Chapter 11: Black Talon, Black Heart II
The Black Talon
The Apprentice
The iron gray durasteel that made up the flooring on the Black Talon's bridge shuddered beneath the pounding of multiple feet as nervous technicians scurried about, rushing to and from their stations as they completed the last second calculations necessary to exit hyperspace. Even the tiniest of errors would see them reverting to realspace as a rapidly expanding nova of flame and debris rather than an intact ship, so the crew had mostly shut out the presence of the Sith apprentice that had only a few hours ago essentially hijacked their ship, sending them on what would most likely prove to be a suicide mission against a Republic warship.
Just another day in the Empire, no doubt.
Said Sith apprentice was alternating between sweeping his gaze across the crew, keeping them from having any second thoughts about the matter at hand, and fighting to hold back the rising tide of worry he himself was experiencing. Pre-combat jitters were nothing new, having had to fight for his life ever since he had been sent to Ziost, but they never dimmed when confronted with familiarity. The constant thought that this would be his first engagement against Republic forces certainly was not helping matters.
"Are you ok?" came a voice to his left.
To his credit, he was able to control the sudden urge to leap into the air and babble out completely unconvincing denials that would ruin the calm aura he was attempting to project. For the sake of the crew, of course. It would not do to have them come down with a case of mass hysteria, now would it?
Keep telling yourself that Emron. Maybe it'll help you forget that your heart can't possibly pound any faster right now.
"Fine," he responded curtly as he turned to look at the Twi'lek who had asked the question. "Why do you ask?"
"Because you've been fidgeting for the past couple of minutes?" Vette asked with an innocent tone.
Emron suddenly became acutely aware of every tiny movement his body was making. Quickly bringing himself under control, he shot her a dirty glare. "Just anxious to get into the fight is all," he lied.
Vette, of course, saw right through it. "Sure you are," she replied, sarcasm dripping off of every syllable. "Or, you could be, you know, sca-."
"My Lord," Captain Orzik interrupted the pair, ignorant of the conversation at hand. Emron fought to bring his hostility back down to a level more in line with what Sith Lords maintained rather than psychopathic murderers.
Even if the galaxy often has trouble distinguishing between the two, he thought as he unclenched fists with some effort. Probably because there often isn't a difference. He had no idea what would have happened had Vette finished that sentence. He did not want to find out.
He would never admit it, not even to himself, but she was correct. However, the last thing any sane sentient did was accuse a Sith of cowardice. Accusations of cowardice often ended up being death sentences for the accused, so naturally Sith took appropriate measures to suppress such claims. Usually by introducing the indicter to the business end of a lightsaber or three.
"Yes, Captain?" he responded once he was certain he could keep the last vestiges of fear and anger out of his voice. He turned his head from the flinching Twi'lek to see the Captain wearing a carefully neutral expression on his face.
"We'll be exiting hyperspace in approximately four minutes Lord. I thought you might want some time to join the boarding teams down in the starboard hangar now." The man's eyes never left his, not even to blink.
"Thank you Captain." He turned back to spear Vette with a glare. "Let's go."
Without a backwards glance to see if she followed him, Emron stalked off the bridge towards the elevator that would take them down to the hangar. He needed something to kill now.
The Black Talon shuddered and jerked beneath their feet momentarily, signaling their return to realspace. Klaxons began to wail as damage control teams rushed around them to their preassigned stations, ready to beat down any fires that would inevitably break out when the hull took damage. Further vibrations indicated that the Talon was accelerating to weapons range.
They had just about reached the entrance to the hangar, Emron placing the armored helmet he had had a 'droid retrieve from his room over his head. He had yet to wear the thing, preferring the increased peripheral view afford by going helmetless, but since the risk of taking an unseen blaster bolt to the head increased proportionately during boarding actions, so he had opted to wear it now.
He had just placed it on and synced it up with the rest of his armor when the built in comm unit crackled to life. "My Lord?"
"Yes?" he replied. What could the Captain want now? It was far too late to be developing cold feet.
"We're receiving a long-range transmission. Republic frequency."
"The Star?" he asked as he and Vette walked into the hangar, just in time to see the jet black-suited Imperial pilots scramble to board their Mark VI interceptors, performing last-minute checks as they did so. Astromech 'droids scurried about underfoot, finishing launch preparations, while the control room buzzed with activity.
"No Lord, we're unsure as to who it might be."
"Then answer long enough to tell whoever it is to go frack themselves and then get on with it," he sighed. Hopefully Captain Orzik could make decisions for himself when the turbolasers were blazing.
"As you command, my Lord."
"Alert," the mechanical tones of NR-02 broke into the conversation, "Republic reinforcements consisting of four cruisers and seven corvettes have destroyed the interdictor accompanying the Imperial blockade force and have made the jump to hyperspace. Estimated time to arrival is approximately thirty minutes."
"We'll be gone before then," he said as he finally sighted the two heavily armed and armored assault shuttles that were to ferry the boarding team over to the Star sitting in the far corner of the hangar. Twenty-six men snapped to attention as Emron made his way over to them.
"Karking hells, thems what we're gonna be babysitting?" one of them muttered.
"Sith and an alien? Not often you see somethin' like that together," another said.
"Shut it privates," another snapped, clearly the officer in charge of them. "We do our jobs and we keep our mouths shut. Now get your gear in the shuttles and get ready to move out, you all know the drill."
"I take it you're the one in charge here," Emron said as he came to a halt in front of the man, ignoring the less-than-enthusiastic groans and mutterings that broke out as men shuffled to finish stowing extra power packs and heavy weapons aboard.
"Aye, my Lord, that's me. First Lieutenant Traxel, Sigma platoon leader, 396th Marine Battalion. This here," a quick gesture to the man beside him, "is Sergeant Zemis, my 2IC for this mission."
"Lieutenant, Sergeant," Emron said, giving each a respectful nod. "You already know what we're after I assume?"
"Yes Lord, defecting VIP from what the Captain told us," Traxel replied. "We'll be splitting Sigma into two parts, Alpha and Beta squads. I'll be leading Alpha and accompanying you to secure the target, while the Sergeant here takes Beta and holds the LZ."
"Good," Emron said, glad that for the first time since he had been dragooned into this whole mess, someone had an idea as to what they were supposed to be doing. Leave it to the enlisted and the junior officers I suppose.
"Oh, and before I forget-" Traxel broke off as he unclipped a compact device off of his belt. "Here Lord. I think you'll find this coming in handy over there."
Emron eyed the apparatus. It looked like a personal shield generator usually found on battle 'droids or elite commandos, but smaller and less powerful. "What's this?" he asked.
"Mark nine shield generator sir. Doesn't require a connection to an external power source, so it only holds a few charges. We started getting those a couple of months ago, and the guys who find themselves first down the ramp haven't stopped singing the praises of whoever came up with it ever since. Saved my life more than once as well."
Emron attached the generator onto his belt. "My thanks Lieutenant. I'm sure I'll find a good use for it."
Any further discussion between the three of them was abruptly cut off by shuddering beneath their feet, indicating that the Captain had given the order to open fire. As soon as the first shakes died down, the screaming roar produced by the engines of the Mark VI interceptors filled every inch of the room as they blasted out of the hangar and into the void. Emron was thankful his helmet automatically filtered noise that exceeded a set threshold, though he gave a sympathetic wince at seeing Vette clutch at what passed for ears amongst her species in agony.
"I do believe that's our cue," Emron stated as he motioned Vette to board the nearest shuttle.
Still holding her head, Vette stumbled past him and up the ramp, the Lieutenant following her. Zemis gave Emron one last salute and headed for the other shuttle.
A quick glance out of the hangar revealed Imperial and Republic starfighters dancing around each other and in-between massive green and red turbolasers as the Black Talon and the Brentaal Star slugged it out in knife fighting range. Massive craters had been blasted out of the Republic warship's once-pristine hull, most of the scars from the previous battle, but some of them were glowing red, proof that the Talon was giving just as good, if not better, than she received.
Heartening, yes, but will it be enough? Emron wondered as he entered the hold of the shuttle and took a seat.
As the ramp closed shut with a loud bang, he could only think of one response to that.
Guess it'll have to be.
The flight over to the Star had been anything but easy. That was to be expected, of course, given how they were flying through a warzone, a warzone filled with hostile starfighters, bombers, and point defense weaponry. Emron was certain that had they all not been wearing their crash webbing, then more than a few necks would have ended up broken due to the wild evasive maneuvers that had been pulled off by the pilot.
"Alright men, we're thirty seconds to touchdown!" Lieutenant Traxel shouted over the din caused by the shuttle's engines, his figure backlit by the emergency light that bathed the hold in a deep crimson. "You all know the drill! Pilot's gonna sweep the hangar with the big guns and then everyone out! Swensil, I want you and that cannon to be the first ones out!"
Traxel was clearly in his element now. Any lingering doubts Emron might have had about their chances of success were quieted in the face of the man's cool professionalism.
The Marines are supposed to be the best, after all.
Emron could barely make out Vette's face as she sat across from him, but he could tell she was nervous. No, beyond something as simple as nervousness. His senses were in danger of being overwhelmed by the amount of fear she was projecting into the Force. He motioned with his hands to gain her attention, then gave her a thumbs up in an attempt at reassuring her. The faint smile that he could not quite make out but was sure was there was enough to let him know he had succeeded.
Poor girl, she hardly signed up for something like this back at the Academy.
"Ten seconds!" Traxel roared as the shuttle shook and vibrated under the enormous recoil produced by the heavy blaster cannons mounted on the prow. Faint screams and explosions could be heard over the dim, proof positive that the Republic defensive positions had been softened up for the Marines' deployment. Satisfied with the grim toll he had reaped, the pilot swiveled the shuttle and touched down on the hangar floor.
"Go! Out, out, OUT!" came the shouted command as everyone quickly unbuckled themselves from their crash webbing and followed a giant of a marine who was swinging around a repeater cannon like it weighed nothing out. Heavy thumps customary of such weapons firing resounded in Emron's ringing eardrums as Swensil laid down suppressive fire on the remaining Republic positions for all he was worth.
Once free from the shuttle hold, Emron quickly dived behind the nearest conveniently-placed stack of crates, Vette right beside him, and risked a survey of the hangar. On the other side of the room he could see Zemis and his men piling out of their shuttle and setting up heavy weapons faster than should have been humanly possible.
Determination to survive is a great motivator amongst men, he thought as he ducked behind his crates to avoid a barrage of blaster fire. Speaking of which….
Despite the pounding they had just taken from the two Imperial shuttles, the Republic defenders currently raining bolts down upon them clearly had no intention of leaving their positions any time soon. Though there were comparatively few of them remaining, with the rest of their comrades unmoving on the floor in slowly-expanding crimson pools, the space between them and the Imperials was wide-open, turning the firefight into a stalemate. Red and green bolts flew through the air, so heavily in some areas that Emron was sure that if he tried he could have walked on them. The marines could not move up without completely exposing themselves, and the defenders could not do anything to dig their enemies out of their positions.
Emron swore. Viciously and profusely. Vette stared at him in shock as the words spilled from his lips, but he ignored her. He was useless here, and each passing second was something he was acutely aware of. If the Republic keep them pinned down long enough, they would have no choice but to pull back to the Talon and hope the Grand Moff was feeling especially indulgent today.
Something I doubt he ever feels, he thought as he searched desperately for any ways forward. Fracking dammit all!
He could see Traxel yelling orders into his helmet comms, the blaster fire from the Imperial side of the room shifting every time he did. No matter what he tried though, nothing seemed to be working. They were stuck.
Salvation came from on high as the two shuttles suddenly took off and began blasting the Republic troopers again. Explosions and screams erupted from the Republic side of the hangar as men and equipment alike disappeared in blooms of rapidly expanding fire.
As the last rounds connected and the Republic defenders were still trying to regain their senses, Emron gathered the Force to him, drawing his lightsaber and thumbing the activation stud as he did, and leapt forward over the crates.
He cleared half the distance before slamming back down to the ground. Bunching his legs beneath him in one smooth motion, he sprinted towards the rapidly recovering enemy and leaped over the barricade separating them from him.
The next few seconds were lost to him in a haze of red and screams. He could vaguely make out men desperately attempting to put some distance between him and them, hoping they could coordinate fire and take down the monster in their midst. Others threw down their weapons and tried to surrender. It mattered not what they tried, for when he finally regained his senses the only living being around was him.
He could hear the footsteps of Lieutenant Traxel and his men cautiously approaching him, unsure whether he was still in the grip of his battle lust or not. Murmurs of awe interspersed the underlying aura of fear that radiated off of all them.
Not that I blame them, he thought while his eyes surveyed the scattered limbs and mutilated bodies around him. I just killed twelve men in seven seconds, if my helmet chronometer is correct. I'm a little frightened myself.
"My Lord, you good?" he could hear Traxel asking him.
He roused himself from his stupor. No time for reflection now, not when they had a VIP to secure. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine. How are your men Lieutenant?"
"One dead, couple of wounds. We're still ready for more, and Sergeant Zemis is setting up the rest of the defenses now."
"Good, we should keep moving before they-"
"Alert, all hands," a male voice blared over a loudspeaker, "Imperial forces have boarded. Response teams five and twelve to the starboard hangar. Damage control teams to sector eight."
"-do that." Emron finished with a sigh.
Traxel waved his men towards the exit hallway. "Our best bet now would be capturing the security center Lord, we can monitor their movements and keep the target from reaching the escape pods from there."
"Sounds like a plan. Let's move."
The Imperial advance was swift yet methodical, something that would not have been possible had it not been for the stalwart professionalism of the marines. Republic attempts to flank them through access and maintenance tunnels were pushed back, while the narrow corridors and cramped battle stations left the defenders vulnerable to Emron's lightsaber. Still, Emron was becoming steadily antsier. At the rate at which they were pushing onwards they had more than enough time to grab the VIP and leave, but one stubborn defense too many and they were all as good as dead.
"Lieutenant, how much farther to that security room?" he shouted as he sliced a Republic battle 'droid in half, lightsaber burning through its durasteel frame as if it were nothing.
"Should be the next room!" came the tense reply as viridian blaster bolts erupted from the man's rifle barrel, felling a Republic trooper lining up a shot at the Sith. "Someone get a thermal on that position!"
A small sphere soared over Emron's head and landed in the midst of a particularly tenacious knot of enemies that were ducking behind a pair consoles, forcing them to dive for whatever cover was available nearby. The momentary slackening in return fire allowed a pair of marines to flank and neutralize the survivors with efficiency.
"For the Republic!" came a cry that reached them right before a barrage of grenades showered down on their comrades' positions. The resulting explosions forced the rest of soldiers back into cover, and the now exposed marines were quickly cut down.
Emron was seething. He could see the smug look on the leader of the enemy reinforcements that had just shown up, a heavily scarred Mon Cal of all beings. Adorned in heavily modified orange and white special operations armor and sporting a high-powered blaster pistol, the alien commander seemed to be gunning for him especially.
"Men, get these pieces of filth off of my ship!" the Mon Cal roared. "Leave the Sith to me!"
Emron knew he had to do something before any more Imperials died. So he acted. Propelling himself out of his cover and towards the enemy's captain as he halted atop a raised platform, Emron prepared to decapitate the alien in one smooth motion….
…Only to have to force himself to come up short as the Mon Cal simply laughed at his motion and motioned for one of his men to bring a flamethrower to bear. The heat of the weapon drove him back and on the defensive.
"You think I've never fought Sith before meat? You think I don't know how your kind fights?! I killed over a dozen of you in the Great War! Kept their lightsabers as trophies! And once your corpse hits the floor, yours will be joining theirs!"
He could not respond, too focused on deflecting the bolts that punctuated the man's words. The soldier with the flamethrower kept him from advancing and killing the commander, and the Imperials were too busy being pinned down to help. Emron attempted to reflect some of the bolts back at the Mon Cal, but gave up on that idea when a shield generator popped up around his enemy.
This state of helplessness only grew steadily direr as a number of Republic troopers, clearly bored of blasting parts of their ship's architecture to bits, decided to join in on the fun. In desperation, Emron activated his own generator, buying him a moment to breathe and plan.
Can't back up, only a wall behind me. Can't go sideways, clever bastard has that flamethrower positioned at just the right angle. Can't go forward. Fek, now what?
As if in response to his mental questioning, a series of shots sped out from the Imperial side of the room and impacted perfectly upon the tank of flamethrower fuel. One pierced the armor protecting it, igniting the fuel and engulfing the trooper wearing it and one of his comrades in flames. As the air in the room quickly became heavy with the stench of charred flesh, Emron risked a glance at who had made such a lucky shot. To his surprise, he saw Vette peeking around her cover and giving him a thumbs up, just like he had given her earlier.
I believe I owe her whatever she wants for that.
As the Mon Cal swore in shock at the sight of his Sith repellant exploding, Emron surged forward and removed the alien's head with surgical precision. Disbelief was written all over the severed limb as it bounced across the floor. The remaining Republic troopers, disheartened by the death of their leader, quickly fell back.
Emron took the opportunity to double over as nerves finally kicked in fully.
"My Lord, are you alright? Do you require medical assistance?" Traxel asked as he came forward.
"I'm fine, just somewhat tired is all," he lied, trying to calm his shaking arms and legs. "That was one hell of a shot by the way," he added, hoping to deflect attention from him and towards Vette.
"Oh, that? That was nothing, wait 'till you see my really fancy tricks," she replied, all false modesty. Emron could tell she was embarrassed by the praise though.
"Well that 'nothing' just allowed us to capture the security center without any more losses," Traxel said. "Pahcil, get Quensin and Bahrum's holotags for me will you? Thanks."
"Sorry about your men," Emron said, straightening up.
"They knew the risks they took," Traxel said as he pocketed the holotags. "I'll put them both in for commendations when we get back to Dromund Kaas."
"They deserve it."
"C'mon, security room is right through that door."
"Grand Moff Kilran is requesting a status report," NR-02's hologram said as it sprang forth from the security console, only to be replaced by the unsmiling face of the Grand Moff a heartbeat later.
I don't think I've ever heard the word 'request' ever used as a death threat, a command, and a polite entreaty simultaneously before. I'm sure some time around Baras will make it a regular occurrence though.
The security room had been oddly abandoned when the Imperial forces had breached the bulkhead keeping them out. Perhaps the retreat of the Republic troopers from earlier had demoralized whomever had thought about making a last stand in here. Maybe they were preparing an ambush up ahead.
We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, now focus.
"We've secured the security room with minimal casualties and have located the VIP. He's currently making his way to the portside escape pods," Emron stated as he eyed an Imperial technician hacking into the Republic security system.
"I'm sure it is unnecessary to remind you that denying the Republic the information in his head is our top priority here, no matter the cost."
"It is."
"Good, then I am also sure it is unnecessary to remind you of what will happen should you fail in this."
Emron swallowed before he realized he had let his nervousness show. Kilran missed nothing, the tiniest of smiles now adorning his face.
"It is."
"Good, good. You're making remarkable progress, sterling really. I'm so glad someone as competent as you volunteered to help me in this affair. I'm looking forward to news of your success." With that, Kilran's hologram blinked out as the comm line shut down.
"He scares me," Vette said from behind him.
"He scares me, and I've been in dozens of firefights," Traxel added from where he was overseeing his weary marines. He and Emron had both agreed that the men deserved a quick breather before they began their next push while Emron reported their success so far, though clearly he had not chosen to join them. "Jouril, any luck getting into their system?"
"Almost sir," replied the technician. "Give me a few more moments and…got it! I have access to their comms sir."
"And?"
"They apparently have something big waiting for us up ahead."
"Can we go around?" Emron interjected.
"We could but it'd take too long. We'd have to cut through multiple decks, and they could just shift back to another chokepoint. We'd end up having to go through their trap sooner or later," Traxel said. Emron could hear all of the accumulated experience in the man as he gave his summary of the situation.
There was an awkward pause as each of them waited for the others to speak, hoping that someone had a better idea.
"Well frack," Emron said, stating what they were all think.
"Yep," Vette said.
"We've faced worse," Traxel tried to reassure them, but they could hear the doubt in his tone. "I'll get the men ready."
Emron sighed, then check the chronometer in his helmet. Had it really only been ten minutes since they had departed the Talon? It felt like two lifetimes had passed already.
"Corporal," he said to the technician's back.
"Yes Lord?"
"What room are they waiting for us in?"
"They haven't mentioned a room by name, but it should be the fire control room. Maybe."
"Maybe?" Emron asked with a raised eyebrow. I thought marines were supposed to be intimately familiar with the surroundings they'll be fighting in?
Jouril could not have looked more sheepish had he tried. "Well, there's two versions of the Thranta-class currently in Republic service sir. The Mk. I has most of its systems concentrated on the bridge, as compared to the Mk. II which has them spread throughout the ship in dedicated rooms. I'm fairly certain the Star is a Mk. II though."
Makes sense, concentrating systems is more efficient for the captain, but less powerful and more exposed. Considering the Thrantas were originally brought into service to combat pirates instead of serving as frontline warships….
"Guess we'll find out then," Emron shrugged.
"Guess we will."
"The men are ready to go Lord," Traxel said as he returned. "Jouril, I want you to remain here, keep an eye on everything they do."
"Yes sir."
"Swensil will stay as well in case the Republic tries to reclaim this place. Keep in touch."
"Well Vette," Emron asked as he pulled lightsaber off his belt, "ready to jump right into an ambush?"
"I suppose my life could use some more excitement. Why not?" she said.
"Move out, eyes open!" came the order as the marines filed out of the room.
Eighteen minutes to go.