Marcus stood as the cargo craft settled down in one of the Astral Astoria's landing bays. He went to the door and palmed the access button. He bade his men to be quiet and strolled, as calmly as you lie, down the ramp and stood a little behind and to the left of Lt.Cmdr Smith. He had already been to the giant station, and quickly scanned the bay.

[font=Palatino Linotype]Being the senior troops for this assignment, the Special Forces operatives would naturally be setting the example for all of the regular Army grunts that had 'volunteered'--whether by choice or by coercive efforts from Command--for this assignment. While there was still something to be proud of in the sense of these goons being chosen by HighCom, Jarred was still extremely worried; this was largely due to his opinion of their commander, but it was something that he couldn't really help at the time. Either way, he was hoping to have a serious chat with Colonel Vos after the entire incident was over.[/font]
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[font=Palatino Linotype]That, of course, was neither here nor there. Behind his back, he held his hands clasped together, right wrist in left hand's grip. The fingers of his right hand moved for a split second in a random pattern, the very sign he had made sure his fellow SpecOps operatives would understand. It stopped as soon as it had been started, and the entire lot of commandos stood in random places, milling about the cargo ships the way the average civilian normally would. If the people at Customs knew what was going on, they would have laughed their heads clean off from just how 'normal' the entire bunch of commandos appeared.[/font]
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[font=Palatino Linotype]Fortuantely, they didn't; fortunately, the Army boys followed suit and kept up the charade. All the guards would see was a large gathering of civilians--presumably skilled in some form of labor--stepping off of a few personnel carriers. Nothing would seem out of the ordinary at all.[/font]
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[font=Palatino Linotype]Trying his hardest to keep up a cheerful grin, Jarred approached the Customs desk, headed straight for the officer in charge. "Good morning," he said once he was close enough to shake the man's hand. "Service teams for transfer to the Contegorian Confederation. Mind checking us through?" The lieutenant-commander was very patient in waiting for the customs officer's reply; surely, there was also the great likelihood during this wait that the troops would have some last-second shuffling and such, but there was absolutely nothing for them to worry about. Patience, for once, was a virtue.[/font]

Marcus set off to wander aimlessly around the massive hangar, looking at the cargo ships and assorted craft scattered around the bay. He stopped to admire a particulary fine example of a Kuat HT-45 heavy freighter, when he caught Smith out of the corner of his eye, presumembly getting them through the station. He knew that the man took him for a fool; but he didn't particulary care. As soon as this mission was over, he would get as far away from the Lt.Cmdr as possible. He sighed as he turned back to the HT-45, admiring her defence turrets. Captain Cassius had already met people like Smith; soldiers who believed that they were superior from all others. Marcus scowled. But then again, his first impression hadn't exactly been brilliant. Never mind. He cared not what Smith thought of him; he would prefer the respect of his men, and he already had that. All the rest was just meaningless noise.

[font=Palatino Linotype]It didn't take a Jedi to notice that there were problems between Jarred and Marcus; the former would have been most perturbed if it had, really, as the presence of a Jedi would have easily ruined the entire operation before it could begin. Fortunately, none had shown up yet, and no other faults had yet shown themselves, bar the already-resolved firearm incident. If anyone on the station figured out who the Hell they were, or anyone at their destination did and sent the info to the station...[/font]
[font=Palatino Linotype][/font]
[font=Palatino Linotype]...oh, there would be Hell to pay, for sure. Worse for the lieutenant-commander, it didn't matter who did the deed: chain of command ruled that he'd be at fault--likely executed--for the issue, if he ever got back to headquarters.[/font]
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[font=Palatino Linotype]"Alright, everyone, make a line!" The security officer's voice snapped him from his thoughts, which was perhaps the best thing he could have hoped for. They were taking a nasty turn. "Move it; we haven't got all day!"[/font]
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[font=Palatino Linotype]Not bothering to mess himself up with more worries, the lieutenant-commander fell into the line that was being readied. Things were going slower than he would have liked, but at least they were moving.[/font]

Marcus walked slowly over to the growing line and slipped discreetly in. The line started to move slowly forward, carrying the imperial to the customs official. "ID?" The bored man asked, and Marcus held out his forged ID card, hoping Imperial Intelligence were on the ball. The man barely glanced at the card before handing it back. "Go on through." Marcus nodded and took his forged card back , walking rapidly through to join the men on the other side of the barriers. The small fleet of battered ships belonging to the fictuous Contegorian Confederation were sitting there, looking worn and tired in the gleaming hangar bay. Captain Cassius trooped up one with three plainclothed soldiers in tow.

Stepping into the cockpit of the ship, which was named the Dug. Marcus smiled wryly at the ill-named vessel. The third soldier, a civilian pilot once upon a time, was cold and professional, warming up the engines of the ship in record time. He didn't even seem to aknowelege the two Stormtroopers sitting immedietly behind him. The man sent a pre-recorded message to the tower, signalling their readyness to launch. Marcus sat back, his hands entwined behind his head. He had one Hell of a bad feeling about this mission, even if it was even a bit of bad blood between the two commanders.

[font=Palatino Linotype]Jarred stared up at his ship and smiled; somehow, the name seemed to contain just the right touch of irony to be a perfect fit with his thoughts. Guardian Angel... The kind of name that was reserved for a mercy ship, like one ferrying medical supplies and staff. This one was even more than just a simple cargo ferry...better, it was a hospital vessel in itself. Turning to his right, the lieutenant-commander looked over at Ruby, his de-facto second-in-command, what with Captain Harlow being assigned to Mercy's Hand. What he saw was almost enough to make him chuckle to himself: Ruby's green lips were curled up into such a smile as she surveyed the equipment inside the ship. He could tell, just from looking at her, that she was in her form of heaven.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]His own form of that bliss, however, lay back in the safe confines of Imperial space. It wasn't the shadow realm, which he'd served and lived in for so long, that made him truly happy... No, it was rather the woman he'd found in that land. She was his reason for living now, and his heart ached with the separation. But that was another matter, for another time. Right now, he had to deal with purgatory, and the honor that would come from facing it. Only through facing his assignment, and surviving the trials that awaited, would he be reunited with his paradise.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Keeping his smile extended only to the furthest reaches of a professional appearance, Lieutenant-Commander Smith approached the cockpit of the hospital ship, his civilian fatigues making him appear as though he were just part of the regular staff for the ship. "How soon can you get us on our way?" he asked the pilot.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]"Fifteen minutes; we're last to leave." Briefly, the man looked down at his schedule, checking the departure times. Mercy's Hand was scheduled first, followed by Dug and Guardian Angel... But there were high power readouts coming from the Dug, which the pilot found as very damn peculiar. Those were engine warmups, which weren't supposed to happen until Mercy's Hand had left the damn hangar.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]The pilot was quick to get on the comm with Flight Control, which routed a call of its own to the cockpit of the Dug, the speaker's voice very irate. "Dug, this is Astral Astoria flight command. Power down your engines immediately, and stand down further pre-flight checks. You are not yet cleared for departure."[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Only one member of the crew for that very ship heard the call... which he found as strange, since he was still outside loading construction cargo into the freighter.[/font]

Styria-class Galleon Providence, Convoy WER-114, Astral Astoria

The Confederate Merchant Marine.

The only official and government owned transport service, operated by military personnel, which ferried government and private supplies not only throughout Confederation space, but also to the Confederation’s trading partners. One of the largest being the Vinda-Capricia Commonwealth. Usually, trading between those two partners occurred at Budpock, which had been jointly liberated by Confederate and Commonwealth forces. But for this odd occurrence, the Confederates had traveled to Astral Astoria to swap freight with their economic allies.

Captain Tobias stared out of the bridge viewport of his frigate-sized vessel. “Any word from the Tramps?”

“There might be a problem with the Dug,” reported his communication’s officer.

“Scrap her then,” stated the Confederate officer, “the transition to fleets utilizing Styria Galleons is almost complete anyways. Metalorn taught us the weakness of utilizing civilian designs…”

“Yes sir. Still, we can’t just leave them here. Unless we have the Endeavor unload her fighter complement and take on all the freight from those light freighters.”

Shortly after the Battle of Metalorn, CMM convoys generally consisted of a core of four galleons, one of which served as an escort carrier, escorting smaller freighters owned previously by planetary governments. Slowly, those light and bulk freighters had been replaced until many regular convoys solely consisted of the Confederate’s hybrid design. Convoy WER-114 was one of the last that didn’t follow that modernization. Partly because of its specialization in dealing with medical and refugee purposes. To that end, the Guardian Angel and Mercy’s Hand had been attached to the squadron. As the galleons, being too big for the hangars, drifted around the space station, the Confederate captain stared out of the viewport at the hangar. Shrugging, the captain turned to his flight controller.

“Better refresh the Combat Air Patrols.”

“Yes sir. Sir, we’re getting a message from Astral Astoria Control. Apparently the Dug is trying to launch without clearance.”

Tobias glanced at his chrono and frowned. “We don’t leave for another hour. Open up a channel with the Dug. If they’ve gone rogue, we might have to take them down. Have the Endeavor scramble a squadron to challenge the Dug if they run. Get all gunnery crews to their stations.”

“Channel’s open sir,” reported his communication officer.

Tobias spoke into his com-link. “Freighter Dug, what is going on there? Astral Astoria and I demand to know what’s going on there. Any more disobedience of your orders and we will be forced to fire upon you. Stand down for inspection...”

The two messages came through one after the other, leaving Captain Cassius worried.

"Well answer them then." He muttered to the civilian pilot in front. The man turned and gave Marcus such a look of disdain that the captain almost got up and thumped the arrogant little fool. But he didn't.

"Do it." Those two words, spoken with a quiet menace that the thin sheet of civility did little to cover, caused the arrogant pilot to swivel round and answer the comm.



"Providence and Astral Astoria control, this is the Dug. No need to get your hackles up, we're just testing a new communications packet, seeing wether firing of the engines disrupts it. We're not going anywhere. Sorry about the departure call, Just eager to go. Oh, and we're waiting for you, Captain Tobias. " Marcus nodded approvingly. The best thing about these stories where that they were 50% true; the Dug had indeed recieved a new comms pack and the test had already been done. However, there was no way that the crew of theProvidence could know that. Flicking off the comm, he turned to Marcus and gave a quick smile. Marcus didn't smile back. "Okay, get ready." He was suddenly thankful that Smith had taken his DL-44 off him. Such a weapon would have raised eyebrows and Marcus didn't need that. He didn't want to foul up the mission any more than he already had; the Confederation had been alerted and that could make their job harder in the end. Just not your day today, good buddy, he thought wistfully as they calmly awaited the next move.

[font=Palatino Linotype]With a gentle grace that didn't even come close to mirroring her old visage, the Mercy's Hand powered up, the ship's still-mighty engines thrumming to life. Sure, the three ships getting ready in the station's hangar had seen better days and more glorious moments, but for the moment, they were still useful, and living out their purposes in the remaining ways that they could. For a ship, after all, being a cargo ferry was far better than being reduced to nothing but scrap.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]As the Dug waited for final liftoff clearance, or perhaps just an indication that the situation with it was being resolved, Mercy's Hand gently rose off the deck, gliding towards the exit of the hangar. Once it was clear, the hangar controller's voice crackled through on Dug's comm once more. "Dug, this is Astral Astoria Hangar Control. Make sure your entire crew is aboard before taking off; other than that, you are now cleared for departure." Just as the message ended, the last crewmember piled into the ship, sealing the hatch behind him.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]On the Guardian Angel, all was quiet. Watching as the Mercy's Hand finally cleared the hangar, Jarred smiled tightly before toggling the comm system, setting up a small signal with Hangar Control. "Guardian Angel, ready for final pre-launch checks and takeoff clearance."[/font]

[OOC: In order to save all of the involved a bit of sanity, this post will fast-forward the thread to final arrival.]

[font=Courier New]Undisclosed location[/font]
[font=Courier New]2200 hours local, the next day[/font]
[font=Courier New]Brandenburg City Civilian District, Genon[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]If any word could have been used to describe the past 20 hours on Genon, 'productive' was certainly not that word. The last-minute introduction of 'volunteer' forces from the regular Imperial Army hadn't been beneficial to either the lieutenant-commander's sanity, or his ability to plan out the mission; in fact, he'd tried and failed massively at finding ways to incorporate them into what he wanted to do to this place. Why oh why do I get stuck with the crazies?[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]There were, naturally, specific plans waiting to be set in motion, and those plans could potentially benefit from the presence of the additional manpower, but there was also the inherent risk in introducing another, previously-unexpected element into the situation: massive failure.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]"Mr. Harlow, come with me." The way he said it left no room for argument or delay, and was colder than the ice floating in the other man's drink.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]When the two were finally in one of the more secluded rooms of their admittedly-small headquarters, the senior officer spoke again. "I have no clue how we're going to work with the army on this one. Can we even trust them all to be competent?"[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Harlow's voice was cutting and harsh as he replied. "To be honest, sir, I don't even know if I can trust you, after what happened at Generis." His eyes drilled into those of his CO, unblinking and unflinching. "You deliberately abandoned us, when it would have been better for everyone had you simply left her to her own devices and continued with the mission AS ASSIGNED!"[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]The one awkward thing was that, through it all, Jarred remained almost completely without emotion, as though he were a statue of eternity. "Firstly," he said calmly, "I fail to see any need for you to raise your voice; I'm right here, and I can hear you perfectly. Secondly, I already explained why I did what I did. If you can't handle that I was checking how well I could trust you with an emergency situaton, you're free to file a request for transfer out of the unit."[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]...But I know you won't! he added to himself, the thought making him smile inside, just a little, despite how the situation was going for him.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]"Let's cut the bullshit, sir," came the response, Harlow's voice sounding more and more frustrated with each passing second. "You didn't do it to test anyone, and you can stop trying to hold any meaning up to that pathetic lie. You're infatuated with that bitch, and you were trying to keep her alive just so you could get a piece of tail after the mission was over."[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]That, however, broke the barrier; anger could only be restrained so much. "John, you know I care about her. You know I have my reasons for doing so. And you also know, quite well, just how much of an insult you've just thrown at both of us with that comment."[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Without even acting like he'd heard that comment, Captain Harlow moved over to the door that led out of the room. As he reached for the knob, he turned back, the fires of anger still in his eyes. "And leaving us mid-battle wasn't an insult!?"[/font]