Log:Black Squadron: Reclaiming Squallspire Starport

The ferryliner 'Horizon' has been secured and the hostage situation in Pamarthe's orbit quelled, but information from the navcomputer's communications tell of a larger situation going on planetside. Before the New Republic can send a delegation to help with the political nightmare, the Squallspire starport needs to be reclaimed from hostile occupation. Enter the New Republic's Spec Ops team Black Squadron.

Black Squadron: Reclaiming Squallspire Starport

OOC Date: January 25, 2022
Location: Squallspire Starport, Pamarthe
Participants: Calista Alastair (GM), Kare Kun (NPC), Jessika Pava, Ektor, Bors Thul, Black Squadron

Hostiles in collusion with those who had seized the 'Horizon' have taken control of one of the planet's major starports, thus successfully interrupting traffic flow and shipments. As soon as the boarding team lead by General Greystorm had secured the ferryliner 'Horizon', orders came quickly down the pipeline to Black Squadron: secure the Squallspire starport. With Red Squadron taking over patrolling Pamarthe's orbit, Black Squadron breaks the atmosphere and races towards their target.

The storms of Pamarthe are legendary: a place that breeds great sailors and even better pilots due to the sheer magnitude of severe weather they learn to operate within. And in that regard, Pamarthe seems to be aiming to impress today. The storm is nothing short of torrential with rain dumping like buckets and spiraling winds that, together, churn the mighty ocean that surrounds the smattering of jagged islands. Flight to the starport is treacherous; low viability and large raindrops hitting more like bullets than water.

Once on the tarmac, Black Squadron emerge from their collective vessels and gather behind one of many, many stacks of cargo that had to be quickly abandoned when the takeover occurred. Sheets and sheets of rain fall creating a curtain of distortion between them and the starport's main tower as well as drenching the team to the bone.

<<"Black Squardon, Pantheon,">> a voice crackles over the frequency, barely heard over the howl of the wind and rolling thunder above. <<"Be informed. Hostiles have been unresponsive to all hails and calls to lay down arms. Your target is Captain Reiida Krey locate on the command deck of the control tower. They are not yet aware of your presence. May the Force be with you.">>

"Krey be cray, am I right?" Deadpans Kare' 'No Joy' Kun, who readies her A280 service rifle by priming its charging handle, the receiver releases a high-pitched whine that's lost to the howl of the winds. Dressed in black armor paired with her black G-suit, the spiky blonde-haired pilot looks entertained if not amused to find herself on Pamarthe again. Kare' takes a knee for now, pieing slightly after shouldering her weapon to see if she had a visual of the flight tower 'Pantheon Actual' had mentioned.

Luckily for what's likely to be any individual to ever don the gear of a Resistance or New Republic trooper, situations like planets pissing out the entirety of their oceans through clouds and onto everyone on land are at least somewhat manageable. Introducing the poncho, functional and fashional. Hood drawn out over her head and cowl extended forward to keep water from being flung directly into her face from the bisecting winds or change of downpour direction, about the only thing dry is the poncho and everything directly underneath it, like critically crucial storages of ammunition and a handy-dandy knife. Her legs are no included, boots were definitely sold separately, and Jessika Pava is thinking about telling the nearest guard about the trip they've won out of this life with the old school blaster rifle in her hands.

Ektor had guided his much abused Y-wing through the wind and weather of the world with such expertise that he managed to make it look lazy. "See, this this is why I never fly regular," he drawls to poor R2-G13. "The drek we flying through is never regular, so since I fly un-regular through un-regular drek, that makes it regular. Basic math, yeah? ... What? 'irregular'? That ain't a real word. Fine, I'll ask." Settling his light bomber down, and popping the canopy, promptly getting himself drenched, he climbs out onto the nose and hops down. Doing a needlessly flash twirl in drawing his blaster, he wonders over the sound of the rain, "So it this a red blast thing or a blue blast thing, yeah? Also, is 'irregular' a word, or is it un-regular?"

"Tis been six weeks, since we said our goodbye, when we first put out to space. And we?ll not be out for a while says I. For at least a month or three"

Mother and Father it's cramped in here. Buffeted by the storms, forced to tune down inertial compensators to get a better 'feel' for the weather he's bound to travel, headed to the ground at a clip to level out a shade lower than he might be normally supposed to. Scraping the deck, in a manner of speaking.

But when the A-Wing has landed and the canopy is up the Alderaanian is still singing, jamming a helmet down over his dome with its rather distinct visor that washes out a glowing silver blue.

<"With the right degrees off the ocean breeze, Any one could surely stay! But I?d trade the seas for them Alda trees, For the rest of all my days..."> EE-3 lifted off his shoulder while a jaunty wave is given to the others.

The control tower is unmissable; the tallest structure in the flat expanse of the Squallspire starport. The industrial lights that line the iron stairway leading up several stories shines like a beacon. It also does a fine job showing the armed and armoured figures pacing back and forth. With the constant fall of rain and the oppressive lighting, it's difficult to see the figures in detail but it is clear that their armour is not uniform. Each is wearing something different than the other; some going as far as wearing mis-matched pieces in order to try to form an entire set. A motley crew of people claim control of this starport but with minimal information yet gains, their motives are unknown.

But confirmed they are hostile and the mission is to regain control. The parameters of how it is done is, as always in regards to Black Squadron, left vague.

There are spotlights moving to and fro; scanning the area, highlighting at least two more guarding the place where the open-air stairwell meets the ground. Seems they are at least on alert but haven't spotted the oncoming team just yet. The Pamarthe storm provides ample opportunity for any kind of approach.

Captain Kare' Kun spots the tower after a bit of looking and adjusting of optics on her weapon. "This is a kill mission, I imagine, Tion. Escalation of force and all that? Didn't you read your manual.." Of course he didn't. Kare smacks Tion and motions that he follow her. "Let's go, pirate."

Their mission was to secure the tower, and the tower had the battlefield advantage; it could see in every direction and had a clear shot. It was best to move quietly, and in the shadows. Kare takes the initiative to move up and to the right, roadie running slow and sliding into place; making good use of her knee pads to avoid being a knee surgery patient at the ripe age of.. however old Kare is.

Planting her shoulder to solid cover, Kare takes a moment to brush back her wet spiky blonde hair and look ahead for the next spot to move to.

<"No Joy planted, seeing some movement on the tarmac.. I think. My eyes are drek."> Kare lowers her optics and wipes her eye before lifting the weapon and trying again.

Jessika moves through the tarmac with an effort to find holes and patterns through the rotating shift of people, but nothing can account for randomness and whether it's the unnatural movement of the poncho's hem or some fuction of a light beam passing through the rain, Jessika hears chatter pick up to share between those individuals responsible for keeping other individuals from getting to that one other individual that lots of other individuals way high ranking than some of these individuals want dead. Who thought sentience was a good idea?

He's not a stealth operative, yet. As much as he really should take more time to train in it. Hunkering down and walking with his carbine at the ready there was no question that this was going to turn out absolutely splendidly, except for not likely. But optimism! Optimism is key.

Well for morale. Let's not split hairs here.

His footsteps are clunking, his armor is clattering, and he may as well still be singing at this rate while he stalks forward. The urge to hum is there, but thankfully professional enough to keep his lips tight and his voice silent. Even when he seems to be kicking every rock in creation or stepping on that twig.

Or upsetting that lizard that jumps up as if to go 'STANG! NO!' and then run screeching deeper into the storm.

"Joy, if you wanted me to watch your ass, just say so," Ektor drawls, while double checking the stun/kill switch. His uneven gait hustles the pirate across the tarmac, blaster out and good eye narrowed on the moving figures of their foes.

The pair of spotlights are swaying back and forth. Back and forth. There is an almost lazy pattern about it as if the operators were just going through the motions. Afterall, nothing exciting has happened for several days and in this insanity of a storm, who would be craxy enough to march up on them now. Then wind blowing through the rain-slick stairwell is more than enough of a hazard.

Back and forth over the same several yards of boring, empty tarmac. Back and forth again, completely missing the figures slipping past their air-tight, highly-trained security, thankyouverymuch. Back and forth again to find nothin--- The light stops.

A young man leans to the side, peering around his spotlight and trying to track what it was he just saw. At first he blinks, thinking he may have been daydreaming it but ultimately he errs on the side of caution. "'Eeeey, Leo! Fil!" Miraculously, at least one of the guards on the ground hears him and turns to look up with a wide, questioning hand gesture. "I think I saw sumthin'!"

One guard on the ground hits the other on the shoulder to get their attention and points over towards the spotlight's direction; over where Jessika is near. The two break into a jog over as the rest of the guards on the stairwell cautiously squint into the torrent.

The tension in the air as spotlights waver near Kare's close friend's location makes the color drain from her face. It wasn't that Ektor's joke failed to be funny (not that Kare would've given him the satisfaction of laughing), but there were more pressing matters. "We're taking out those sentries near Jess.. quiet like. Make him see stars or.." Kare draws a black serrated combat knife, looks to Xer, then glances around for where Bors is. Giving the gesture she's moving (if they can see it in the rain), Kare is up.

Fil was on his way back when a gloved hand cups around his forehead pulling his head back; simultaneously Kare kicked the back of his weight-bearing knee to drop him back and against her shoulder. That's when she plunged her knife into their neck. The stabbing/sawing motion renders them incapable of making sounds and death is quick to follow. Kare drags them back and out of sight.

Footsteps close in on her position. Jessika Pava parts her lips. Nasal breathing is louder, less controlled, and forced through a more narrow tunnel. Chest breathing is the path of least resistance. In the droning hammer of the rain beating the tarmac and the numerous crates formulating the maze they're attempting to weave through, she stays quiet. Visual and audible indicators tell her she's being approached from both sides of the same crate. The telltale staccato if people moving in an anxious search pattern tell her that her guess she'd been spotted was not inaccurate. The splattering footsteps, creating hollowed, muffled gulps of water that splashes out on the downward impact of one of the pirate's boots and then sucks right back in after that same foot abandons that place helps Jessika prepare.

When she steps out sideways, she does so with her rifle dropped down onto her sling. She reaches forward, hands seizing for the first thing on the enemy's chest that she can find. He's moving forward. She helps him move forward even faster. Utilizing the composite material of her helmet, Jessika angles her chin down and smashes it into her opponent's face. His natural stagger backward, as much a function of momentum change as it is the suddenly disorienting blitz of pain exploding through his nasal cavity because of the sickening crunch generated by the force of her strike. She pulls him in again and repeats the motion, feeling the man practically go limp and onto the ground. The third time is the charm, adhering to the combat doctrine of hit fast, hit hard, hit first, and make your opponent dead or so afraid to get up that he wished he was.

Jessika doesn't drop the body to the ground but step turns with it, dragging the man back behind the create and lowering him to the ground to lay unconscious. She doesn't bother turning him on his side. He might die of the rain, or the blood gushing back into his esophagus thanks to the severe cartilege damage of having his nose and perhaps cheekbone broken, but sometimes life ain't great and them's the facts.

Ektornods once and makes haste across the dark tarmac to take out the second sentry searching for Jess- ...just in time to see the Major kick the guy's ass on her own, leaving him to crack a crooked grin and mutter, "Glad I could help, yeah?" Ektor, you did nothing. He does pick up the downed sentry's weapon and steals his comlink, just in case the poor bastard survives. And wakes up.

Hunkering when voices raise and then Kare is off to take care of the situation, Bors watches and waits - for just a moment. Now comes the question. Sword? Gun? Sword?

Gun?

Sword. Why not! They're doing knifework after all. It's like a knife... So the carbine is slung - the awkward, for running, moving making him slip and skid along before the Alderaanian regains his footing, blade drawn from his hip scabbard and likely might have flashed heroically in the light.

But it's raining. It's Anti-Tatooine here.

Everything is -moist-.

But with his blade drawn, with blacked out armor he tries to get to where he can either advance or await the others. A toggle is chinned inside his helmet, sealing it to the outside world and he's humming to himself once again. A jaunty little tune that rests in the back of his throat.

The spotlights continue to look fruitlessly in the rain, missing those precious last moments of Fil's life being stabbed out of him. It will be later debated if Leo got off easy or worse; dropped like a stone and dragged behind a crate to maybe/maybe not asphyxiate on his own blood.

But now there is movement in the darkness and a near-dozen eyes looking for it. "There! There!" On various levels of the tower's stairs, blaster fire erupts; firing almost blindly into the rain; missing -- somehow -- the lumbering pirate and -- not as surprising -- the lithe Kare. Not even seeing Jessika who was busy tucking a soon-to-be corpse behind a crate.

A guard on the next level up from ground notices Bors and leans over the railing, firing down and true. PLING! Against the nobleman's chest and already charging up for the another shot. There is shouting all the way up the stairwell. The time for sneaking is over.

Well, things went according to plan.. if Poe Dameron were giving the debrief, that's what he'd say. When things went to drek, that was the plan, thus.. everything is going according to plan. Including when Kare steps away to run toward their objective and trips over a fuel line, wiping out in glorious fashion.

It wasn't that the rain was bad, but when it was rushing about on the ground and you fall in it.. Drek, that's awful.

"Rekking ASS.." Kare grunts, pushing herself back up to her feet, her cheeks burning hot. She adopts a limp, and her shoulder hurts quite a bit, but she's able to bring her rifle back out to bear before planting herself against something solid. "Someone.. not me.. go up those stairs. Rekk my shoulder is killing me.."

Nameless idiot left behind to drown with alveolar sacs full of rain or blood one, Jessika instinctively hunches a little farther down to decrease her silhouette when shouts lead to a random burst of firing splitting into the darkness. She can't tell if they're shooting at something or taking their luck, but something provoked it. Jessika doesn't whip out around the crate with a spin. She lines up with her body facing the direction she's gonna travel well before she goes. "You had him, I'm sure," Jessika shares with the Tionese pirate before bursting from cover and heading for a more concentrated point with which to engage this battle from. She has to get her rifle up and into her hands from her sling in the process, meaning she's not got the coordination nor the particular steadiness of hands or breath when she arrives.

Ektor cackles at Jessica's deadpan quip, before the comlink in his free ha d starts squeaking with hijacker chatter, and he gets shot at. A lot. Through a combination of dumb luck and unpredictable skidding around as he tries to dash for the stair keep him unblasted, but nowhere near enough to return fire. "Working on it!" he hollers back at Kare.

WHAM!

Slammed back with sparks flying from the heavily reinforced plastoid shell, the kinetic and thermal dampening doing its work and Bors has two thoughts run through his head as he scrabbles to get to defilade.

'OW'

and

'Thank you, Uypiia.'

That could have fared far worse in the situation. And the burn mark blends in well with his armor's normal coloring. The ionized scrubbing wave wicking water from the glowing T shaped visor and clearing his vision when Kare's command to move in comes and the Lord Thul can do naught but acquiesce and his initial bounds up the stairs might look terrifying if not for the fencing bound that is put behind them.

Blade giving a keening tone as it passes first through cloth and armor to open a way for the blade to sink between ribs with a muttered prayer, a benediction for the staring eyes. There's a nod, respectful and he continues his ascent, blade lifted in a duelist's salute to the next before a deep, red, trench is struck across their leg.

The spotlights remain locked into place now as the two manning them -- Kio and Vaumi -- pull away from the stations fully to try to defend against the would-be liberators of the Squallspire Starport. The action converges at the base of the control tower; Black Squadron rendezvousing with each other as the Alderaanian charges forward into the fray. Felling one in his path and bounding to the next, his second opponent raises his blaster to defend himself.

A solid hit to the swordsman's left arm does not spare the second foe from crumpling under their own weight to the slice on his leg and tumbling down the metal stairs with an almost comedic THUD THUNK TWANG!

"You've no business 'ere!" Someone further up shouts down. "You are invading on our home and territory!" As if that would somehow stop the onslaught.

Captain Kun pies the corner with her rifle, the sound of rain drumming on her gear as she hears the Lord among them flashing steel and making solid hits. The notion of sword fighting amused Kare, but it didn't distract her from her shot. She experienced a moment of clarity as she aligned her sight picture through the optics and fired. A lone lance of crimson buries deep into the chest of an opposing pirate, spilling them over the railing against their will just from sheer impact and kinetic energy. "One down!" Kare yells out, holding her position to cover the advance of the team.

Their way upwards is blocked by a contingent of combatants determined to put a stop to them. Black Squadron don't seem to care to kindly for their kind around these parts, so they do something about it. Jessika pockets the stock of her weapon into her shoulder, safety selector dropping because she's got positive control of her weapon and no longer running. If nothing else, it's a double check with her thumb to ensure that it's in the right position. This is no marksman-esque shot. The combatants are close, it's shoot first and to kill, and there might be messy consequences. Not surprising, then, that the kill bolt Jessika puts through her combatant doesn't kill him immediately. It disentgrates the femoral head located in the socket of his hip and he goes down with a pitched, blood curdling scream that half-cuts short because of the massive smack of his head against the ground. Damaged bone marrow, severe tissue damage, and severed arteries? Hopefully they were cateurized. If not, his friends better be doctors and hope they find any stray bleeders, because the pelvic cavity is a hideout for that kind of thing and Jessika's sure that blast might have shattered part of that, too, potentially leading to marrow injected into the blood and an embolism straight to the heart or one to the brain for an ischemic attack.

In short: guy's dead.

Ektor fires with more enthusiasm than art. No one who watches Kare and Jess firing like experienced professionals would believe Ektor has anything to do with them. His firm is terrible, but somehow effective, one deadly shot fells the wounded man, a murderous headshot drops another in an instant, dead before he hits the ground. The third shot.. not sure how, but he missed the entire tower. He doesn't seem to notice, hurrying up the stairs and spotting a barred door. His typical reactions are A) explosives, or B) head on charge, so perhaps it's for the best that he tries to kick the door in, managing to damage the portal, but not break it fully open.

Recoiling and forced to lean against a wall to reclaim his footing, Bors rolls his left shoulder and grunts out something that would be MOST uncouth if he were to be trying to form words. All before he looks to the last and throws his weight into the poor sot. Forcing them back and pinning them momentarily to the wall.

<"Sorry."> at least he's able to move with a little more finesse, punching the 'woven' basket hilt of the hand guard into the face of the Squallspire soldier, putting them off balance and starting past them with a solid wind-up to bash the flat of the blade against their head. Dropping them senseless where he stands.

<"I don't suppose anyone has a touch of bacta to spray in these fine holes the foeman hath placed upon mine armor? It'd be absolutely spiffing. Just saying?">

Ow. Owie owie owie. Stumbling up the steps in the wake of Ektor, and leaning against the door. Really really hard. He even makes a 'umpf' sound when he makes contact.

It is an impressive display of special forces tactics -- if you nevermind all the slipping and sliding across the tarmac it took to get to this point. The four members of Black Squadron swiftly clear their path towards their destination, leaving a reminder on why calls during a hostage situation really ought to be answered instead of ignored. Never call the military's bluff. They're never bluffing.

It is a several-story hike up the stairs as the quartet are buffeted by wind, rain, and... is that hail?! It's hail. Just as that nice little addition to the Pamarthe weather forecast begins, the members make it to the top to a single, barricaded door. It is a joint effort to break in -- and Bors leans -- but the door flies open and the final confrontation begins.

Instead is more makeshift barricades made of over-turned tables and chairs. There are several consoles of flicking buttons and switches and a three hundred and sixty degree window running the perimeter. All the lights are out save for the flicker of the consoles and the mad flashes of lightning all around them.

It is in these brief flickers that several figures can be seen stooped behind the barricades. Too fast to pick one from the other but they're there.

Ektor charges up the steps to kick the rekk out of the door and gives it a good rattle. Jessika runs up and starts to kick it, but hops the last couple of steps while looking at it. "Wait, what if there's a bomb on the otherside?" She touches it with the sole of her boot. It comes open a moment later and rattles against the wall before trying to rebound back. "Yeah, frak you, door." Now she kicks it, and makes it jangle against the wall before proceeding deeper inside. A standoff of some sort. Maybe THIS person has a bomb. "I'm Commander Pava with the New Republic. We're here to re-seize control of this installation. Let's talk about this and see some hands and some weapons put down, huh? The wrong people with guns in their hands get shot, right?" She motions down with the flat of her palm to indicate that it would be a good idea to put stuff down.

Kare waits outside the door covering the rear position and leaving the invasion to the Commander and the rest of the squad. She uses the tower's vantage to maintain some perception over their surroundings, and pays attention to sounds that are outside the room the team is attacking. With the rear covered, they won't get trapped between a rock and a hard place.

Ektor isn't the most traditional of operatives. As Major Pava names herself and orders surrender, the idiot next to her sees a few hands still down, a d yells into his pilfered comlink, "I'M THE CAPTAIN," and when he hears a comlink go off behind the barricade, takes a wild shot at it.

Totally helped. Maximum effort.

The room may be dark but the suit systems immediately shift to night vision when Bors rolls off of the door-frame and proceeds inward. Again the blade is lifted before the visor of his helmet in salute before he steps into an en guard posture. Looking perhaps the most ludicrous in those plates - but when Ektor traces a target, he operates on instinct.

Carried across the room in quick strides, unbated for the lack of shadow to cover the foe - the Lord Thul gives three quick jabs with his blade, aiming for arms and shoulders while his helmet emits,

<"Hands up! Stand and deliver yourselves unto us!">

It's a solid argument Commander Pava makes. Difficult to argue against that. Given that seven of their comrades are no longer responding to being called and those on the control deck are pretty sure they saw two of them flying into space. Not to mention the door just got bashed in and -- does that man in the powersuit have a sword?!

Another flash of lightning reveals various faces: some old, some young. All sea-weathered and tan. All looking a bit tired and three of them especially hesitant to go on. A trio of guns power down slowly. Then drop.

'I'M THE CAPTAIN!' Ektor's voice erputs from somewhere to the right; directly at a young, brunette woman who is looking at her hip in shock. It lasts but a second before she snaps into action rising to draw up her weapon and shoo--

Ektor's blast hit her dead on the right shoulder; spinning her around like an awkward ballerina from the impact. Before she can even orient herself, the armoured man is on her. CLANG! CLUNG! She blocks his first two swings, but the third pierces her left shoulder clean through and pins the Captain helplessly to the wall. Her weapon drops as does her chin to her chest; barely conscious. Barely alive.

Her second-in-command screams in rage, running out of cover and charging Ektor; rifle blasting loudly and destroying a console behind him.

Captain's taken care of. Second in command charges. Jessika tried to tell them that the wrong people with the guns in their hands were going to get shot. She adjusts barrel to the one charging Ektor and discharges. He pitches onto the floor, dead. <"Pantheon Actual, Testor."> She waits for an established connection. <"Mission accomplished, facility resecured. We have one wounded blue, one critical combatant. Rush that evac if you wouldn't mind. Over."> Another glorious day in the Starfighter Corps. She wonders if there's a banquet on the Pantheon. Or a Parade.

Kare chicken wings her rifle's buttstock and peers over the railing where one of the pirates fell over and down to the bottom. "Hey buddy.." She calls out over the rain. "You alive down there.. or no?" Silence. "No?-- I mean, just checking we know first aid and drek.."

Ektor reflexively ducks and a console behind him is dragged. As Jess drops his assailant, the lieutenant cackles with a crooked grin. "Can't believe that worked, yeah? HA." A look around, inventory check of himself. "How did I not get shot?"

A sharp, quick, strike with the pommel of the blade sends the Captain down to the ground before he turns towards the second in command that Jessika so swiftly helped shuffle loose the mortal coil. Blade raised, RAAAISED. Lowered - pointed then towards the other of the Squallspire folks in a 'that's -RIGHT-' sort of gesture.

His left bicep is starting to numb up, his chest only mildly burned - but all of it far less than it would have been without the heavier armor.

"I miss flying." said in the privacy of his helmet, the external broadcast turned off again. Doing his damnedest to not jostle his left side too badly. Then he'd have to give away just how bad that stings.

Turning to Ektor then, head lifting up slightly. It's a good thing he'd forgotten to turn his externals back on. He looks like he might be not such a gentleman suddenly on the notion of people getting shot.

LANGUAGE. BORS.

The Squallspire Starport is secure and Black Squadron remain until New Republic forces arrive to hold the fort. From here on in, it becomes a matter of politics and that is, decidedly, not Black Squadron's forte. Let the diplomats and such handle things, but hould more hold-outs need to be dealt with? Well, depends on if they're not already on another mission.

The storm wages on and on, making evac a pain in the arse but what isn't these days? Pamarthe is one step close to being resolved. Hopefully. As far as they're concerned, it's mission successful. The Squadron regroup and make their way back to the Pantheon, leaving the mess that is Pamarthe to be cleaned up by those more equipped to untangle the knots.