Rear Admiral Jarr Anaria, Commander, Resereve Deployment Group, Brass Protectorate Fleet

One hour ago, Rebel warships entered Imperial Space above Muunlist. Admiral Vorum moved to intercept, his command is barely formed. The planetary defense squadron is as well engaged, and has distracted the enemy rear guards.

III Legion has been deployed en echelon to reinforce, but will not arrive for three hours. Your command is only ten minutes from Muunlist. Your task is simple: arrive and drive back the Rebels. Final reports indicated a breech had been made in Imperial Lines.

Gloria Imperium

Admiral Telan Desaria

Attachment: Deployment pattern/Abolisher - Interdictor position


Admiral Anariah read the missive over a second time to make sure its message was authentic. Indeed, it was. The Brass Protectorate Commander, while away on another assignment, always kept abreast of internal developments.


Straightening his tunic as he stood, Anariah began barking commands.


" Shields up. All batteries to full. Load all missile bays. Sound General Quarters: Battlestations."


Without word or question, the crews of the Reserve Deployment Group snapped into action, battening hatches and preparing their titan vessels for immediately action.


" Lay in a course for Muunlist, maximum speed. Executeb when all ships report ready."


Anariah moved into the aft control corridor of the Reign-class Star Destroyer Behemoth. There, his executive officer was waiting.


" Sir?"


" They've hit Muunlist. They are trying to bring down the shields. They may have gotten through."


" There are two Gencores on-world. They'll never get through."


Anariah looked solemn. " Not before we arrive, at least."

The Fleet leapt into hyperspace for the micro jump, and ever man or woman aboard hoped they would not be too late. Many had family on Muunlist.


* * *




" Sir!"


An aging Major General turned from his desk in the midst of a massive command and control room, several dozen meters below the surface of the planet. On his chest were the medals of age, in his life he saw almost continual combat and looked as so. His skin was pale and haggard, his eyes drouping. Behind them, the fire of loyalty and courage still burned bright.


" Yes?"


" TIE Phantom reinforcements arriving. They are requesting deactivation of the shield at Grid 7-b."


" What is that near?"


" M't'lin Fortress and the area fighter launch centre."


" Send our approval. Direct them down to the base commander, want them debriefed. And send them a tanker, they'll probably need it."


The General turned to return to his desk, thinking of how to best corrdinate a defense if enemy troops were landed. At best they could land fifty thousand troops from the fleet they had brought with them, and he had at his command a hundred times that. The question was what damage they could inflict and where...


The General stopped as he mounted the stairs to his office, and he looked about the expansive control room. Then back at the technician.


" Commander!"


The Fleet liaison officer stood.


" Sir."


" How many Phantoms do we field?"


The Commander, young and strong, wheeled about and keyed in a querry. Seconds later, he spit out an answer. " twenty three squadrons, sir."


" Good, now find me their billets. I will be in my office."


The Commander gave a salute and the General departed. Phantoms were rare, and would not be best used as a planetary defense suppliment, that the aged infantryman knew.



OOC-Reserve Deployment Group
Brass Protectorate Fleet

Reign-Class Star Destroyer - Behemoth
Imperial-Class Star Destroyer – Tyrant
Imperial-class Star Destroyer – Derelict
Attack-Class Carrier Sphere - Tikaria
Attack-Class Carrier Sphere – Afterthought
Attack-Class Carrier Sphere- Mortal Wound
Victory-Class Star Destroyer - Der Hund
Victory-Class Star Destroyer – Zelbess
Victory-Class Star Destroyer – Saunter
Dreadnaught-Class Cruiser
Dreadnaught-Class Cruiser
Constrainer-Class Interdiction Picket
Constrainer-Class Interdiction Picket
Constrainer-Class Interdiction Picket

The Phantom Fighter Group was cleared for the planet. Finally, they would be able to prove their worth. Twin ion engines screamed like banshees as they cleared the opened shield grid. The comm frequencies switched simultaneously in each fighter and Slavatio opened the channel.

"All right. We're in. Phantoms two through eight, your with me. Nine through twelve, make sure that portion of the planetary shield doesn't go back up. We still need to get out of here when this is over."

Responses came in from each Phantom pilot. Swift and immediate they wasted no time or needless chatter. The attack group made swift departure from course towards M't'lin Fortress and the area fighter launch center. Once they reached the center point, they split again. Four to each target.

Slavatio's group took the fighter launch center. A barrage of missels and laser fire barreling into the launch opening.

"Let's make sure we don't get any unwanted guests."

Each of his comrades followed suit. Soon the opening merely collapsed under the onslaught. He did not need to try to destroy the facility itself.. that would take to much time, time he didn't have. They already knew he wasn't friendly.

Just across a short distance, the other attack force was repeating the same pattern. Only instead of attempting to close off a fighter opening, they were attempting to bring down the fortress.. for good. Missel fire and laser blasts riddled the area. Pieces of the building fell here and there but so far it had not fallen as a whole.

Slavatio's group moved to intercept and aid.. they would be there in a short time span, due to high speeds and short distances.

Some distance off, though not to far, the third group reached it's destination. A shield generator platform. They wouldn't attempt to knock out the shield as a whole. Just leave a gap big enough to get back through and to send an assault team back down though. Something like that was not a hard task for four trained pilots with the right equipment.

As they approached, four missels fired simultaneously. An explosion rocked the area and littered it with debris and sparking energy. Their readings confirmed direct hits. Grid 7-b was now offline. Pulling back towards the other fighter groups, at amazing speeds, their engines roared as the made time across the landscape.

Soon they would reunite and get the hell out. This, after all, was all they came to do. Hit and run, then get the hell out.

" Put your backs into it, boys!" screamed a t - shirted Sergeant Major, a chewed cigarra clamped firmly between gnashed teeth. On his legs were the stained khaki jackphurs of the Imperial Army. On his hands and arms were the scars of many years serving guns in the Imperial Artillery.


Garrison duty was to be peaceful and uneventful. All knew the ancient myth was impractical whenever one bore the Imperial Uniform at that day and age. Anywhere in the galaxy, things were always eventful.


The men to whom the grizzly gun captain shouted were just as scared as he, though their faces bore less age and wear. Grease abounded on breeches, shirts, skin; there was not a polished jackboot in the gunlevel.


M't'lin Fortress was built in an ancient pattern: atop a hill, with four ramparted walls, each with four levels of projectile cannon and laser batteries. Atop the battlements were the turreted flak cannon and torpedo launchers which made the fortress safe from aerial assault.


Or so the logic went.


Around the fortress and down the hill sat hundreds of infantrymen in deep trenches and earthen revetments. In their hands sat blaster rifles, flechette grenades, and repeating blasters. Only the mighty e-web would have any effect now, and every one that could be elevated was fired.


From the gunwales, fire poured as if a horizontal rain. Neon bolts of energy pulsed forth into the dozen attackers, which had taken out a fighter reupply base by the fortress. The brilliant flare as TIE fuel ignited could be seen over the rise.


" Jammed, boss!"


" Grease!!!" the sergeant major yelled. His gun was a long barreled Lascon, dubbed so by her many crews. She was a laser cannon, built to fire on distant enemies over open sights. Her fire was line of sight, and thus perfect for engaging the fighters that screamed above.


The problem with the guns at M't'lin and the others about was their lack of signifcant elevation, and the recoil from the barrel after each round. Sometimes, the mechanisim would jam, forcing the crew to pump grease behind the ram which slipped the barrel back into position.


As the loader brought forth a jerrycan of grease and began to pour it into the ram, a bright light enveloped those inside the top gunlevel. Fifty meters down the wall, a torpedo had struck home, showering the infantry below with shards of duracrete and steel.


A lone fighter curved over the wall of the fortress and lined itself up for a strafing run on the infantry below.


Sergeant Major Appt watched the Imperial-looking fighter come over the fortress and saw it through the gaping hole for his gun barrel. As quick as he was large, the sergeant slammed his hand onto the firing lever, the gun barrel lancing back further, the hiss of the bolt filling the wale.


Another sound did as well, that of the loader, who was lying on the floor, his left hand missing and arm covered in a pool of his own blood.


The Sergeant screamed for a medic and looked out over his gun.


The fighter he had targeted was trailing smoke and diving to a plane beyond the breastworks. A brief pause in the battle seemed an eternity, one that ended with a spectacular fireball on the plain beyond.


One down, eleven to go..

The two groups which had broken off now joined once more. A full squadron again. As Slavatio came upon his comrades, however, he watched in horror as one of his brothers went down. His stick slammed into the direction it headed, trailing after him like a bullet. His comm opened.

"Take whatever shots you have, then get the hell out. We will meet up again at point A-944. Phantom One, out."

With that, he traced the downed fighter. The sight he came upon was a gastly one. Slowing, as much as he could, he hoped the ridge they had passed over would provide enough protection. He inverted his cockpit to have a better look at the damage on a fly by.

His sense in the Force reached out two the two men who had been in that fighter. Both.. dead.

He shook his head, reverted his fighter, then pulled around for another pass. This time, however, it wasn't for a closer look. He would be damned if these Imperials would get any part of his men or his fighter. Laser cannons blazed down upon the wrecked fighter. One lone missle discintigrating what was left.

Sadly, he turned his fighter skyward and with the input of a command code, the fighter dissappeared from view and sensors as if it was never there.

Somewhere in the distance, ten other fighters had dissappeared aswell.. as if they were never there.

Ghosts in the nightmares of the Imperial men who had died this day...