Log:Rebellion: Task Force Iron Wall - Ground

Task Force Iron Wall - Ground

OOC Date: March 16, 2025
Location: Crait
Participants: Azora Rer, Ben Relor, Cin'cirad, Hadrix Kora, Orris Vel, Zalon Bo

During the briefing for Operation Iron Wall, the Intel lieutenant Keedar had been emphatic that there was no comm chatter to suggest any terrestrial fighter deployments. He wasn't wrong, but there was still very clearly an Imperial presence on the salty surface, as communication signals had lit up all sensors once the battle began. Even if the fleeing star destroyer would take some hours to reach friendly space, there could be no doubt the Empire was already well aware of what had happened in the Crait System, and a heavy retaliation would be sent soon. That made the present operation all the more pressing.

The naval clash had been far enough from the planet that none of the durasteel scraps of larger wreckage of the destroyed frigates or fighters had yet been pulled into Crait?s atmosphere. Thus, the fiery envelope of burning atmosphere that surrounded the rapidly descending landing craft was the first visible signal to those below that the war in space was about to descend upon them. Near the remains of the former rebel base, pilgrims gazed skyward with empty uplifted hands, crying out to the "fiery tears of the Force" that the heavens shed for their fallen prophet, but that sorry campsite was not the destination of the rebel storming party.

Instead it was toward a hidden facility in the slate-gray mountains the assault party was drawn; it was well placed to observe comings and goings from the shattered rebel fortress, but if not for the revealing comm traffic, few could have found it. Those with more criminal pasts might have recognized the telltale signs of a smuggler's drop point, while the more honest military sorts might feel a moment of grudging admiration for the effectiveness of the position as a hidden observation outpost. There were no beacons to guide the craft down, nor did anti-aircraft fire stream up to greet them; it was a curiously quiet approach toward a discreet landing zone adjacent to concealed refueling tanks, and a bunker entrance that led into the guts of a mountain.

<"We only need to clear them off this planet, make room to see if the smuggling rings can start using their Crait Corridor again. Sweep and clear...">

Said to those in the drop bay of the Imperial Gozanti, Kyr'am Ra Kote on its high velocity insertion to the surface. No AA fire was a boon, making the reinforced shielding to absorb re-entry need not be concerned for regarding additional difficulties.

<"If you can pack-drop, we'll be going out the side hatches while the lander moves up close for the rest. We don't take prisoners, unless they look like command staff. If we can stop them from wiping their base core, we do it and take it. They'll have started by now and it's up to a half hour purge process.">

Hadrix was holding a stanchion near one of those hatches, helmet on and his jets coughing as they are primed.

<"Stick to units, watch each other's backs. No glory hounds. We have a job to do and anyone tries to be a dikut'la hero, I'll put you in the infirmary personally."> A gesture towards Cin'cirad, <"Sira, you're Ruus'alor for the op."> Head turning towards the rest, <"That means sergeant to the rest of you. She's second in command. If I die, she's in charge. Prepare to drop.">

Perhaps it wasn't irony that Al'Verde Kora had selected a ship with a forward section that looked not unlike the visored faceplate of a Mandalorian's helm, streaking towards the facilities with drop hatches opening on approach to allow those with the ability to fly out while the rest wait for a more conventional landing.

A wild ride, and Orris Vel isn't QUITE sure what he is even doing here. They were going to need people who can open doors that vary wildly in age and composition, which was something the Archaeologist was actually quite good at. It did mean armor and a blaster, datapad and getting assigned into a squad to be dragged along through an actual fast paced battlefield. Which is unfortunate. He isn't quite a soldier. He'll be waiting for the lander to ACTUALLY land and will not be jumping out like a crazy person.

Ben Relor has the visor up on his trooper helmet, smoking a cigarette, as tends to be his way. His left foot is tapping a million miles a minute, and he's got a general aura of impatient irritation about him. This is also not an unusual occurrence. He stands near one of the hatches as well, and he snorts when Hadrix gives his stern warning about heroes. "Being a damn hero is what gets you killed," he spits, turning from Hadrix to Sira for a moment, squinting at her. He takes another drag, flicking his cigarette out the hatch as that squint moves over to Orris. As if to say: what are you doing here?

Sira gave another check over the weapons, ensuring that there was still ammunition in the pistols as well as the rifle that she wore across her back. A final check of the jetpack, the bracers, all of it. Even down to ensuring the gloves - that aren't quite gloves - are still good. A little check to make sure that they're in working order and she's sure that it's all good to go. Everything accounted for. A roll of her head around and a shake out of the limbs, checking to make sure that nothing it catching or biting in ways she'd rather not deal with.

And then it was time to go.

She took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. Sira doesn't turn her head to look, she doesn't need to as she uses the augmented reality of her helmet to do that. <"'Lek."> Is all she says at first, her head turning to look at the area as they were coming in on it. Nothing in particular seems out of place to her, even if something about it doesn't feel right. Probably just too easy. She's used to the AA already coming at her when on an approach like this. <"And that's the idea, Relor. We don't even have that word in Mando'a.">

A small shuttlecraft settles down onto the flatlands not far from the campsite. Jedi Knight Zalon Bo is one among many aboard the descending transport. If he were to have a 'game face', it's one of calm. It's the sort of serenity that one might expect to find in a veteran that's been witness to a score of battlefields. If the Jedi are a source of inspiration for some, then his is the sort of inspiration that might help in quelling uneasiness and the anxiety of an impending battlefield. Among such commandos however, such a reassuring presence is hardly a strict necessity. He is, after all, more of a consultant is a sense. The presence of the Jedi Knight provided to the rebellion against the Sith Empire in the event that they encounter one of the Jedi Order's millenia-old adversaries in the form of Dark Jedi or Sith. The fact that even without the influence of the Force the Jedi Knight's reportedly a legitimate doctor makes his presence on the mission an even greater boon in the event that matters spiral toward the worst case scenario.

The earthen tones of the Jedi's robes and garb beneath it have been adjusted in acknowledgment of the day's more clandestine agenda. While Zalon may typically be more inclined toward various shades of brown or tan, today he's adopted a more slate gray coloring to the tunic and trousers worn beneath his darker grey cloak. As he often does he's gone without typical footwear which in turn showcases the Lasat's prehensile toes and peculiar feet. For the moment he appears to be unarmed, but that's not unexpected on account of the cloak that he wears falling over his shoulders and concealing all but a narrow strip of the alien beneath it. The sheer height of the alien results in his head dipping forward and his shoulders hunching along with it, though he seems to take such a necessity in good stride and it hasn't seemed to bother him in the slightest during the quiet ride from hangar to landing zone. "Expect heavy defenses. If we haven't taken fire from the ground then they're confident in their defenses and traps," he pauses for a moment as the lids of his golden eyes flutter for a moment as he looks toward the distance to his left, "there's great danger ahead of us. Be mindful, be ready."

Azora probably stuck out. But she wore a mask over her helmet to be like... extra sneaky about the whole thing. (We're not talking like a durasteel faceplate, more a bandana pulled over her face. Even if it waggles sometimes as her forked tongue sticks out from under it from time to time.) Turns out though, the Squamatan didn't wasn't precisely a... frontline soldier type, even on the best of days.

But she wanted to help. It'd get her killed someday. "Mandalorians," she says to Ben, lingering near the other incendiary, in a flat sort of accent that really liked to stereotypically draw out the s's.

"They say do not be the hero, but as soon as blaster bolts start firing..." she says with a sigh, her mask fluttering with another reflexive tongue-scenting. Even if the mask gets in the way.

She upnods the Lasat, her unblinking eyes settling on him as he speaks.

The rebel landing craft settled swiftly to ground, positioned expertly to provide cover for the shock troops as they emerged. The entrance to the bunker was squat and unassuming, a crude porch formed by a plain duracrete barricade beneath a sloped overhang. The entrance was a simple central gap in the duracrete barrier with a sliding door to the deeper facility barely visible against the back wall deeper inside, but picking out details is difficult due to the line of stormtroopers entrenched behind the outer barrier, who greet the assault team with the courtesy of immediate blaster fire as soon as they disembark.

<"Drop units, out."> Hadrix adds action to words as lights over the internal hatches open and he lets himself fall backwards, jets engaging to carry him aloft, the wookiee rifle he carries racked and humming steadily louder as the tibanna pressurizes and ignites.

<<"Pick your targets, quick strike, move in ranks. Jetpack units keep mobile, prepare to draw fire. Ground units, frog-dog hop, fire to provide cover, hold for the next line to pass.">> Providing tactics even as he shoulders the cannon and sights up the trooper that looks to be gesturing like they're giving commands. Check guard of his helm against the furniture of the wookiee weapon as he squeezes.

A shooting emerald star sears through the gap of the patio to core through the trooper whose body chases after the durasteel bolt that has smashed into the wall behind.

sssSSSHHRRROOWWWK

The second slams into the head of another trooper, scooping it from their shoulder and sending the body to the ground. The big man having stopped talking as he racks the bolt of the wookiee rifle again, slamming a fresh bolt into place.

Orris Vel thought he had mentally prepared for something like this. Stand behind everyone else, keep moving. Shoot at what shoots at you. Except everything is shooting at him as soon as he trundles down out of the landing craft. The bulky uparmored datapad attached to his chest rattles more than he'd like but he can still double-hand his standard issue rebel JSP-4 upright to aim downrange at....what is even over there? It doesn't matter. SUPPRESSIVE FIRE!

Ben nods to Zalon, grunting. "Surprising no one." And he can't help but smirk at what Azzy says. "You ain't wrong. Something about an invincibility complex." He adds, checking his blaster for the fiftieth time, "On the other hand, a little teamwork really does go a long karking way. As I feel like I'm constantly reminding people." It might be a little ironic coming from Relor, too. Maybe he's more like the Mandos than he thinks.

That's all before he drops out of the ship, of course! And once they're immediately in combat, his scouty, demo-tech eyes note something right away: "MINES! There's karking proximity mines! Watch your karking step if you wanna stay in one piece!" Which he...does not want the Imps to be, as he removes a frag grenade from his belt and lets it fly....shavit, though. His hand was shaking again, and he just misses. The grenade goes off at the end of the bumper, shaking everything, making the bucketheads duck. That's something, at least, even if it makes Relor yell with frustration.

Sira follows along with Hadrix, the jetpack cutting in to stop her decent as she lands on the ground, already bringing her pistol up to bear as she starts firing away with her slugthrower. The pistol barking out three shots in quick succession as she gives a look around to see what would be the best way to approach - either way, she hoped it would at least keep the Sergeant down. Especially since the first two shots from Hadrix dropped the Lieutenant and the first one in quick order.

Busy enough looking for the best way to approach and move in a bounding action, she relied mostly on her instinctive ability for what otherwise would've been tough shots. All three of them missing, though two of them are kicking up the duracrete at chest level of the Stormtrooper. So it probably would've hit... if the duracrete wasn't in the way. <<"Copy. Mines, watch your step.">> And of course she's preparing to engage the jetpack so that she might be able to skip worrying about stepping on a mine.

Leaving the shuttle means stepping into a dangerous situation and Zalon follows after others as they make their departure. The sensation of cold beneath his feet sends a shiver up his spine, but he suppresses it with ease on account of the sudden spike of adrenaline surging through him as a pair of blaster bolts slam into the side of the shuttle above his head and to his right. He begins to move forward with a hand moving to the small of his back, collecting the heavily modified gift from his Master into hand. The call of mines however distracts him from the greater threat of the overlooking patio. The advance will be stalled by the minefield and leave the entirety of the commando team exposed in the open without their being removed.

A deep breath is taken and Zalon's eyes calmly slip closed for a moment as he reaches out with the Force, embracing it and the natural world around him. He senses the lives around him, their ambitions, their hope, and even the fear of one or two nearby him. He feels the cold expanse of the mountainside and even those firing upon the team from the patio. Among the natural world around him there is the artificial as well. The unfeeling, treacherous seeds of death planted by hateful Imperials to defend their outpost of tyranny. His breathing calms and settles as his left hand extends, reaching out to the concealed mines. A slight twitch of his fingers wraps them in the unseen touch of the Force and through Zalon's partnership with it, he begins to levitate the mines from their hiding place.

A gentle twist of his wrist and turn of his hand sends the mines flying swiftly and suddenly toward the mountain wall, where they begin to explode it a thundering staccato. The threat dealt with, at least partially, Zalon begins to move forward with his blaster pistol at the ready as he calls out, "There are still more but our approach should be thinner! Be mindful of your feet!"

The advice is called out upon a loud, powerful voice and then Jedi Knight Zalon Bo begins to move forward. There is no beam of light springing from his fist, as his lightsaber hangs from his belt. He begins to advance alongside the rest of the team with his head down, but that's largely because an over seven foot tall alien is an impressively noticeable target.

Azora wasn't sure she liked being on the front lines. She was brave, in her own way, but skittery. And that was proven as she files out - last off the transport, really. She was kinda skulking somewhere behind the Jedi, her unblinking eyes widening as he picks those mines off of the ground and sends them into the wall...

She hisses, her bandana-covered face fluttering as she joins in on his shots, ducking behind a rock as she levels a shot out, miraculously striking a stormtrooper right on the helmet when the shot from the Jedi causes him to jerk.

"Got one!" she says, voice lifting up in amusement. Right until one of the bolts dings off a rock, digging deep into her thigh, causing her to collapse back against the stone she was taking cover behind.

Hissing a little more frequently, she clutches the dark spot on her armor where the blaster bolt had punched straight through, the acrid scent of burning reptile filling the senses of those around her. And her own senses, as that tongue darts out.

Blasterbolts reflecting off of the big man's armor - the plan was going as intended. Draw fire, use heavier armor to reduce how much is focused on the rest.

<"Jetii, any chance you think you could hooboojooboo one of those mines into their position... If you don't think it'll collapse the entrance?">>

It's a thought, at least, interrupted by another bolt hitting his guard shoulder, with a high pitched PWAANG! that jostles Hadrix and draws a growl from deep in his chest.

<"Call if you need a medic, continue to fire in ranks. Advance, hold, cover, advance.">

Al'Verde Kora begins lining up another shot, the magnetic coils in the rifle beginning to warn him with the growing whumwhuMwhUMwHUMWHUMWRUMMMMMMMMMM of the overpressure systems he'd had installed over a decade ago, gauges in his HUD beginning to redline before he squeezes - the kick of the weapon shoving the mandalorian backwards in the air. Threatening to upend his flight pattern while he racks a fresh bolt. The first punching a dinner plate crater into the duracrete, the next higher to skirt through the gap, turning stonework red hot and punching into the chestplate of the remaining sergeant on deck.

<"Watch your spacing..."> Teeth gritting while he feels the bruise forming beneath the Iron plating.

It was just enough good shooting to get Orris somewhere that he had some cover. Red blaster bolts flinging themselves over his head and around him as the near middle-aged man sprinted towards actual cover and settled in for a few moments. Someone with bigger guns and better aim are taking good shots while he is pointing his blaster pistol around a rock and sending some green back their way.

When the Jedi apparently just /thinks/ away some of the mines, Relor stares at him in disbelief, eyes wide as if the man had just sprouted twenty extra heads. He's never going to get used to Jedi pulling their Jedi weirdness. His head jerks over to Azora when she gets hurt, and pretty bad. "Rer! Hang tight -- we got your back! Fall back if you have to!" he shouts above the roar of blaster fire.

Relor dives sharply behind a chunk of battered duracrete, hitting the ground in a controlled skid that kicks up dust. His blaster snaps up, steady despite the chaos, as two golden bolts flare toward the stormtroopers. One slams into a trooper's shoulder, spinning him backward with a shower of sparks. The other bolt slices wide, sizzling into the bunker wall and leaving a glowing scorch mark -- another scar amid the chaos. "Somebody remind me why we can't solve this problem the normal way -- with explosives?" He knows the answer. He just doesn't like it.

<<"Medic, one injured. Blast shot.">> Sira says calmly as she engages the jetpack to shoot her way over toward Azora, coming to a bit of a sliding finish that kicks up some of the dust as she raises her other hand - slugthrower already in it to start shooting at the Stormtroopers having watched Hadrix take out the other Sergeant. This time, it's a little bit better, her pistol barking and catching the Stormtrooper in the helm. The next two shots off target.

Sira always did enjoy Mate a bit more than Check. Now in front of Azora, guarding them from view, she casts a quick look over her shoulder to the Squamatan, <"How bad?"> She turns her head back just in time to see some of the blaster fire coming her way. And Azora's for that matter, but thankfully both of them are well off target.

The assault on the bunker entrance hits a snag - at least for Zalon Bo - when another is struck by a blaster bolt, his forward advance abruptly turns into a sideward charge. The approach snaps to a ninety degree turn and Zalon begins to move over the unfolding battlefield to the injured commando. The call out regarding the Jedi and tossing mines through the doorway goes unacknowledged for now as he's imposed a new mission upon himself.

He moves to the injured commando and announces himself quickly, "I'm here to help you," the Jedi informs Azora. "Cover me if you can," he advises the injured rebel. He's exposed himself without any means of defending himself and his back's largely open to a more conniving combatant to take a shot at a perceived medic. From his medpac Zalon produces a device that he quickly presses to the wind, wrapping one massive hand around the thigh in order to keep it and its owner from trying to pull away. The trigger depresses and the kolto infusion floods the wound, after which point it begins to stiffen into a thick gel-like substance. Durable enough to plug the wound, but flexible enough to permit movement. "Stay still for a few seconds," he says while the titanic strength of the alien keeps the leg immobile, "it needs to set. Then you're good to get back into the fight."

A blaster bolt intended for the back of the Lasat's rather large head is avoid by a slight shuffle of the kneeling Jedi to offer greater support to his victim and that causes the scarlet beam to impact on the rocky outcropping nearby. He doesn't acknowledge the miss, but instead sends his attention across the battlefield as he seeks out additional casualties in need of his attention.

"I am fine, be careful, Ben!" Azora shouts a bit as he shouts her name. Blaster pistol clutched in her hand, she takes a moment to take heavy breaths against the rock, turning her eyes towards Sira as she draws near. Slitted eyes pink in a background of yellow were widened in pain, the Squamatan's chest rising and falling in deep breaths as she shares, "Just... the leg. I can still walk, if I need to," she says.

That was when the big form of the Lasat towers over her, and Azora's tongue flickers against the bandana again. "Hello," she says kinda lamely when he comes by, the edges of her voice strained. When the kolto infusions was injected, she hisses sharply, arching her back as her eyes widen, trying to jerk her leg briefly, but she was held in place by his big ol' paw.

She fires a few wild shots back, without aiming when she sees the bolt almost strike the Lasat's head when she gives a wan look to him. "Thanks," she says. "I'll stay still, then I can limp after.

One trooper has reached the door that leads into the deeper facility and punches in a code swiftly while the rest of the squad maintains fire. The door hisses open with a screech, and the trooper squad begin falling back to a second line of defenses inside the mountain facility. Several hold the door, blasting away at the rebels while their squadmates filter through the chokepoint.

Hissing when the heat of the bolt sears through the plate on his shin guard, one hand supporting the rifle and the other dipping to his bandolier to pulling what looks like a collapsed baton from his belt, blink locking the fuse even as his thumb brushes over one of the switches.

A quick glance to his aug-re displays to check on friendly positions before he boots for an angle to hurl the ordnance with intention of 'banking' it off the lip of the bunker slit - to pop it above the heads of the troopers present. Ori'ramikad instincts kicking in. They can't close the door back up, if they can't move their hands.

Or any part of them.

Bionic eye flicking point to point as telemetry calculators begin sending messages and he drops in a jet adjusted half-spin, side-arming the explosive and rolling past to try and get as much cover from the patio wall. The device hitting and one of the troopers throwing himself to try and contain the blast - only to put himself into the worst form of 'chilldown' seen since the Clone Wars. The radiating burst of super-freezing air locking joints and rendering armor brittle.

<<<"Enemy is attempting to retreat, engage or they may get the blast doors shut.">>> Hadrix's voice rumbles on comms, his comms bursting with static caused by the WHOMP of the cryo-grenade going off.

Oh! Grenades provide cover, somewhat. Orris gets a tactics lesson immediately as someone hucks a cyroban grenade straight into the mess of the fleeing stormtroopers! Which means he doesn't have to worry about getting shot back at, so he can actually take aim and fire well enough. He is some six or seven steps behind Hadrix and falling back rapidly because OldManEndurance is not up to par here.

<<"Karkin' kill 'em all!">> That would be Ben, voice raw, adrenaline and pain making his tone sharper, rougher -- just a little over-excited, maybe. He suffered a blaster bolt to the torso earlier, the armor scorched black and smoking, but that's hardly stopping him now. With his blood up, he throws himself into the open, stepping past the cryo-blast's icy fog and zeroing in on the surviving stormtroopers.

His blaster snaps up sharply, sending a golden bolt into the chest of a staggering stormtrooper -- who crumples instantly, landing hard with a satisfying clang of plastoid on duracrete. Ben bares teeth in a fierce, wild grin, already shifting aim and firing again. The next shot lands viciously at the throat of another Imperial soldier -- messy, agonizing, but not immediately fatal. Exactly Ben's style.

<<"Next one to shoot me better kriffing kill me!">> Ben snarls over comms, adrenaline and pain twisting his voice into something reckless, wild-eyed, and utterly defiant.

<"Alright. Don't push it if you feel like it's getting worse."> Another quick glance back toward Azora and a nod toward the Lasat before she shoots another glance toward the door as Hadrix makes the call. Eyes flicking toward the commands she activates her jetpack to try and close to distance to stop the Stormtroopers from possibly activating the door and close it. As she does, she tags two of the targets and two rockets launch from her kneepad - zipping toward the troopers.

But the rockets shooting from the kneepad screw up her approach, causing her to start rotating, cutting the jetpack, she rotates quickly in the air and activates it again to stop her forward progress, cutting them off as she slides along the ground toward the patio on one foot and a knee. She didn't quite get where she was wanting to go. Though from the sounds of the two rockets going off, it seems like she caught at least one of them with it.

<<"Or, stop getting shot. It's an option.">> Sira says with a bit of dry humor, the dust cloud settling around her as she finally comes to a stop.

The kolto plug's finally set and with that Zalon's hands withdraw from Azora's presence. He offers her a stiff nod and the typically stern Jedi seems as stern as every by the time he gives the all-clear, "You should be ready". He begins to rise up to his full height anew and with that he turns back to the unfolding battle. His brow furrows and only enhances the severity of the frown that the Lasat's thick forehead expresses. The blast doors begin to draw closed and Zalon's hands move ahead of himself. He focuses himself into the Force and even begins to strain judging by the slight tremble to his hands and shoulders. The blast door hitches for a moment to illustrate that his efforts could have worked, but regardless of his effort his focus and strength isn't enough to prevent the blast doors from beginning to close.

"Very well," he remarks with his usual warm, though there's the slightest hint of more gruff undertones at his own failure. It's a failure that he seems more than capable and prepared to overcome as the Jedi Knight's movement begins to carry him toward the patio and a hand moves to collect the deactivated metallic from his side.

No doubt a team of commandos will have more explosive means of gaining entry to the bunker, but if for whatever reason they are unable then it seems that Zalon Bo is prepared to find more unconventional means to gain access to the bunker in pursuit of aiding the rebel's mission.

Azora snorts, getting up to her feet. With a stiff-legged walk, she lopes after the door, firing a few shots that spark dramatically off the walls over the troopers heads, the Squamaton hissing as she goes.

She looks towards Sira with a bit of a snort. "I'll try to watch out. Getting hit by a trooper is a special kinda... those helmets probably make it hard for them to aim!" But oop. Off Sira goes.

The last two troopers duck inside the facility, one shooting out through the open security door, the other trying to seal the portal, which starts sliding shut with an ugly grinding instead of a smooth snap. More blaster bolts put out and in, striking the slate to their side with a shower of sparks.

Ducking when shots come, Hadrix stills while waiting for the bolts to squeal past. Head down, almost like he'd gone to sleep until there's a momentary lull. Springing, the big man's jets reengage forcing him against the side of the hatchway in a shower of sparks, eliminating some of the trim paint of his armor and exposing the colouration to be metal tinting worked into his plates.

Literally scraping through and hitting the ground to be pushed further in by the twin jets of flame propelling him forward, attempting to get a leg where he can kick himself up and resulting in propelling him into the ceiling to continue a shrieking path until he manages to cut them, falling to land on his shoulder into a failed tumble that leaves him heaped on the floor.

<<"I'm inside, get the rest of them, I'll try to get the door if it closes...">> then chinning his comms... <"Getting to old for that..."> muttered within his helmet and trying to get to a kneeling posture if nothing else. Bioengineering from his days with the Aarkanians working to tend to the sprains and bruises he's given himself.

From what Orris understands, if that door closes their entire operation is rather kaput. So instead of pushing through PAST the door, he'll fling his body between wall and doorframe to halt himself rather nicely. There is a lot of rattling and cracks as armor takes the brunt of the hit but he is still gonna feel it. Then his datapad smacks against the control panel and he starts running ICE to overwhelm the door's mechanism.

Ben curses sharply as his shot goes wide, the golden bolt sizzling uselessly into the duracrete wall inches from the trooper at the panel. He snarls under his breath, pain from the seared hole in his torso-armor flaring white-hot. <<"Dank farrik -- somebody drop that bastard before he locks us out!">> He slams himself into cover, teeth gritted, vision swimming momentarily from the pain and adrenaline. Blaster still raised, he's already lining up his next shot---too stubborn and furious to acknowledge the way his hands shake or how his breath comes in ragged, furious gasps.

<<"'Lek, keep your head down. Don't think your wife would appreciate another shiny spot.">> Sira says back to Hadrix as she sees him zoom passed and through the door. Her head swiveling to match, she stands up, moving toward the door at a good clip. She does give a look back toward Azora though before making her way onto the patio, <"Yeah, tell me about it. Trust me, I've had more than my fair share - even of getting hit. Though not as much as /some/ of us here."> Though whether she meant Hadrix or Relor was, possibly, anyone's guess.

As she moves up toward the door, the left hand comes up, two shots into the Trooper manning the controls on the inside, her right hand coming up toward the last one that she can see and firing off a quick one that goes wide. She slides to the side of the door that Ben and Orris are working on keeping open. A look toward then and a bit of a shrug of her shoulders. <"Got the one that was trying to close the door.">

<<"How's the inside look, Al'verde? We're just waiting on the last few. I think we have

Zalon's prehensile toes reach out for the ground with each step. They spread and conform to the surfaces that he walks as he assumes a light trot forward. The metallic cylinder in his right hand is maintained in his grip, but his left hand slides smoothly beneath the concealing layers of the dark grey cloak that rests over his frame. The pistol that he produces doesn't whine or cause some other sound that may indicate that it's charged and ready. As he approaches the door and one of the stormtroopers topples to the ground under the fire from one of the Mandalorians, Zalon's hand rises up and a whoosh of sound heralds the bolt round from the pistol to screech toward the remaining troop. The impact is practically explosive and sends the stormtrooper flying back from the point of impact with a clatter of plastoid composite armor.

He moves forward and through the gap in the blast doors, staying alert and mindful of his surroundings before he sends a glance toward Ben and his effort to keep the blast doors from being closed against them again. Then it's back to the rest of the team, before the Jedi's question is delivered to the group as a whole, "Do we have time to treat the wounded?"

As Hadrix sits back up on his knees and lifts his stone-scored helmet up with a groan, he'd see several details of the inter chamber: there were doors leading to side corridors, likely for storage and bunks. Another corridor led to a row of holding cells, but of the main chamber itself, the most prominent features of a good look around would have been the complex communication arrays and banks of computers. But of course, the most immediate observation would have been the muzzle of a blaster being leveled down at his visor by a primly uniformed ImpIntel officer. "Mandalorians," she sniffed. "Of course it's Mandalorians." Three shots were fired in short succession.

It would appear that they did not yet have time to treat the wounded.

Booted feet with the uniform imperial heel clink steadily forward on the plating underfoot as the officer walked down Hadrix, firing at his faceplate and neck as she went. "All that armor," blast. "All those pompous traditions." Blast. "But strip away the weapons and what are you?" Blast.

He was about to answer, until the voice, the barrel in his visor, and the flicker of motion as instincts kicked in. Legs tucking and he rolls to try and get clear. Blaster bolts exploding against his armor, helmet rocking back repeatedly as he flies backwards, landing to slide on his back the final shot having sounded with a crackling sound of transparisteel breaking.

There's a sound from the man that causes his helmet speakers to threaten to blow out, sounding through the broken seals and when the big man is surging forward, iron shod boots kicking up sparks on the floor in his wake, the right side of the visor is shown to be opened.

Carbon scored durasteel shines behind the blackened beskar of his helmet, ringing the black metal sclara of the bionic eye - the gold wire making the iris half melted and the glowing red optic exposed when Hadrix's first strike goes, aimed for the sternum of the officer.

"Aruetii..."

Pushing with his metal plated knuckles pressing into bone, hand turning to grab up uniform cloth to hold her steady.

"I. AM. THE. WEAPON."

And then the Boar-Wolf of Ealor's head comes forward hard enough to bruise, if not outright break, bone with the impact of Al'verder Kora'a Keldabe Kiss.

Ben's gloved hand shakes violently as the blaring rejection beep from the panel echoes in his ears -- every pulse of noise stabbing deeper into his skull. <<"Kriffing thing won't respond!">> he growls into the comm, voice edged with desperation. He slams a fist uselessly against the console, breath coming ragged as sparks scatter across his vision. He runs the back of his hand against his eyes, like he's trying to unsee something.

<<"Shut up,">> Ben snarls under his breath, shaking his head sharply. His blaster hand trembles, eyes flickering rapidly between...what, exactly? For a heartbeat, he's somewhere else entirely. Then he seems to shake himself free with a violent twitch, gripping his blaster tighter as reality slams painfully back into focus. <<"Keep pushing!">> he barks to no one in particular, fighting the tremor in his voice. <<"We don't stop here -- no matter what they say!">> Whomever they are, exactly...

Sira looks in through the door, seeing Hadrix currently knocking around an Imperial Officer and she lets out a chuckle, holstering both firearms as she moves to the inside. She gives Hadrix a once over as she jogs passed him. <"Make sure to get yourself tended to, looks like one of those shots caught you lucky."> She casts another look over to see him then headbutting the Officer. A bit of a wince hidden behind her faceplate.

That one look like it hurt.

<<"I think we have time now that we got that officer down, if you want to tend the wounded.">> She's already on her way toward one of the terminals. She comes up to a stop at one of them, her fingers flying across the keyboard. First up, a quick check to see what exactly the processes are running, using some of the baseline commands - nothing invasive.

<"Okay... Wipe is about there... Can someone else start grabbing the data?"> Sira begins shunting garbage into the locations that the database is currently trying to clear out. Shoving as much as she can into the directories in an effort to slow down the process while the other team members are grabbing data - and shunting a bit to the side where she can when she's not flooding the directories that are currently being wiped with things like readouts from the fire suppression system.

After dumping a few metric tons of garbage into the directories, she's whips up a quick program to keep it up. All in an effort to slow it down and give the team time to extract the important information.

The fighting comes to what the after action report might describe as an abrupt end. The Imperial officer unleashing hell on one of the Mandalorians and his subsequent disabling of the officer is largely unwitnessed by Zalon as he's busy keeping security on the door, but he's prepared to surge deeper into the outpost when the all-clear is given. When that call is made Zalon presses onward with his blaster and lightsaber in hand. The beam of the lightsaber remains dormant as the outpost isn't poorly lit and doesn't require his creating his own illumination. He's prepared to defend himself and others, but his careful steps through the outpost doesn't result in a need to defend himself.

Instead one of the outpost's secondary rooms provides a different challenge. A group of injured prisoners seem both fearful of a new arrival, but also hopeful. This isn't a human, nor is it dressed like any Imperial. Zalon's brow furrows and his expression remains as stern as ever, but his voice is warm and calming, "We're here to help you. I'm going to look you over, keep you stable, and then get you out of here."

Into his comm Zalon broadcasts a message among the team, notifying them of his discovering and needs, <<"We have injured prisoners located. We're going to need a second shuttle. We have varying levels of casualty and,">> there is a long pause as the Jedi seems to study the Gran from a few paces away. While he may appear dead, the Force is his ally and that connector of all existence seems to indicate otherwise. Which Zalon indicates a moment later, <<"and one very critical patient. A Gran, specifically. Notify space-side medical of that detail to make certain any specific medical considerations are on standby">>.

From there Zalon begins attending to needs as best he's able, utilizing his personal medpac to stabilize and prepare the injured for travel. Among the commandos Zalon's progress is much quicker, plugging holes or patching burns as necessary. It's quick work in the field, but it'll hold the team together until they can return to safer facilities.

It's rather quick progress until Zalon encounters Hadrix. The Mandalorian's helmet is gradually removed and while Zalon doesn't make some sound of surprise at the extensive array of cybernetics, he does comment more professionally regarding the state of those cybernetics following the punishment inflicted on the Mandalorian, "You're lucky to be alive," though it's uncertain if that observation is in regard to the present damage or the past damage that provided the Mandalorian with the need for those cybernetics, "but you'll get through this one".

Time passes and Zalon first commits himself to field repairs on the cybernetics themselves, keeping them stabilized and making certain that there won't be any shorts or deterioration of further function. For now. It's a patch job to be sure. Then comes the treatment of what biological material can be found around the edges of the cybernetics themselves. It's enough to keep the cybernetic assisted vision functional, "We can do a deeper review of your implants with proper facilities. Field work is rough work. If you lose sight in it, then let me know and I'll give it another look."

A bow of the head is given and soon enough Zalon's drifting away, back to the other patients and especially the Gran to provide more constant supervision.

Limping along after the group, Azora was being extra skittery - plying herself against walls, and trying her best to be the least obvious in this group of soldiers and otherwise. Working her jaw beneath her mask, she glances back.

A wince, and a retraction as she sees the poor ol' Officer attempt to shoot a mandalorian in full armor. And the rebuttal.

"Mandaloriansss," she says to herself, slinking her way towards a computer terminal, one at a space inbetween Sira and Ben Relor. Claws make it difficult to use the human-minded terminals, but she taps away at it. "Yes, trying to grab the data, stop the slice... Relor?" says Azora, glancing away towards him. Eyes narrow, just a touch, and she rolls her neck, looking back at the screen as she taps away, focusing.

She had some skill at it, but was staying on top of the data transfers, and what she was doing was just trying to upload everything she could to the crash drive she brought with her.

The ImpIntel office slumped unconscious immediately upon being headbutted, held off the ground only so long as the Mandalorian kept hold of her uniform. The fight was over. What data could be salvaged from the Imperial cores would require decoding by rebel intel; the classified data was heavily encrypted. But one detail that Azora noticed with her quarantine of lower priority communications sent to the outpost was immediately telling: the RSD Revenge with its fleet was inbound to Crait from Eriadu.

After saving the day by grabbing a lot of data, Azora Rer tucks the crash drive into one of the pockets of her jumpsuit, and glances down the way. She gives Sina a thumbsup, though.

She was going to need a dip in the healing tank when she got back to fleet, for sure.

Durasteel and myomer fiber musculature is exposed by Zalon when the helmet is removed, the big man holding still while the work is tended to with his prosthetics, "I'm very hard to kill" said in acknowledgement of the commentary of his luck being alive.

But the notion of needing a bigger craft has him raising a hand to speak to the comm in his vambrace, "Pheegus, bring the Kyr'Am about, we'll need its hold to bring up personnel. Have Mir and Tep ready in medical... Tell Narsai I'll be needing some of her ministrations..."

Human, yes, but there were years he spent working on a very particular contract for the Arkaanians. One that involved adjustments to him on a genetic level that show some of his skin scabbing at the edges. Seeming to minutely creep around the exposed metal.

But that may just be a trick of the light.

"Everyone, get things ready for pick-up. Exfil transport inbound and we'll dust off to leave this planet for the Smugglers." A cough, head turning to not send it directly towards Zalon, "The Imperials got off comm broadcast before we dropped, I expect we might have company." His 'real' eye towards the slicers before his helmet is pulled back on.