[FONT=Times New Roman]
The Galaxy is big. A billion, billion beings have no idea how large it is and how small they are. This may not be a bad thing. If ignorance is bliss, then is a dangerous weapon indeed.

A thousand soldiers believe they are immortal. Together they represent an idea that cannot be stopped; individually they are a thousand one-man-armies. Cohesion found in similarity creates a force unstoppable, or so imagined.

The Galaxy is huge and those who do not remember life among the stars forget this more swiftly then those who do. A single species on a single planet, left alone by time, will come to think of themselves as gods; the only sentient creatures in the galaxy. The process can be accelerated through technological means. Tekkit is a perfect example.

A thousand soldiers; killers and assassins, all waiting for the heat of battle. They picture the battleground as only an invading force can; they feel confident in their own strengths and the weakness of the enemy.

The Galaxy is massive, full of variables and unpredictable outcomes.

A thousand soldiers will soon learn a lesson they’ve long forgot.

****

Tekkit System, the Unknown Regions.

Beff Pike, of the Mandalorian Dominion, studied the jungle planet of Tekkit. Through the heavy trasnparisteel windows Tekkit appeared to be a small green gem covered in dense forests with sporadic desert climates. A series of rivers and lake-bodies pockmarked the planet even from high orbit. A dense atmosphere made for a somewhat oppressive heat on the oxygen rich planet. Life thrived here.

“It’s been a long time.”

The armored figure, an officer of the Deathwatch, nodded sagely. His attention seemed fixed on a tactical display. He loomed over the shoulder of a Guild sensor operator.

Their vessel, the Deathwatch, sat in the forward position of a Mandalorian task-force. She, the first dreadnought in the Protectorate Navy, had been commissioned the flagship of her fleet and thusly paired with the Concord Dawn; the premiere carrier and former flagship. A pair of Mandalore-class stealth vessels, currently running under cloak, ran escort along with a single Guild-class cruiser. A swarm of fighter wings moved between them.

The Mandalore seemed lost in thought.

“Sensors,” demanded the baritone voice of Skurge, the most senior ranked Guild officer in the Dominion.

“Nothing unusual,” remarked the sensor-operator over whom the other had been looming. “It’s as predicted.”

“Doubtful,” Beff Pike interjected. “Mr. Fett?”

The armored Deathwatch commander shook his helmet. “This is too quiet for them, for the Swarm.”

Jorel Fett claimed to be the direct descendant of Boba Fett though this was the subject of some debate. It is rarely disputed now, however; he will not hesitate to recall the fates of those who’d asked before. Along with Beff Pike, he had been a founding member of the Bounty Hunters Guild.

“They have nothing orbital.” Countered Skurge. Skurge too claimed a somewhat notorious ancestry, a distant genetic relative of the Gen’Dai bounty hunter; Durge. “No tech, no cities.”

“Use fighters.” Beff Pike ordered the communications crew directly.

No one questioned the order, nor the near-kamikaze directive it suggested.

Moment’s later local space was flooded with a rush of starfighter traffic, their flight patterns deviating around invisible obstacles. E-Wing snub-nosed fighters mostly, they had been purchased some years ago. Without escort they grouped in pairs and made for suborbital scanning runs. They would likely draw the attention of those hiding planeside should the enemy posses any formidable weaponry.

“Dangerous jungles?” Skurge asked of the Mandalore. He had not been with the faction when first they had invaded Tekkit.

His query went unanswered.

“We have multiple contacts” A series of beeps and blips sounded as the sensor crew checked and rechecked their findings. “All contacts at the projected points. We have two small settlements in the northern hemisphere and three in the south. We also have multiple smaller contacts; possibly tribal units if our intelligence is correct.”

“Looks like they have a few turrets” Someone added.

“Population density is as projected?” The Mandalorian Officer had begun tapping at keys on an open science terminal. His interests were strictly militaristic. He did not wait for a response.

“Landing barges report ready,” informed a partially armored commander. “We need deployment trajectory.”

“Plot a course; northern hemisphere descending.” Between Skurge and the Mandalorian General, along with his numerous counterparts, everything seemed well in hand. “Inform the Concord Dawn. I want fighter support for our landing units.”

Beff Pike smiled approvingly and departed the bridge.[/FONT]

[FONT=Times New Roman]“Hold,” ordered the Deathwatch commando. “We wait for the bombardment.”

His rank equated, roughly, to sergeant and under his command were two dozen highly trained warriors. Each of his men was a highly trained killing machine; a hunter turned soldier. In the woods around them a dozen other squads waited patiently for combat to break.

The commando carried a heavy, repeating blaster carbine and wore a suit of protective armor that incorporated a number of battlefield technologies. Through the dark lenses of his helmet he could see the settlement in perfect clarity despite the late hour.

He looked left.

In the darkness he could make out the vague outlines of his fellow soldiers. Mandalorian armor fashioned to reflect their battalion swallowed up the light and made them near impossible to see in poor illumination. He noted their weapons and the range of destructive capabilities the squadron could manage together. There were women too, but not in his squad.

“Sniper, report” His voice was swallowed up by the helmet though it crackled across their personal communicators.

Through the radio a whisper replied, “There are two rotating sentries out here. I count half a dozen of the big ones in the larger… dome.”

He noted it and someone added, “First we fight ‘em, then we fight with ‘em. There’s us, the clones, the aliens, and those Guild guys. Now we got Sith and Swarm to contend with too.”

Before the sergeant could quell the debate yet another voice was joining the fray.

“That’s why they call it a Dominion. At least we headline.”

There were a few more comments before the sergeant stalled them. “Stow it. This isn’t debate club, girls.”

Then, to break the tension and restore the sense of camaraderie that made them deadly, he quipped, “Besides, I thought we were the clones.”

Everyone laughed and then the sky exploded.[/FONT]

[FONT=Times New Roman]President Pike, or the Mandalore Pike as one might prefer, had retired from the bridge leaving operations in the capable hands of his many underlings. In particular Skurge and Jorel Fett had found themselves coordinating their attacks from the tactical command center.

Both were trained and experienced warriors. Both longed for the heat of conflict.

“Watch your guns.” Fett snapped at his counterpart. For his part the over-sized armored figure looked as shocked as its helmet would allow.

“You watch your bloody troops.” Skurge shot back. “Guess who’s going to win this argument?”

The Mandalorian winced under the cover of his helmet. Live data feeds, information secured by the Deathwatch, played across his visor. Fett watched two of his clones drop; moved to the KIA list.

“I said watch it.” Fett repeated himself.

Skurge grunted something at his chief gunnery officer. The blast radius was swiftly refined.

“Contact,” barked a speaker. “We have outbound targets; moving to intercept.”

Fett brimmed. His soldiers, surrounding the target areas, were in the perfect position to subdue any natives attempting to escape the destruction. The commandos had very detailed instructions regarding the treatment of captives.

He watched a display to his left where his men, represented by swabs of color on a dismal background, moved in formation to capture or kill any fleeing locals. Three platoons were working together around the largest of the settlements.

“Easy pickings,” commented Fett.

“You should not celebrate victory before your prey is fully secured.” Skurge grunted at Fett. “The population is mostly tribal. Many more bounties lurk in those expansive deserts and the high trees. Remember, these are Retak… even the ones in the mountains.”

“Yes, well,” began Fett. “You have the easy part.”

The discussion over, both parties returned to the task at hand. Each of the commanders, army and navy, delineated a plethora of tasks to their respective staff. Working as a single (mostly) cohesive unit the two halves of the Mandalorian Dominion sought to dominate the small planet below.

“Easy part,” scoffed Skurge at one of his senior staff.

His alien eyes scanned a series of data pads. Collating the information with the mapping computers he was actively coordinating a planet-wide starfighter screen which would hopefully provide the location, density, and classification of the various Swarm nomads. Preliminary scans had picked up over thrity large migratory groups on one continent alone. If old Retak societal templates held true they could expect each tribe to number somewhere between one and five hundred members.

“Easy part indeed,” he added.

From the other side of the TacCom Jorel Fett moved his army of Mandalorians into place. [/FONT]