Jedi Insurgency 335

Neutra Four, for the General, it was a piece in the grand dance he called war. For Pots, it was just another rock to bloody his knuckles upon. 

Ever since the disastrous withdrawal from Kuat, Revan had treated him and the boys with kid gloves. Giving them easy ops, and baby sitting missions. Heh. 

Pots loved the man for the badass that he was, respected that he thought about their futures, but Pots? Pots was made for one thing, and one thing only: war. 

To narrowly duck beneath a sniper's scope, lunge into a foxhole to evade an explosion, or drag a half dead comrade to a medic. All of it, every last inch of danger and excitement, that was the life for him! 

Naturally, when he had been given the green light to descend, he didn't even wait for the General, and took matters into his own hands. 

His personal pilot drove the custom gunship down into the atmosphere. Leading the charge, thousands more followed behind as they attacked the now un-shielded Imlerial base. 

The LAAT’s engines thundered as it dropped low over the ridge, followed by a widening fan of assault craft. Coated in beskar-hah, the General did care-a large snarling beast was painted on her nose. The side hatch opened up, and he breathed in the pungent smell of battle. Lighting himself a cigar, Pots savored the flavor whilst his eyepatch implant helped him constantly review data & order his units where to go. At the same time, his current black sleek armor had a faint glow, and wrapped around his muscles tightly. The enhanced gear & implants had been a combination work between the General and those cowardly geniuses on Axion. Damned bugs were practically shaking the whole time they placed him within this so-called power armor. 

The suit was a masterpiece of overlapping plates, reinforced joints, built-in shields, and targeting systems that cost a fortune. A compact arsenal covered every surface that could bear one: a heavy blaster carbine, wrist launchers, thermal charges, a vibroblade, and more field equipment than most squads carried. It was the closest thing the galaxy had to a walking weapons platform. Under the armor, gene-forged muscle and a lattice of cybernetics transformed him into a brutal warrior that could box with the likes of Yon. 

Taking a long drag on his cigar, he narrowed his eye, executing a command. 

“Do it.” 

Seconds later, the gunships banked together, appearing like a swarm of locusts. Their engines climbed into a shrieking chord, a war hymn made of rotor thunder and turbine whine. Rockets launched forth in a volley, and concentrated green lasers scorched the earth, beam-frying one hapless bastard after another. 

Two gun towers disappeared in fire and tumbling durasteel; a third buckled as a concentration of a dozen gunships’ laser cannons chewed through its base. Slowly tipping over, the metal structure collapsed on top of a series of trenches, smooshing a squad dead. 

Regarding the collapsed towers, he couldn't help but be reminded of the Siege of Kuat, and instead of feeling fear or PTSD due to this failure, he felt excitement. Excitement at getting back at those Imperials. 

“First pass: blind their command net.” Pots said over the squad channel. His voice was calm beneath the roar of battle. “Second: crack the eastern wall. We land near the intact hangar. Keep the west barracks clear, the Jedi will take care of that.”

Alongside him were the rest of his personal honor guard. Now that he was a Marshal, the General had dictated that he needed to go around in style. Well, he didn't much care for any of that high society crap, but there were a handful of battle brothers who had caught his eye. 

The Eriaduan commando in the LAAT's cabin checked the charge on his carbine and nodded. He had earned Pots’s trust at Kuat by holding a breach that should have swallowed them both. His armor was practical, his movements economical, every glance appraising others. “I’ll take the east wall.”

“Correction.” HK-51 XXX interrupted. The beskar-plated droid stood braced beside Pots, his holster shifting ever so slightly. Its core was programmed for absolute loyalty to Revan and maximum lethality against his enemies,  and that was good enough for Pots. “The eastern wall has already been selected for termination.”

“Crazy clanker, still salty over the game of Sabacc you lost to me the other night?” The commando laughed. 

“Statement: I will leave you the survivors.” HK-51 XXX sternly replied. 

“That's a yes, then!” The commando laughed. 

Meanwhile, another companion-an Ongree Revanite cultist-lowered his Force Pike, holding it at the ready. Its energized blade hummed, blue-white light tracing the edge of his beskar armor. His upside-down face beheld a terrible grin behind his helmet. “All in our lord's name, the enemy shall be purified.” 

Across from him, a black & greenish skinned Gungan rolled both shoulders and spun a blaster in each hand, the motion too quick to follow cleanly. “Weesa gonna kill dem.” He said in a deep voice. 

“Alright, men. I want to go in, and kill anything that moves. Leave taking survivors and prisoners for the Jedi. We're out here to win a war.” Pots declared, tossed his cigar out into the wind, and slammed his helmet on tight. 

“Clarification: We never took survivors.” 

“Want to wager on who gets the most kills?” The commando smirked, stroking his carbine lovingly. 

“All kills belong to Him.” The Ongree slammed his pike onto the deck. 

Meanwhile, the Gungan licked a fly out of the air with his tongue, and crunched. “Theysa gonna die~” He whispered. 

“That's what I like to hear.” Pots grinned. 

The lead LAAT dropped to treetop height and opened fire. Cannons swept through a trench line in measured bursts, forcing the Imperial regulars down behind their barricades. They tried to retaliate, even firing rockets at them, but the beskar was too damned unfair! Pots's custom LAAT tanked everything thrown at her, and spat out hot death as recompense. 

Many more gunships filled the air above them, trading fire with the last surviving defense turrets. Bolts sparked across armored hulls. One LAAT took a hit along its flank, and spiraled down hard into a forced landing. Imperial Army soldiers were quick to swarm the downed craft like ants. The sound of screaming, and unwillingness resounded across the metal deck of the Imperial base. 

Pots saw the Imperial troopers rushing a portable cannon into position, and quickly sent out an order. “Gunship three, suppress that crew. Eriaduan, mark the bunker entrance.”

A pair of missiles swiftly slammed into the cannon’s cradle. Its barrel kicked skyward, and flew away in a blast. Meanwhile, the Eriaduan’s targeting laser settled on the bunker door.

Pots fired his wrist launcher, blowing the doors into the bunker inward. He dropped from the LAAT's deck before the gunship had fully settled, hit the ground in a crouch, and drove forward through the smoke. Imperial blasterfire hammered his shields, but he treated it like rain. 

The Eriaduan landed to his right, carbine already firing in short, controlled bursts. Next, the Ongree came down behind them and swept the Force Pike in a low arc, deflecting shots from the advancing line with astounding martial arts that had even cleaved Inquisitors in twain. He turned the next thrust into a feint, stepped inside an Imperial trooper’s guard, and knocked the man’s rifle aside with the haft. A quick strike to the chest saw a large gaping hole form. 

The Gungan was already past them, and moving with extra speed thanks to some cybernetic implants. He darted between a pair of durasteel cargo crates, blasters cracking from either hand. One shot broke a trooper’s rifle; the second cut the power to a shield projector. He spun under a return volley, slid across the grit, and came up firing at the squad trying to flank Pots.

“Atta boy, get'em, lick their backsides raw.” Pots encouraged, tossing a grenade into one foxhole, then stomping the throat out of a man he had shoulder checked. 

HK-51 XXX strode through the breach, too heavily armored to bother with cover. A shoulder-mounted cannon opened in a series of sharp clanking noises while his wrist weapons picked off the Imperial gunners in the upper windows of a tower. Scorching orange due to his beskar receiving all the hate, the droid was a cold killer. 

“Observation: Imperial resistance is collapsing at a rate consistent with poor leadership. Malicious Inquiry: Shall we promise them survival so long as they turn upon one another?” 

“Keep the channel clear,” Pots said, rolling his eyes. He liked a good kill as much as any other warrior, but only if it was open and honest. 

“Compliance: I will ridicule them silently.” HK-51 XXX ‘did not’ sulk back. 

The Imperial regulars did not break all at once due to this display of overwhelming firepower, proving that they had been well trained. They fell back by squads, using the trenches, cargo blocks, and service tunnels to slow the Republic's advance. Their officers shouted orders, and directed them with a steady calm. 

At some point, a heavy repeater opened fire, and forced Pots’s team behind a wrecked transport. Pots looked over the battlefield, searching for opportunities. The LAATs were still circling above, but the AA guns were starting to keep them at bay. If the gunships came lower, the Imperials could unload their rockets. 

“Eriaduan, draw their fire. Ongree, with me. HK, take the upper gallery. Gungan, kill that repeater from the flank.” Pots succinctly ordered. 

The Eriaduan rose first, firing into the repeater’s forward facing shield. Its crew swung the barrel toward him. He dropped behind a crate as the first burst tore sparks from his plated armor. 

Pots and the Ongree moved through the smoke. The Ongree drove his Force Pike into the earth and sent a focused pulse through the ground. The repeater’s crew staggered as the mounting platform lurched beneath them. Pots vaulted the barricade, landed among the stunned gunners, and gunned them down with a spray of fire. He then appropriated the repeater for his own use, and started to spray down Imps one by one. 

At the same instant, HK-51 XXX cut through the upper floors of a tower, systematically eliminating meat bags with his shoulder mounted cannon. The Gungan appeared behind a second repeater crew and placed several clean shots into their skulls, painting their foxhole red. 

The Imperial outer defensive line went dark thanks to Pots & his honor squad taking direct action. 

Above them, the LAATs banked as one. Their cannons swept the trenches and vehicle park, destroying the remaining armored carriers and driving the Imperial squads away from the wall. One by one, the gunships settled onto the open field, driving up a dust storm. 

Coalition soldiers of all sorts of races poured out, spreading into cover. The base’s outer defenses were gone, now the Imperial command bunker remained.

Pots led the push across the open ground, however, he did not rush blindly. His cybernetic eyepatch read the building’s heat signatures, mapped the doors and gun ports, and flagged the rooms where life signs were clustered away from the fighting. He sent a squad around to seal the service exits and ordered the gunships to hold fire over the west barracks.

Moments later, the bunker doors opened under concentrated fire, and a sturdy defensive line hidden behind portable shields, and heavy durasteel emplacements met them. 

Pots moved first. His shield flared as he crossed the room and directly stormed into the rain of incoming fire. The Gungan’s blasters cracked from the broken doorway, sniping several rocket men before they could take out the Marshal. The Eriaduan advanced behind a column of controlled fire, blasting away at an automatic turret with his carbine, and suppressing a squad. The Ongree’s Force Pike flashed in the close quarters, sweeping rifles aside and striking armor joints. HK-51 XXX locked its weapons on the enemy positions but held fire when Pots’s squad entered their line.

Behind them, an entire battalion of Starcrusher Corp elites ran into the storm with no fear. Their personal shields & beskar armor had all been personally made by the General. With him hanging out nearby somewhere in the field, death & mortal wounds were nothing! Their bravery & morale surged, showcasing why these men were Revan's dogs of war! 

Gunning down squad after squad, crushing throats, stabbing eyes, and leading from the front, Pots killed his way floor by floor. 

Outside, the LAATs hovered in a ring over the captured base. Their engines washed dust across the basin as the assault squads secured the perimeter.

Pots keyed his field transmitter.

“Marshal Pots reporting. Neutra Four is ours. The garrison has been disarmed, command net secured, and…prisoners are being processed. Send the General the coordinates. We’ll hold the base until relieved.”

He cut the channel and looked once toward the gray sky, where the gunships circled like carrion birds hungering for a feast. 

Then he turned back to work.

The hammer had fallen, next on the General's grand dance was Umbara. 

Slamming a fist onto his chest plate as he saw Revan land, he chuckled during his salute. 

“For the Republic.”