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Shaela Rann at the Battle of Onderon

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Beautiful commission by :iconfinishingstrike:

     

"Why do I have to fly

Over every town up and down the line?

I'll die in the clouds above

And you that I defend, I do not love...

I wake up, it's a bad dream -

No-one on my side...

I was fighting, but I just feel too tired

To be fighting; guess I'm not the fighting kind...


Where will I meet my fate?

Baby, I'm a man, I was born to hate!

And when will I meet my end?

In a better time, you could be my friend..."


Keane; 'A Bad Dream'



“The setting sun, Prael, flared behind us on the rise, the rosy hue matching the blood that flowed in the valley below. No prisoners. Those few Imperials who were human screamed as the end came for them, a noise lost in the sound of the feasting rupings.  The clones faced their demise with characteristic silence; under the circumstances, it felt like bravery, and not for the first time, I felt a strange admiration for them, to know no fear or doubt and fight until the last.  Soon the four moons would come up as mourners for the thousands of dead.

Shaela dismounted from her great steed and cheerfully bellowed a victory cry to her squadmates. In one hand, she held the lance the Clazca gave her, and in the other, the head of an Imperial officer, his face distorted in terror.

‘Hey, y’all – get a load o’ this!’
 she shouted, holding up her trophies. Naked save for a tiny loincloth to stop the saddle chafing, her tall, bronzed body daubed in tribal woad and spattered with the blood of her enemies, her pendant breasts bare.  On her belly, somehow blending into the war-paint and the gore, was the most primal totem of all, the Alderaani phoenix that we all wore.  She posed and hollered; they took pictures of her, to send back to her husband. I reminded myself this was an ordinary rancher’s wife, a bush pilot who had no special reason to hate the Imperium. But this must have been her wildest fantasy; becoming the bloody warrior-queen of a savage people, going into battle naked and spilling rivers of Imperial blood.

I reminded myself we were the ‘good guys’.”

From the memoirs of Commander Karae Palladane, leader of the Crimson Phoenix Special Forces Squadron, Alliance of Independent Systems

 

“I recall ‘Operation Shadowpoint’ with fondness.  It was where it all started, really, how we came of age as a band of sisters.  I had just taken over in the wake of Yos Kalina’s death and the debacle of Operation Shellcracker. Tallisibeth had steadied the ship, callow as she was then, but they all seemed relieved when I arrived.  I felt ready for Special Forces command again, after so long in charge of capital ships.   I wanted to feel ‘messy’ again, to get my hands dirty.  Be careful what you wish for.

The Imperial Civil War had started to escalate – this was just before the Confederacy showed its hand, before the Jedi arrived from their two-decade exile. It was still a ‘cold war’ in most places, but the factions had begun to tear at one another like wounded, hungry dogs. Onderon was in the Mid-Rim, strategically important and Imperial rule here was fragile.  Moff Lasre Dardano was a Tarkin loyalist, but he had been weakened by infighting with other Imperial groups, and there was good reason to believe the Emperor had cut him loose.  Admiral Corlen, who ranked highly in their 'progressive' anti-Tarkin faction, was pressing him hard. High Command had identified Onderon as an ideal target for conquest, and we went in with the first wave. 

Our spies had identified a secret base, a listening post of sorts codenamed ‘Whisper’. We did not know it then, but that was to be our home for most of the Galactic War. I led Crimson Phoenix on our first real sortie; we hit hard and fast, taking the base with minimal casualties.  From there, the real work of Shadowpoint began; the invasion of Onderon.  While the fleets gathered, we did everything we could to strengthen our beach-head, and undermine the enemy.  We made contact with local smugglers, guerrilla groups, any kind of malcontent with an axe to grind.  The Professor and her team upgraded the base defences and the craft we found there,  and we started buying up more vehicles, walkers and small ships, all of which she worked on personally.  Akanah led scouting parties and met with clandestine spies and deep-cover agents in the main city of Iziz. She hit the Imperials where she could; assassinations and sabotage, her usual weapons of choice. Tallisibeth was in charge of gathering revenue and using propaganda against the Imperial rule, spreading dissent through the Holonet and supporting rebel groups and dissidents.  

We were careful, but Dardano couldn’t ignore what was happening at his base.  His own enemies in the Imperium were pressuring him, and we got news he was preparing to throw everything at us, to secure Iziz and make a last-ditch attempt to resist the invading fleets.  We prepared for the worst, expecting whatever forces he could withdraw from the civil conflict – plenty of fighter craft, legions of stormtroopers, and dozens of ATAT walkers.  I wasn’t overly troubled; we had gathered many allies and were defending a fortified position. Some of us had hundreds of confirmed kills to our name, and above all, we had the Emergent graduates. Anything less than a capital ship wasn’t going to pose a problem, and by the time their blockade set up, the fleet would be here. All we had to do was hold out, and we were more than ready, thanks to our earlier efforts.  

There are many stories to tell about those days, many of them still classified.  But you wanted to know about that picture, and the Clazca beast-riders? Everyone always wants to know about the tribals.  We made all kinds of outreach to criminal bands, smugglers, rebel fighters, and smaller pockets of resistance in the small townships and hinterlands of the Iziz colony. But Onderon is also famed for its great beasts, and the tribal humans who ride them. We made contact with several of the tribes, among them the Dor-drel, Amroth and Ezelk. But the friendliest were the Clazca, and they felt the strongest about the Imperial presence too. For some time, Tallisbeth and her protocol teams spent time learning their culture and language, and teaching them Galactic Basic, establishing trade and offering medicine and other kinds of Alliance assistance. I felt uneasy in involving the tribes in our battles; we were asking folk with spears to go up against battalions of stormtroops and ATATs.  But to be fair, using primitives against the Imperium is a tactic that has worked before…

We presented ourselves as the greatest warriors of the Alliance, and some of us undertook many rigorous challenges.  Shaela in particular excelled at these; something in these people struck a deep chord with her, and she relished every moment of the trials.  We engaged in hunts, honour duels, sorties against Imperial targets and rival tribes.  In time, most of the tribes were brought under the Alliance banner.  Their mount of choice were the Rupings; great reptilian things like winged krayts, with two sets of eyes and a vicious maw.  These creatures were naturally feral, but the Clazca trained them from birth, and mastery of the beasts was a sign of great honour among them. At certain times in its orbit, the 'demon moon' Dxun was close enough to share an atmosphere with Onderon, and you could literally fly a ruping across the great divide.  Shaela grew up on somewhere called ‘Saxet’, a nowhere colony that doesn’t even show up on any star maps,  but she spent her youth flying skyhoppers and the various beasts that lived in the desert.  The rupings yielded easily to her will, and this was before her Force-talents were known and she had Emergent training. There was a wild aspect to Shae, for all I asked for her in the Phoenix because of her professionalism.  Here, she gave it full reign; she could fight and fuck like any of their tribal chiefs, and she fell in love with their lifestyle.  They fell in love with her too, this bronzed, Amazonian goddess who could tame the wildest ruping and the boldest warrior alike.

Come the battle, I was reluctant to risk the ruping-riders, but our need was great.  If we could disable the ATATs and fighter craft, they could have free reign attacking the enemy generators and the heavy weapon encampments.  Dardano landed with full force, at the head of his army, in his personal walker. We feinted, and retreated, drawing them out onto the plains, falling back in what he imagined was a hopeless defence. No weapons we had could really dent the armour of the big walkers, so we let them come to us.  The sky buzzed with TIE fighters, and watching the imperial armour advance, so slowly, in the afternoon sun was absolutely chilling.  Many quailed, especially those who did not know what we had planned.

It was an open plain; they knew they were invulnerable, there was no terrain we could use against the awkward, yet powerful, battle walkers. I led a small squadron of fighters, our best men in the circumstances, to fight with the TIEs and run the barrage of walker fire. It was all a diversionary tactic; high on the rise, out of range of accurate walker fire, Jaleela and the Professor joined hands, cobalt blue light coursing where their fingers met.  I watched sweat drip from them as they gathered their energies, manoeuvres practised a hundred times before.  All they needed was line of sight. I knew what would happen next, and I recalled thinking that whatever gods the Imperials worshipped should have mercy on their souls.  Indigo energy illuminated the overcast skies.  Some of the leading ATATs were flung into the air, up into the clouds. Dardano’s wingmen were hefted high and flung against the unforgiving ground, like toys cast aside by an angry child.  A wave of telekinetic energy tore through them, hurling one walker against another, their ungainly legs splintering under the pressure. A smaller wave struck, the pressure was telling on our Emergents. But even that was enough to topple the vast armoured platforms, their pilots fighting for control in vain as the metal giants listed and crashed to the ground.

Only the Moff’s walker stood, now isolated, and I’d have liked to have seen the panic on his face as his craft was lifted by an invisible hand, and pitched forward amidst the carnage, the head crashing into the ground, the legs sundering under its own great weight. The cream of the invasion force lay on the plain like so many shattered toys.

We hit back, engaging the fighters, giving it everything we had.  Every so often, an enemy craft would be surrounded by cracking blue energy, and be dashed to the ground with obscene force. When I felt enough air superiority had been established, I gave the order for the Ruping flights to begin their assault.  First the gunnery emplacements were torn apart by savage barbarians and slavering winged dragons, and then they dived on the legions of stormtroops, now hesitantly bringing up the rear in the wake of the walker devastation. Our mismatched fighter squadrons picked off the scout walkers and vehicles; the infantry and the rupings did the rest. The carnage was glorious. Shae was at its heart – I really could have used her in a cockpit, but this was her wildest fantasy come true, and I wasn’t about to spoil that for her. Besides, she led the ruping riders with aplomb.  They took losses, but no stormtrooper armour can protect against a lance from the saddle, let along the slavering jaws of a hungry behemoth.

I flew down to the remains of Dardano’s fallen walker, and found him still alive, though sorely wounded.  He tried to convince me he would change sides, help the Alliance, but I didn’t believe him.

“I’m sorry, general,” I said, as I drew my sidearm.  And I meant it, even as I pulled the trigger. I spoke into my commlink, without enthusiasm, giving the final order.

“Take no prisoners.”

 

That night, we celebrated on the high tree-platforms of the Clazca warrior camps. The rupings were glutted with fresh meat; they do not care if it comes from humans or clones. Fermented ale ran like a river, there was singing and dancing, and – with the younglings all far below in the tribal camps – mating and debauchery.  I would be lying if I said I did not indulge. I think only Tallisibeth remained above it, sober and reflecting.  But then she, out of all of us, wanted something better, was fighting for a better life, a better galaxy.  The rest of us were just… fighting. Because it was the only thing we knew.  The Alliance has always been my life, since I was a cadet twenty years ago.  My daughter deserves to grow in a world filled with peace, but what could that world offer me, or someone like Jaleela Djalla? Where would Akanah be without intrigue?  I’ve seen the light in the Professor’s eyes every time an Imperial craft blows apart; she can never go back to her college, never relent in her vengeance for her lost love. Shae says she wants to go home when the war is won,  but watching her that night – on her knees, her ass in the air, her heavy breasts bouncing as the most favoured of the Clazca warriors ploughed her like a mare – I rather doubted it.  This war defined who were are, what we do, why we live. And the symbol goes deeper than the mark upon our flesh.  

I reminded myself we were the ‘good guys’.

Sometimes it even works.” 


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