9

Varrus spent the last two weeks in hyperspace heading toward Balmorra with a relief fleet.

While he wasn't flying in a Dreadnought or other capital ship, the Gage-class transport vessel Deliverance, served his needs more than enough.

He spent that time in an almost constant state of meditation, and a feedback loop of injecting lightning into the Force Sword, then shocking himself to trigger the Absorption.

While he practiced this training method, he would often do it in front of the troops. It looked funny, but the purpose of this training was to practice his Battle Meditation.

Within the enormous cargo bay which had been converted into troop barracks, Varrus sat at the front of a large crowd.

His Hymn echoed across the cavernous hall, infecting the minds of his subordinates, and inundating them with Dark Side energies.

With but a thought, he could direct one of them to jump head first into a blaster bolt, and they would do so with a smile.

These slaves were easily acquired, all he needed to do was put in a word, and DN-UTZ had taken care of it.

While Varrus had been busy training with Vowrawn, he had tasked Traga un-Vhol with whipping up another crowd of slaves into Sith cultists.

The unhealthily gray-pale man was surprisingly charismatic, and in the course of a week had turned those who could be turned, and discarded the rest.

Traga's martial skills weren't half bad for a non-Force sensitive, but Varrus could recognize talent when he saw it.

It was like the real world. The average accountant wasn't a UFC fighter, but that didn't mean that the UFC fighter didn't value his accountant.

Likewise, Varrus didn't need a blunt instrument to lead from the front when he had an effective organizer to motivate the meat grinder cannon fodder to soak up any damage.

Unlike the main characters of SWTOR, Varrus wasn't confident he could infiltrate any compound or fortress at will with nothing more than a companion or two. Oh, and casually slay a Jedi Master or Darth like it was nobody's business. Then slip out as if nothing happened.

Yeah, no. Jedi Master's and Darth level Sith were seriously strong for the moment.

He would much rather follow in Zap Brannigan's footsteps, and send in wave after wave of men supplemented by elites.

For example, the Unchained numbered in the tens of thousands, and were armed with simple blasters, thermal detonators, and not much else.

However, Varrus was also in possession of several squads of MK-I and II Imperial battle droids, twenty two walkers similar in make to the AT-ST, twelve hover tanks, various air assets, and a handful of Vowrawn's Sith training droids.

Balmorra had been a sore spot for the Sith over the entire 10 year Cold War period.

This mission of Vowrawn's was on paper, to reclaim an abandoned chip factory vital to the Empire's networks and infrastructure.

In reality, Varrus was expected to decimate the resistance, and any Republic forces hiding within their ranks.

Frankly speaking, Varrus wasn't deploying with all that much considering he wanted to squash a well armed, and numerically superior force.

However, that was the point. If he could win a major victory with such reduced forces, then that would elevate his role on the Galactic Stage.

Electricity arced around him as the anticipation within him built up to a crescendo.

"My Lord, we are about to depart hyperspace, a word if you will."

Standing across from Varrus was Captain Riggs, a man short in stature, and a career officer.

Riggs was a veteran of the Great War, and was firmly within Vowrawn's pocket.

Varrus gently ended the Hymn so as not to cause confusion within the ranks, then followed Riggs to the war room just beside the bridge.

Within the war room were a few junior officers, and a central hologram depicting Balmorra.

"Final preparations are underway to complete the plan. Our squadrons are ready for take off at any time. All that remains is to have the soldiers board the landing craft my Lord." Riggs handed Varrus a data slate which depicted the predetermined flight paths and formation for troop deployment.

Varrus scanned the plan once more, and reached out to the Force to receive an opinion. He was no military tactician, and relied upon these career officers to help make the plans.

When the Force didn't send any negative vibes, Varrus signed off on the tablet, and handed it back to the officer.

"Good work Captain. Should this deployment plan of yours prove successful, I shall put in a good word with Lord Vowrawn." Varrus smiled.

What went unsaid, and was known by both men, was that should the plan go catastrophically sideways, the Captain would be held accountable. It was a shitty system that fostered a culture of fear amongst officers.

In Varrus's opinion, it was a shame that the officers were expected to win every time, or face possible demotion, death or Exile.

Some of Earth's mightiest generals underwent grueling defeats, only to take those lessons, and become the grandest of conquerors.

"Forgive my candor my Lord, I have made note of the soldiers readiness. My Lord, give me a month, and we could train them into a decent fighting force. Balmorra is ours, we face no imminent threat, I implore you." Briggs spoke up.

Varrus smiled in response, but chose not to verbally answer.

This is what Varrus liked about the Captain. He wasn't afraid to speak up. Briggs was also fortunate that Varrus didn't get his rocks off by shocking people.

Advice and criticism were a pain in the ass sometimes, but it would be immature of him not to at least consider someone else's word.

"You will hear of my success by the end of the day." Varrus said, then strode out of the conference room.

Alarms blared within the confines of the Resistance base, Outpost Victory stationed within Ghost Town.

Awakened from his slumber, General Aakars was already in his armor when he rushed to the operations room.

He was met with a flurry of activity as soldiers analyzed launch trajectories, and directed squads to their battlestations.

"Status report." Aakars demanded of his officer.

"Sir! An Imperial fleet just jumped out of hyperspace, and has launched an immediate attack on our position! Probing orbital strikes have damaged our bunkers in grid position 254355, reports indicate negative losses. However, structure integrity has been reduced to 68%. Additionally, a missile barrage is inbound, ETA 5 minutes!"

"We've trained for this Ensign, are the countermeasures in place?"

"Yes sir, all squads have been deployed per your instruction. Tibbana gas reserves are holding steady at 77%. Anti-missile and air support systems have been deployed. Shield generators have reached capacity, and the blast doors have been sealed." The Ensign clicked away at her computer as she went down the list.

"I want the number and make of their fleet Ensign. Do we have an ID on the vessels, and any idea as to who is in command?" Aakars approached the command table, and read the live feed while he waited for the Ensigns response.

"Sir, the enemy fleet composition consists of three Gage-class troop transports! Eighty F-T2 Quell fighters, Twelve B-4D Legion bombers, Six GSS-Mangler gunships, and Thirty VT-22 troop transports are inbound!"

"And the leader?"

"The SIS has this on file. It says here he graduated from the academy on Dromund Kaas last month." The Ensign pulled up a blurry screenshot of a Pureblood Sith.

"So the Sith are trying to blood their young before all out war begins, eh? Not on my watch. Ensign!"

"Sir!"

"Scramble the fighters, raise the shields, deploy mines in Sector Besh, Gord, and Helios. Launch our missile batteries, and get me a line with the Jedi!"

The Ensign nodded, then pressed a button to be heard across all friendly signals.

"This is callsign Overlord speaking. All forces, enact Code: Righteous Hawk, I repeat, all forces enact Code: Righteous Hawk. Check in."

"Falcon-1, standing by!"

"Hornet-5, standing by!"

"Wolfstag- 3, standing by!"

Dozens of units confirmed their position, and readiness.

"This is General Aakars speaking, let those Sith'Spit bastards know who they're dealing with! Give'em hell boys! For Balmorra! For the Republic!"

"Hu-ah!"

The hum of the troop transport ship was a steady comfort to Traga as they departed the command vessel.

Even though he was separated from the master, he could still hear his beautiful song.

When the ship shook, and took on fire, he wasn't afraid. Should death take him, he knew he would become one with the Force.

When master Krawl offered him a place by his side, Traga knew that he had the opportunity for greatness.

Eventually, when they landed, and the hangar doors opened to the pale yellow, chem diluted light of Balmorra Traga knew that this is where he belonged.

Fighting for his master's cause.

The Dark Side of the Force was like a beacon, calling out to him. And with the master backing him, he could spread this message to his brothers and sisters.

And what a beautiful message it was! He couldn't help but speak of it.

"Stand strong my brethren! Freedom from oppression. Freedom from pain, self doubt, and worry! This is the promise of the Force! To freedom!" Traga raised his gun in the air, and was the first to charge out.

He was met by blaster fire, and the sight of a wrecked industrial city.

"Freedom!" They chanted, and followed in his footsteps.

Traga felt them through the song. Oh what beautiful music they would create today!

Varrus sat hidden behind a blown out apartment complex.

Intense artillery and blaster fire rocked the city, and shattered the buildings that had been broken upon the Imperial's first invasion.

But Varrus paid the outside conflict no mind.

Instead, he focused entirely on his Battle Meditation.

The screams, the pain, the zealous determination of his men. It all funneled into Varrus's psyche.

Channeling those deep emotions, Varrus acted as a generator, and empowered those connected to him to perform superhuman feats.

A squad of fifteen Unchained charged through a Hail of blaster fire toward a bunker. The average man could sustain one or two blasts to their armor before going down, injured or dead.

The Unchained however moved as if possessed. It took four, sometimes five shots before one would go down.

By the time the remaining three surviving members reached the bunker, they tossed their grenades inside, clearing out the Resistance forces.

All across the battlefield, similar cases would occur. Suicidal cultists would overwhelm their enemies with fervent resolve.

"That grenade is mine!" One Unchained jumped atop a thermal detonator, and blocked the explosion at the cost of his life.

Gore and melted bone bits splashed his squad.

"He's one with the Force now, who will join him next?!" The squad leader shouted in jubilation as he shoved his blaster into an enemies face.

"Freedom!"

Striding down a narrow rubble strewn street, an Imperial Walker pinned down a group of Resistance fighters.

Lasers pinged off its black scorched armor, but otherwise failed to penetrate it.

"Take down that chicken-walker Soto!"

"On it Lieutenant Krease!"

"Firing!"

The low thoomp of Soto's rocket launcher scored a direct hit on the walker. It burst into flames, and careened into a nearby squad.

"Yeah, kriff those Imps!" The squad cheered.

"It's not over yet, we got Screamers 10 o'clock!" Krease spotted the enemy charging through the smoke.

"Freedom!"

"Blasted cultists!" Soto muttered, then unleashed an anti personnel round into their midst.

The squad followed up with a torrent of bolts into the enemy. Even when they went down, the Resistance forces didn't let up.

"Check your fire, check your fire, Force dammit!!" Krease yelled. He slapped a man on the back of his helmet when he disobeyed orders.

He couldn't blame them. Damn Screamer's sometimes played dead, only to run again. Everyone was jumpy with these abnormal weirdos, but ammunition was running thin!

Krease sprinted over to the next hard point once his side had stopped shooting.

"Sergeant Husk, what's the status of our power packs?"

"Not good sir, everyone is down to 35%."

"Bantha shit, so is everyone else. Suggestions Sergeant, I need suggestions! Otherwise we're going to be forced to engage those lunatics in close combat!" Krease spit, and repeatedly pointed out toward the enemy.

"Sir, bad news sir! Sector Besh has been overrun! Captain Sagoy is dead! You're in charge of Wolfstag Battalion, sir!" The man in charge of comms came running over and saluted.

"I need a solution, Sergeant, now more than ever." Krease roared angrily to mask his panicked paranoia.

He signed up to take back his land, to fight the Imperial tyranny. But these Screamers, they ate people! People who were still living! The screams, the screams!

Krease shuddered as he recalled a recent ambush. The Screamer took his friend down right in front of him. Bit into his friend's neck, and ignored Krease. If the Screamer was sane, he would've killed both of them.

This war. It was terrifying.

A buzz from the comms interrupted his thoughts

"Wolfstag-1, Wolfstag-1, this is Overlord, how copy? Over."

Krease picked up the comms. "This is acting commander Krease, Wolfstag-2 copies, over."

A pause, then the comms resumed.

"Wolfstag-2 orders are as follows. Mobilize Wolfstag battalion to grid position 253687, repeat, mobilize to grid 253687. Await further orders, over."

"Orders confirmed. Over."

Krease opened his holomap, and began to follow the coordinates the command center had directed his unit to.

"254355, that's suicide!" The Sergeant exclaimed.

"We have our orders." Krease grimly looked the man in the eye before returning back to his hardpoint to regroup.

They were sacrificial pawns sent off to buy time.

Krease gulped. He'd shoot himself before he allowed those damn cannibals a single bite!

Within the command center, a constant deluge of information and reports came to General Aakars.

"Overlord, this is Victor-3, We're being overrun! Victor's-1, 2, 4, and 5 are FUBAR! Requesting Danger Close grid position 254355! I repeat, requesting Danger Close, grid position 254355!" Victor-3 shouted in a panic.

"Solid copy Victor-3." The Ensign replied in a composed voice as she directed units to provide fire support.

The shake of artillery fire soon followed the command. Observing the feed, Aakars noted the destruction of the unit assaulting Victor-3.

However, the northern flank was beginning to collapse with the loss of Victor battalion.

"Whisky-1, Whisky-2, Whisky-3 set a defensive line at grid position 254350, how copy? Over."

"Overlord. Whisky-2, Whisky-3, solid copy. Over."

The silence of Whisky-1 sent a brief chill within all present at the command center.

"Good hunting Whisky-2, Whisky-3." The Ensign said in a composed tone of voice.

But Aakars could see her nerves begin to be rattled.

Aakars rubbed his chin, that reinforcement would solve the issue in the north. For a time at least. The problem however, was the east.

The feed showed a relentless bomber campaign pounding their shields on the east side. Cultists repeatedly ran into mine fields, clearing the way for APC's and other light armored vehicles. Additionally, four Imperial walkers were almost within breaching distance of the shields.

They would enter their shield line sometime within the next ten minutes. Their bunkers would stand no chance against the heavy firepower of the walker's missiles and heavy turbolasers.

Aakars drummed his hand on the table in thought.

"Contact! The Sith have made an appearance on Stink Street! I repeat, the Sith have auuurah!"

"Sir, contact with Falcon-1 has been cut! Visual feeds monitoring the situation confirm, there is one Sith leading the eastern front!" The Ensign pulled up the screen and zoomed in.

Countless cultists ran in front of the Sith, blocking the blaster shots. Then the Sith shocked a cultist who was engaged in melee combat with a Resistance fighter. The lightning continued in a chain, and fried an entire squad of Resistance fighters.

"Give me some good news Ensign, how is Knight Noom's operation going?" Aakars questioned.

"Sir, Knight Noom has cleared the west side, and is moving to reinforce the east!" The Ensign held her earpiece, and turned to inform Aakars.

"Very good Ensign, order our reserves to mount a counter attack! We're going all out in our support of Knight Noom! Take down the head of the snake, and the body will wither!"

"Yes sir!"

Aakars noted the chipper tone in her voice, and the enthusiasm in her movements.

He only wished he could match her jubilation.

The strong front he presented just now was nothing but a ruse.

In reality, the western line may have had the largest elements of Imperial armor, but it was nothing more than a time sink.

While the Jedi was busy taking care of their heavy firepower, countless fanatical cultists swarmed their eastern position.

"May the Force be with us." Aakars muttered to himself.