Interlude: Cat's Eye (K-17)
The attack began at the dawning of the new year.
It was not an invasion to herald a major war, just a force large enough to complete its objectives. Cathar, their objective was, a world far beyond the edge of the Republic, a world known for its independence and its fighting spirit. Now an enemy came to crush this grass world, came to test itself against the legendary fighting spirit of the Cathar.
The world hung in space; no moon orbited it and no fleet waited for the invaders. For all their fighting spirit, the Cathar did not have the expertise or funds to build ships of war. Not that anything short of a battlegroup could have stopped this invasion force; the Mandalore had come to destroy the golden world of Cathar.
Mandalorian ships were like their builders, large and tough, immovable as stone and as agile. Six Mandalorian capital ships were the vanguard of the assault, a battlecruiser supported by mighty attack cruisers moved forward into position in preparation to attack. Like the Republic battlecruisers, the Mandalorian ships were heavily armed, but there the physical resemblance ended. Whereas the ships of the Republic were elongated longer than they were wide, the Clan ships were bulky devices of immense strength but limited speed.
On the bridge of the flagship, the battlecruiser Haarad, named for one of the ancient heroes of legend, was the leader of the raid. Officers and attendants scurried back and forth across the ship's vast bridge, carrying out the tasks that were assigned to them. The man who stood before the foremost windows of the bridge was tall and broad. He wore heavy, blue streaked armour and had sword and carbine by his side. He wore no helmet though, letting his short black hair meet the artificial light of the bridge. It was clear that those around him that he was a man who was feared and admired.
He was the oldest son of Mandalore, the man who would one day replace his father as ruler of the clans. That day was many years away it was believed and so the tall fighter led the forces of his father into battle, awaiting the time when all of the clans would be his. His name was Lord Nayri Takaegi. Now he led these ships and his three hundred thousand troops in a test, a trial against one of the more fierce independent worlds. The enemy would not stand long against such a thrust but it was a test, a test to see if the latest Mandalorian designs had the necessary strength to fight against more powerful opponents.
The Mandalorians were a proud race of men from outside the Republic who liked nothing better than to prove their strength and power in battle. They had fought with the Sith two and a half decades before, but the Sith had betrayed and abandoned them, causing great anger and bitterness between the two nations. Mandalore space covered over three dozen worlds, half of which were vassal states whose population were at best serfs.
A second man picked his way along the walkway that ran through the bridge of the ship, threading his way through the junior officers. He was also over six feet tall with black hair cut short, he wore lighter armour and bore the mark of Clan Sub-Chief, equivalent to Commander in the Republic.
The Mandalorians had adopted, about twenty years before after the end of the First Sith War, a parallel system of organisation. With so many lost in the fighting including the Mandalore of the time, there was a need to change and reorganise the army. One of the first things agreed upon was the need for a unified order of battle that could be applied across the whole military. The previous system, based on tribal clan formations had been unwieldy and exposed; now the Mandalore used the galactic standard for military formations. It had been unpopular but its usefulness in battle had been undoubted. Now the clans could fight in battle far more efficiently then they could have ever done before. It seemed that the slaughter of the Sith War had only strengthened the clans after all. The officer, a fearsome looking man, approached the son of Mandalore. "My Lord Takaegi, all ships are in position. We can begin on your mark."
Nayri Takaegi turned, his scarred and weathered face grim in the light from the rising Cathar star. "Then begin Commander, launch the first two corps and the mercenaries. We shall see how these primitives fight, crush them all. Leave none alive to oppose us, let the mercenaries take whatever slaves they wish. Destroy their cities."
"It shall be done my Lord," the Commander bowed before turning to give his orders.
Nayri Takaegi stared out across the golden steppes and grasslands of Cathar, lands that would soon flow with blood. As his attack ships started to move into position, he smiled grimly before turning away.
Cathar was not a vastly technological world; they were many millennia behind the current curve of galactic progress. That did not mean they were stupid, they knew what this attack presaged from the moment its fury hit.
The first targets were the orbital communications and sensors, the only things that could call for help. Not that any could come in time to save them. The beacons were floating platforms near a hundred yards wide, to cripple them, Lord Takaegi had dispatched his assault fighters. Mandalorian fighters were almost a paradox when compared to everything else their race built; smooth and agile, deadly but not cumbersome. It would be Clan Ordo's chance to prove themselves, the clan had not yet fought in the war and they demanded the chance to prove themselves.
Three squadrons, their Manticore Class fighters painted in the black and blue of their clan, flew towards their target. The ships, well armed with missiles and torpedoes as well as the ubiquitous blaster cannons moved into the standard attack formation, an arrow with their leader at their head.
Their commander, a man with far more battles than years to his name called to his men through his communicator. "This is Squadron Leader Canderous Ordo, we are approaching primary target. Two and three, you cover me, the rest of you, follow me."
He was a man of few words, even so, his curt orders were followed exactly as he dived down towards the communication platform that boosted the signal of all other such platforms in orbit. As he pulled in closer and closer, Canderous reached across to bring up the targeting reticule, he was almost in range. Then, the machine clicked and the Mandalorian knew it was his time, he opened fire with all four of his heavy blasters, missiles being ineffective in space.
The platform was hit a score of times in a few seconds, the fire from his wingmen adding to the brief flares of energy. Then, with a final, flameless detonation, the platform shattered apart into pieces, the remains falling to burn up in the atmosphere.
"Lord Takaegi, this is Strike Force Silver Four. The communication beacon has been destroyed."
"Understood strike force. Select suitable landing sight and begin preliminary ground attack."
"I understand my lord," Canderous said gruffly. "Squadron, break atmosphere and meet up at the coordinates I am sending now."
There was five acknowledgements, then the Mandalorian assault fighters plunged into the atmosphere seeking targets to immolate. Normally, such space craft would be unsuitable for such ground assault missions but that was the ingenuity of the Manticore, it could instantly become an atmospheric assault fighter-bomber. Then, the missiles it carried could suddenly regain their usefulness, prove deadly if there was no weapon capable of hitting the small assault craft.
A wide, grassy plain lay before Canderous, its beauty only in that it could hold near a division of the assault troops who would land here. Before the Mandalorian squadron was the largest city on the planet, one of only two large settlements. Canderous felt a certain pride that it was he that would strike the first blow on this battlefield against the enemy.
"Silver Four, fire when ready, then circle to cut off any escape routes," he said with a calm sense of bloodlust.
"Understood Squadron Leader," one man acknowledged and broke to begin his own attack run.
"For Mandalore," Canderous said softly. Then the slaughter began.
A dozen heavy missiles followed by a blizzard of heavy blaster rounds smashed into the city. In a single blow, the gates, walls and major buildings were shattered by the torrent of deadly fire. The buildings were fairly old styled, mostly wood with a clay or mud facing, painted to suggest stone, it was torn apart just as easily though. Fires sprung up as the people of the city milled in panic, their screams inaudible to the pilots in their deadly ships. Canderous pulled back, giving himself a full twelve mile approach run with which to hammer the now burning city. As he strafed a fleeing convoy of civilians, he received the order to pull back, to intercept the Cathar ships trying to run for him. Canderous shattered one last building, a large temple of some kind, then pulled back to conform to his lord's orders. He had done his duty, he had been a pilot despite his protests. He was a ground fighter, a man who had lead the prototype of the newest walkers into battle. He hoped to have the chance to prove himself on the ground again. For now though, it was the ground troops that must fight.
The city was burning, the screams were shrill on the ground as trapped civilians and those who tried to aid them were consumed by flames. Several of the missiles had been incendiary; the fierce flames cracked the dry mud to reach the old wood of the frames.
The Cathar, a race of humanoids who had more in common with felines than humans, were in turmoil. What they needed was a plan, what they got was the only thing they could do. Whilst the soldiers tried to distract the enemy troops, the wounded, woman and children would try to escape. Both offered near certain death, but at least the latter had a minor chance to escape the clutches of the blockading fleet.
In the highest pinnacle of the now burning palace, the hereditary King of the Cathar looked at his terrified family. He saw his daughter, his son-in-law and above all, he saw his granddaughter, saw their furred faces driven into sorrow and hatred.
"Go my daughter, you must escape while there is still time, go."
"Father, I cannot leave you, you have to come with us."
"No child, my place is here with what is left of my people. If we are to fall then we will give them such a fight that we might be remembered. My place is here, yours is away, elsewhere."
"How is it we can escape?" the husband said, clearly eager to leave as soon as he could.
The white fur on the King's ears flattened as the ears pressed themselves back. He just contained his anger enough to point, he had never liked the husband but his daughter was stubborn. "There is my personal ship on the roof in the docking bay. Now go, I must see to the troops."
"Grandfather?" the child asked, she could have only been about four at the most.
"Yes child?" the older Cathar asked, his ears settling down from his brief rage.
"Will I see you again?" she asked, almost pitiably.
"That is something I cannot say child. Go, perhaps we shall meet again."
Juhani watched her grandfather slowly pick up his old hunting glaive, his age clearly showing on his face. Then she was hustled away as around them, their subjects were being slaughtered.
The main assault on the city would be performed by the Dracovitch Clan, their crimson and black colours clearly showing the dark fury they were renowned for. An entire division of troops, twelve thousand men was gathering before the city whilst to the other points of the compass, smaller formations were arriving to cut off any flight. Beside the assault division was the mercenaries who were recruited into the Mandalorian armies because they were far more useful as allies then enemies. Aside from that, they generally disliked the Mandalorian troops and vice versa, the clansmen disapproving of the lack of discipline and needless brutality. The mercenaries conversely disliked the clansmen because of their arrogant pride and dedication to their code of honour.
Despite this, the two fought well beside each other; the natural competitiveness of the two groups ensuring continued success. Fifteen thousand troops started forward, almost as one, moving towards the ruined gates. Against them, perhaps five thousand Cathar waited, all those who had come out to fight. The defenders' numbers dropping by a score every half minute from the rain of shot and shell among them and from those who ran from the battle. The Mandalorians had no time for deserters, none who fought would be spared this day.
Leading the assault was the newest invention of the clans, developed by Takaegi's Clan, the richest of them all, the Basilisk was a worthy investment. This was the first time they had been deployed as a formation, previously they had fought singularly. Canderous Ordo had been the first Mandalore to lead an attack with such machines. Standing over fifteen feet tall, the machine weighted over ten tonnes but was still light and agile enough to move faster than any man could. The machine was shaped like an armoured man, the pilot protected deep in the centre of the machine, relying mostly on visual displays to see the ground ahead. On one massive arm was a heavy assault blaster cannon, similar to the ones used on starships. On the other arm, the left arm, was a heavy weapon code named Destructor, a weapon with enough punch to cripple the heaviest of machines. Although dangerous to the user, it offered the Mandalorians exactly what they wanted. And what they needed was mobile, heavy artillery. On one shoulder was a targeting and guidance system whilst on the other was a battery of rockets. It was named Basilisk from the deadly creature of legend. That creature had used its stare to petrify its foe, now this Basilisk would use its guns to destroy the foe.
The Basilisks strode forward, the men flowing beside them as they closed for the fight. Then, as one, the heavy walkers opened up with a terrific barrage of fire, tearing into the Cathar ranks and disorganising them just as the lead assault troops were almost upon their opponents.
The assault troops, using the latest invention, jetpacks, struck home. Although only capable of a few seconds of flight, they proved a useful way of overcoming obstacles such as the Cathar had. In reality, the flimsy ditches and cheval-de-frise erected by the defenders would avail them little even without the assault troopers. However, they never got a chance to try their luck.
The massively armoured and well equipped Mandalorians were perfectly suited to the brutal close quarters fighting they would face. Attached to the top of each armoured wrist was a small, suit powered assault blaster. As the clansmen descended, they opened fire with both the wrist mounted weapons and their regular blaster pistols. The effect on the close packed defenders was horrendous; unarmoured and untrained, the Cathar was cut down like wheat before the scythe. Those who survived and moved to resist the attackers face some of the most formidable soldiers in the entire galaxy. Only a Jedi was a more lethal match in a one on one duel but that did not stop the Cathar trying. The twin vibroblades of the assault troops, powered by the servo motors of the armour, hacked apart bone and flesh with equal abandon. There were none who could stand long before the brutal assault, and the Cathar began to give, despite the numbers they had.
There was a bellowed warcry that signalled the crossing of the first companies of Mandalorian and mercenary infantry, crossing the ditch whose side the Cathar had been forced from.
It was over in minutes, not even the legendary ferocity of the Cathar could save them from slaughter; those who stood were shot down, those who ran were butchered with steel. For every Mandalorian who fell, twenty five Cathar had fallen in recompense. And still the killing went on as the wounded were slaughtered, while those who surrendered had their throats cut, left to bleed out on the bloody grass.
Helmets looked to the city that still stood burning before them. The fire of battle was in those on the field and they moved at the gates as one, leaving only carnage in their wake. The Basilisks came last, their part had been reduced to spectator but occasionally one would prove its aptness of name by unleashing a volley of destruction at the Cathar remnants.
Eventually it was over, but only once all those in the city had been slaughtered did it end. Bodies lay through the streets, their wounds becoming more and more elaborate as time had gone on. The mercenaries in particular took delight in prolonging the death of their foes. Cowed Cathar woman and children were being led away as slaves, any who showed spirit were slaughtered, their bodies a warning to the few survivors. The incendiary weapons had done their work well, and by dusk the city would be nothing but ash and smoke to mourn the passing of so many. Perhaps four hundred Mandalorian soldiers had fallen in battle. Half would never fight again or were dead; the rest would recover. Against this, thousands upon thousands of Cathar lay dead in this city alone, out in the countryside, more were being hunted down and slain.
Lord Takaegi, son of Mandalore and commander of this army looked around in approval, seeing only glory. His new weapons of war, the Basilisk and the Manticore had been tried and tested and his men had proved themselves, even the mercenaries.
"My lord, we have their skulking king," a chieftain announced, bowing before his lord.
"Bring him to me," he ordered, his face showing revulsion that such a creature still lived.
The King was considerably more battered than when he had bade his family farewell. For one, his mercenary captors had torn off one of his ears and broken several of his ribs with a sort of casual brutality that Takaegi both admired and despised.
The Cathar tried to speak but the Mandalorian Noble smashed his face into the furred jaw, there was a wet crack and a stream of dark blood.
"Was any message sent to the Republic?" Takaegi asked. After the Cathar refused to answer, the son of Mandalore took the now broken jaw in his armoured hand and twisted it brutally. The pained gurgle made the Mandalorian smile. "Get rid of it, it has nothing I need."
As the mercenaries drew their knives, Takaegi turned away, it had been a successful day for him. Mandalore would be pleased, now preparations could truly begin.
The watchful eyes of the MICO; Military Intelligence and Covert Operations bureau did not miss this event. A report found its way to Admiral Chearaux just three weeks after the first shot was fired as well as to the commanding officer of the sectors adjoining the edge of Republic Space. Unfortunately, the Commander-in-Chief was not really interested in reports from outside his jurisdiction and so buried it under a mound of papers in the hopes it would go away. It did, during a clean out of the Coruscant office, the message was mistaken for rubbish and disposed of. Thus Chearaux could go back to his twenty year old mistress and forget he had even received the message about some backwater planet outside the Republic.
Thus the Republic had no idea of what awaited them in the dark beyond the edge of their patrol zones. The Mandalore prepared, the Republic sat indolent, and the Sith brooded in the darkness, awaiting the time to return.