar in indigo robes.
"Just so," the Jedi mused, and after beckoning Kevaarn forth, disappeared into the mist. Kevaarn paused for a moment to consider; the Jedi was trying to lead him away from the warring Imperial and Republic forces, and more importantly, away from his objective. And yet, if he allowed the Jedi to live, he would surely return to make a nuisance of himself…

Krysil moved with grace through the ruined perimeter of the enclave, his twin lightsabers bathing the mist around him in an eerie violet.

"Jedi!" he called out, unconcerned that doing so would attract the attention of fleeing enemy troopers. A stray bolt came his way, but his senses told him to ignore it, and it slammed into a stone pillar beside him, not even slowing him down. Another fired toward him, and an effortless sweep of one of his lightsabers sent it ricocheting back through the mist. He could sense them both; the stronger of the two was behind him somewhere in the ruins, being hunted by Kevaarn, whose Force signature he could read clearly in the same vicinity. The other was erratic, not so easy to pinpoint, almost as though the Padawan was among his troops one moment, and in the next breath, right beside him…

Krysil pivoted on the spot and crossed his blades before him, a hastily erected barrier that barely saved him from the slicing platinum weapon of his enemy.

"That was a neat trick you did with the Force…" Krysil began, but the Padawan did not seem to be in the mood to exchange banter. He was on the offensive, a rare thing for a Jedi, and Krysil could feel the turmoil raging within. To his own astonishment, he found himself being driven back through the ruins, giving ground to the furious, wide sweeps of the Jedi Padawan, despite matching him blow for blow.

The Jedi seemed to favour a reverse-grip on his unusually slim, elongated hilt, forcing Krysil to adapt every time a blow rained down toward him from a direction he wasn't expecting. It was frustrating, but at the same time, he could sense an equal anger simmering within the Jedi; perhaps his opponent was as disused to fighting against two blades, as Krysil was against his style.

"Do you think you're saving your men's lives, keeping us away from the battle?" Krysil asked, deflecting another blow and making a sweep at the Padawan's legs with his other blade; as expected, the Jedi leaped overhead, and Krysil turned with him, blasting him off-course with the Force and throwing him into a crumbling pillar.

"I think they'll take care of themselves," Cael replied, coughing while pushing himself back to his feet and levelling his blade before his face to ward off the double-strike of the Sith that had leaped at him. He pushed against the twin violet blades, utilising a two-handed grip on his weapon, until they were face-to-face between the three hissing lightsabers. Cerulean eyes locked onto the ochre-tinged glare of the Sith, and just as Cael sensed his foe was about to disengage the lock and strike out, he planted his boot in the matt-black armoured midriff of the Sith, and with the assistance of the Force, vaulted himself up and backwards, disappearing into the veil of mist.

He landed in a crouch atop a partially ruined archway, and the sound of clashing lightsabers behind him drew him down from his perch, and into the fight between his Master and a second Sith, this one masked and hammering at Gabrian with a blood-red blade.

"Master!" Cael called, drawing the attention of the Sith and forcing him to defend when the Padawan's blade came an inch from severing his arms.

"Did you kill Krysil?" the masked Sith demanded, seeming to ward off blows from both Jedi with relative ease. Kevaarn repositioned himself and fell into a rhythm of blocking and parrying, countering and switching targets, block, parry, counter, switch; it was a deadly dance, and one misstep would lead to disaster. "No… I sense his presence," he continued, guiding the Padawan's blade into that of his Master, and locking them up for a moment, just in time for his fellow Sith to burst from the mist and dive straight for the back of the Padawan, both blades poised for the kill.

He would have succeeded too, had the Cathar Jedi not intervened by physically dragging his Padawan out of the fray and sweeping his emerald lightsaber to intercept.
"I don't believe we've been introduced," Krysil smirked at the Jedi Master, locking blades with the imposing Cathar and driving him backwards, until Gabrian was pressed back to back with his Padawan, who was furiously warding off strikes from the ferocious Kevaarn.

"You are Sith," Gabrian replied, "and that is all I need to know. You will not prevail here. The Force shines a light on these sacred grounds, a light not so easily snuffed."

"We shall see," Krysil disengaged and rolled aside, to strike at Gabrian's flank. The Cathar seemed to ignore him, however, and angled his blade behind himself, warding off a slash from Kevaarn that had been intended for his Padawan, while Cael's blade intercepted Krysil. Master and Padawan skirted around one another, blocking strikes from both Sith, completely attuned to one another, until Krysil lost patience and unleashed a blast of Force energy that staggered the Jedi Master and separated the two. Seizing the opportunity, he leapt upon the Cathar, intending to take his head when, with a cry of anger and desperation, the Padawan barrelled into him, physically tackling him and knocking the wind right out of him.

"Cael, no!" Gabrian shouted, as Cael raised his lightsaber high, his features contorted with malice, and stabbed down at Krysil's armoured chest.
Krysil tried to intercept, but the Jedi Padawan had his arms pinned to the ground beneath his knees. Enraged that it should come to this, he balled his fists and roared at Cael, as though the sheer force of his fury could stay the Jedi from delivering his deathblow.

Instead, it was Kevaarn that saved him, his blood red blade slipping between Cael's weapon and Krysil's chest, and then with a flourish, scoring a fine cut along the Padawan's left cheek. The Jedi recoiled, scampering away from Krysil, and then came to his feet to regard Kevaarn. The masked Sith again flourished his weapon, and beckoned Cael forth.

"Don't do it, Padawan," Gabrian warned, stepping up behind Cael, but his words fell on deaf ears. In a blur of motion, Cael leaped for Kevaarn, and within moments, the two had vanished into the mist, back toward the enclave. Gabrians heart felt heavy, for he knew Cael's turbulent past left him dangerously vulnerable in moments such as these. The boy did not purposefully flirt with the dark side, but too often did he come close to welcoming its embrace.

Pulling himself from his reverie, Gabrian became aware of the second Sith, Krysil, pushing himself gingerly to his feet and once again igniting his twin violet lightsabers.

"Looks like I get to kill the Master," Krysil smiled, settling into a ready stance. Gabrian assessed their surroundings, aware that the Sith had taken his attention from the battle for too long. In the distance, he spied the three-legged Imperial Walkers slowly picking their way through the perimeter ruins, but the combat zone had long since moved to the enclave courtyard. Soon, they may well need me. As might Cael… he thought wistfully. He and the other Sith went that way. I hope the boy can sustain himself until I arrive.

"Very well," Gabrian sighed, slowly closing the gap between himself and Krysil, to answer the Sith's challenge. "Let us see what passes for training in these Sith Academies of yours."

The battle had turned briefly in the Republic's favour. Bereft of their artillery support, the Imperial troops were as fish in a barrel upon emerging from the smoke and haze of the ruins, giving the 202nd Battalion and their militia support the time they needed to regroup and begin a strategic offense.

Captain Echo was once again on the comm while her squad worked alongside others to lay down overlapping arcs of blaster fire, confusing and overwhelming the advancing Imperial army. She had taken cover behind the anti-air missile launcher, which had begun picking off the enemy squadron that had been harassing her men from the skies for the first few minutes that they'd emerged onto the courtyard. It was only thanks to the AA launcher that they'd been able to turn the battle around; those fighters would have made short work of the remains of her battalion.

"Repeat that last, B'nath," she called into the comm, struggling to hear him over the launchers whining servomotors, and the whooshing of missiles as it locked onto another target.

"Ye.. 'am… I sai… miral Lor… etreating… sustained heavy… sses…" B'nath tried to relay, but it was no use. The signal reduced to a static hiss, and Echo looked up to the skies. Admiral Loran retreating, sustained heavy losses. Somewhere out there, an Imperial vessel was now blocking their communication frequencies, and if the Republic was no longer providing fleet support, then the enemy would be free to land more troops. Within the hour, they'd be planetside. We need to end this now and form a plan of defense for their second wave, she realised, still reeling over the bad news.

"Captain!" Private Sora gasped, sliding into cover beside her and yanking off his helmet. "They've blocked our signal! We need air support, their blasted walkers are almost through the perimeter!"

"I know, Private," Echo snapped, instantly jerking the Mirialan out of his tirade. "Get to the enclave. Tell them to scramble the bombers and get anyone capable of firing a blaster onto the battlefield" she ordered, snatching his helmet out of his hands, and placing it back on his head.

"Ma'am!" Sora saluted, and then shot away toward the enclave, blaster rifle drawn, ducking and weaving to make himself a hard target to hit.

"Tarvi!" Echo shouted, standing up in the shadow of the AA launcher, which was now motionless as it waited for the ground crew to arrive and reload it.

"Captain!" Tarvi shouted back, not even pausing in his relentless assault against the enemy.

"Tarvi, I need you to take a squad and…"

Boom.

It happened so quickly. One minute, Echo was ordering Tarvi to take a squad, sneak past the enemy advance and seize one of their unguarded crawler tanks, the next, Tarvi and the men fighting nearest to him were gone, vapourised in a massive blast of energy that could only have come from one of the Imperial Walkers. Before she'd had time to digest this, the ground beneath her seemed to buck her into the air. Intense heat washed over her, and for a second she thought she was going to cook inside her armour, and then she crashed back to the ground. A ringing filled her ears, her vision began to cloud, and as darkness took her, the last thing she saw was the debris of the anti-air missile launcher raining down around her.

Both Cael and Kevaarn shielded their eyes from the brilliant flare of the AA launcher exploding, after an Imperial Walker emerged onto the courtyard and fired upon it. Had it been carrying missiles, it would have wiped out a significant portion of the remaining Imperial troops, along with most of the Republic forces, and such disregard for loss of life angered Cael deeply.

"You are monsters!" Cael roared, raining blow after blow down upon the masked Sith and forcing him to wade into the sea of black armour that was the Imperial army. The soldiers scattered at the sight of clashing lightsabers; some fell as errant swings cut nimbly through their armour plates, but none dared fire for fear of either hitting their Sith master, or incurring the wrath of the visibly incensed Padawan.

"You say that as if the Jedi have never killed during this war," Kevaarn breathed through his mask, bracing himself as Cael collided with him, their blades clashing hard and spitting with energy.

"We kill only when necessary," Cael countered, dropping low and sweeping the ground with his leg, to take the Sith off his feet. Kevaarn, however, was quicker, and soared backward through the air, somersaulted, and landed some distance away with his blade pointing across the gap between them.

"Is that what they tell you?" Kevaarn asked, with a chuckle. "And why is the murder enacted by the Jedi more necessary than that enacted by the Sith?"

"It's… I…" Cael stammered, but he had no answer. Damn it, he seethed. Is he right? Are we any better?

"Is there anything more pitiful," Kevaarn lamented, "than someone with such potent ability, being held back by a doctrine that brainwashes him into obedience?"

"Shut up!" Cael snapped, once more closing the gap between them and hammering at Kevaarn with his lightsaber.

"Oh, where is your serenity now, Jedi?" Kevaarn laughed, falling back into rhythm with his foe. Overhead, a squadron of PT-7 bombers roared in unison, and moments later, the ground beneath Cael and Kevaarn's feet shook, signalling the detonation of the bombers' payload and the destruction of the Imperial Walkers.

Facing the explosion, Kevaarn exclaimed with shock, shielding his masked eyes, which allowed Cael to blast him over the remains of the AA launcher with the Force. He landed hard on the ground, his lightsaber rolling from his grip and clanking against the forearm plate of the Republic Captain, half-buried beneath a pile of debris. He allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sight, and then unleashed a barrage of Force Lightning upon the Padawan, silhouetted against the sun as he leaped to deliver a finishing blow.

...

The Harrower-class vessel 'Decimator' drifted through the remains of Republic and Imperial ships alike, an arrowhead piercing the detritus of battle. Few Republic ships had survived to flee the battle and limp home, wherever home might be. But even if they had reinforcements close by, it would take significant numbers to pose a threat to this particular fleet, for the 'Decimator' was one of the Empires few remaining flagships powered by the rare isotope-5, a mineral painstakingly seized from the Hutt Cartel on Makeb some years prior. The isotope not only maximised energy efficiency and made for a much faster ship, but provided a substantial output to both shields and weapons. She was not indestructible, but with both Imperial and Republic fleets reduced by the recent war and subjugation by Zakuul and its Emperor, such a vessel was capable of turning a battle completely around.

The command bridge remained bathed in crimson light, but the alert sirens had long been silenced and the crew at their workstations had fallen back into clinical routine. One man stood alone on the observation deck before a vast aperture, silhouetted against Dantooine as the planet loomed larger and larger in the panoramic viewport. Gloved hands crossed behind his back, the man barely shifted his rigid gait upon being approached by a communications officer.
The officer saluted, but the man did not turn around. An uncomfortable silence pervaded the air, broken only by a rhythmic, mechanical breathing. Finally, the officer swallowed hard, and delivered his report.

"Admiral, we've received word from the ground. Our forces encountered resistance, but have pushed the enemy back. Our walkers have been destroyed, and the Jedi -"

"This campaign has already started to become too costly," the man, Admiral Stahl, muttered with discontent. "Order our men to fall back and prepare for an orbital strike," Stahl snapped sharply, his raspy voice amplified throughout the bridge.

"Yes… yes, sir…" the officer saluted, and then scuttled back to his post. Still the Admiral did not turn, nor lose his composure. Not even when the 'Decimator' accelerated, nor when it was announced that they'd entered geosynchronous orbit with the planet and had acquired a target lock on the enclave.

Not even when he calmly issued the order to open fire.

...

Captain Echo coughed hard, and moaned when her eyes fluttered open and Dantooine seemed to tilt on its axis beneath her. She tried to crawl forward, to retrieve the blaster rifle lying on the ground ahead of her, but a great weight seemed to have settled itself on top of her.

Ahead, halfway along the courtyard, she could see the tell-tale flashing of blades signifying a lightsaber duel, but from this distance and with her head thumping so hard, she could not discern which Jedi it was that fought. She could not even muster the strength to call out to him.

"All Imperial units, come in!"

Echo heard the muffled sound of a comm device somewhere to her right. Crying out in pain, she twisted around and groped blindly in the debris, her fingers finding an empty helmet, then an armoured forearm, and finally, a comm-link, gripped tightly in the dead hand of a fallen Imperial soldier.

She cried out again with the agony of trying to contort herself while half-buried beneath scrap metal, and brought the comm-link to her ear.

"Repeat, all Imperial units, come in!" a voice issued from the comm-link. "By order of Admiral Stahl, withdraw to safe distance, repeat, withdraw to safe distance. Orbital strike incoming!"

Echo sagged, her face pressed to the ground, and she screwed her eyes closed with anger. The day was lost. And how could it not be? How could she have so naively believed that the smattering of troops the Republic had allowed to defend Dantooine could possibly have withstood the Empire?

First thing I'm doing when I return to Coruscant is handing in my resignation, Echo decided. Hell, who am I kidding, I ain't making it back to Coruscant. This is it. End of the line. Do the Empire even take prisoners of war?

A stampede of Imperial soldiers was heading her way now. She couldn't see clearly, but there didn't seem to be any white armour following behind. Either the Republic forces believed they'd successfully routed the Empire and had remained inside the enclave, or the Empire had exterminated them all.
Defeated, and not wishing to contemplate either scenario, Captain Echo let unconsciousness claim her once more.

Master Gabrian was slowing down. True, to the eye of one not versed in the ways of the Force, he continued to move with a surprising poise and agility for a being of his stature, but the Sith was wearing him down. His footwork was becoming steadily sloppy, his deflections and parries were becoming desperate and reactive, and his limbs were beginning to ache from the sustained combat. And, Gabrian suspected, the Sith is aware of this.

"Do you not tire of this dance?" Gabrian asked, parrying Krysil once again and redirecting the Sith, body and blade, into the ruins of a pillar with a soft crunch of armour impacting on stone.

"Never," the Sith laughed with exhilaration. "I live for this. To cross blades with the enemy, to learn from him, to improve myself. Who needs a Master, lecturing me, when a battle to the death with you is all it takes?" he sneered, punctuating his words with sweeping blows of his twin blades, each time being met with the effortless parries of the Jedi.

"Oh, is that what this is?" Gabrian chuckled. "A lesson in how to fight like a Jedi?"

"What?" Krysil snapped, his battering retaliation halted momentarily. "No, I…"

"I'd have thought our methods beneath you," Gabrian teased, his whiskered nose twitching merrily. "By all means, if you wish to abandon this silliness and join the Jedi, we could see about redeeming you to the light."

"Be quiet! That's not what I meant and you know it," Krysil spat, testing the tiring Jedi with lazy jabs toward his torso and shoulders.

Neither Jedi nor Sith was prepared for the sudden barrage of turbolaser blasts that rained down from the heavens, pounding the enclave with such terrible force that both Krysil and Gabrian were bowled from their feet. A rush of Imperial soldiers fled through the perimeter ruins and made for the valley, despite being well clear of the blasting zone. Gabrian pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, eyes wide, mouth agape; he'd felt a sudden great loss of life, his senses flooded with panic and terror, and then silence, and an absence in the Force.

"Cael!" he gasped, remembering that his Padawan had duelled the other Sith in that direction. "Cael, no!"

Gabrian staggered forward, trying to keep his footing, his Padawan now his sole concern. Surely, if the boy had died, he'd have felt it keenly in the Force?

A burning hot lance of agony seared through Gabrians stomach, and a primal roar escaped him. Lightsaber dropping from his hands, he gripped at his belly, and winced at the violet blade protruding through the wound.

"One false move," Krysil whispered from behind him, "and you're mine".

Another blade took him, this time through the chest, and then both were torn out of his body and he fell to his knees.

"Cael…" Gabrian gasped, even as the sleek armour of the Sith filled his fading vision.

"Don't worry, Jedi," Krysil murmured, kneeling before the Cathar and cupping his face reassuringly. "I'll take good care of him. If Kevaarn didn't kill him, and if the blast didn't kill him, then I certainly will."

Gabrian had no argument left in him. He died clinging to the hope that his Padawan had survived to bring justice to those responsible for this tragedy. He died hoping that Cael could resist the darkness long enough to see it driven from the galaxy.