Story:The Skies Over Foamwander

Foamwander lays, resplendant in that it has remained, for the majority, untouched by the civil war that has rocked the planet for months. Civil patrol units on their routes. Civillians going about their business. Until alarm klaxons begin blaring, warning the Mon Calamari, and Quarren, in the city of impending danger. Time creeping on, as tension starts to rise within the bounderies.

For the Republic forces, the sound of the alarm is an unwelcome one and the mentality of those present immediately changes from one of placid alertness to the frenzied acuity of an animal that knows that danger is just around the bend. For Galatea, the post in this city was meant to be one of active relaxation - unofficially a break from the front lines where the 224th were actively pursuing aggressive Quarren forces. For the combat medic, the alarm signalled a divide in the monotony and a resurgence of energy. She revelled in combat. The elegance, the activity and the challenge of deflecting a physical assault was her element. She is in a small squad, much like most of the other members of the Republic forces. Patrolling the city as if it were subject to martial law. For the most part, the citizenry had gotten used to the idea and business went on as usual. Now, most have gone indoors to various safe areas. Galatea presses her middle and forefinger to the side of her helmet to supress the din of the alarm and take new orders.

Colonel Marxis Vrankeen looks up from the hologrid to find a blinking red spot at the edge of his vision. An attack. They weren't ready for a force of this scale and the comlines were already flooded with messages from squad captains asking for orders to the issue. Straightening from his hunched position, the man eyes the grid.

"Orders sir?" A subordinate questions at a control kiosk, waiting for the Colonel to come to a decision.

"How much time do we have?" Marxis questions, rubbing his chin as he mulls over statistical data in his head. He dispenses with the inconvenience of rank and file mannerisms.

"30 minutes. We're not sure how large the force is but it's definitely larger than what we have stationed on the planet. Not to mention the space that we'd need to cover to mount an effective defense against the brunt of the attack."

Marxis considers this for a moment and then allows his hand to fall to the control panel.

"Send a distress signal. It's obvious we can't hope to meet the attackers head on and break the coming wave. "Have each squad and their leader garrison themselves where they can. Our assailants can't afford to destroy the whole city. Have our armories emptied of any explosive devices we have available and boobie trap as much of the city as possible. It's likely we won't be able to do anything but delay until reinforcements arrive."

The instructions are relayed and Galatea nods to no one in particular, checking the map on her HUD. "We're too far to load up," the combat medic says to the rest of her squad mates in clipped words. A quick glance about the surroundings and she finds a suitable place to hunker down. A smaller building with relatively thick plasteel walls. "Take every grenade, claymore and detpack you have and pepper this place with traps. We may accidentally kill some stragglers and damage some buildings but we have no choice. We'll hold out in that building." She points at the spot with an outstretched hand and unclips her carbine with the other, holding it with muzzle facing the ground and hanging at her thigh. "You have 15 minutes." The rest of the squad nod in unison and begin unpacking.

Following the initial alarms, a Lamda class assault shuttle comes blazing in low over the horizon. Firing a couple of preemptory shots into a nearby square to clear himself a path. The pilot deftly brings the shuttle into a huddle before slowly setteling onto is newly created landing site. Just before the struts touch down, the shimmer of shields disappear from the shuttle, and the ramp begins to lower. As the struts touch down, Daxin follows a squad of white clad Stormtroopers down the ramp. He stops near the bottom, taking cover behind the landing strut.

Following the initial alarms, a Lamda class assault shuttle comes blazing in low over the horizon. Firing a couple of preemptory shots into a nearby square to clear himself a path. He slows as he approaches the city, taking the time to fire a few shots into the point defences stationed around the city. He heads to the center of town, looking to see if he can find the target coordinates.

As the blasters on the shuttle containing TK-4469 fire, the green trooper shudders. Not one of those oh crap shudders, but one of anticipation. This is his first time and blood begins rising, he can hear his heart rate in his ears, all the signs of 'trooper fever'.


 * How much longer til we land, Sir?** He squaks in a shaky voice over the squad comm.

With the stretch of the short thirty minutes, the preperatations, and the strain on those not used to combat and it's problems there comes a lull, even with the alarm ringing. Broken only when the screech of tie craft becomes audible over the city. In the northeastern quadrant, Interceptor class craft pour in, full flight squadrons bearing the insignia of of Black and Rapier squadrons. Green coherant light beams screeching in their all to recognizeable tone in raking patterns across any visible NR or city patrol defense locations, as well as to hunt for NR fighter support. And shortly behind those come the more baritone howl of Scimitar class assault bombers.

"Lieutenant Daxin, air screen is in place, await orders to begin drop, start with armor, then move in infantry." TK-4461 looks towards the other troopers contained within the Lambda Transport with him. Answering 4469 as well as addressing the others; "Your drop locations are likely to be hotter than Ryloth's sunside. Keep to your squads, keep in active communication, and you -will- survive this encounter." he turns back to a display panel, hand gripping a cieling hangstrap like iron.

Y-86 Titan and Theta AT-AT Barges decend behind the Tie Screens, sensors showing the HIMS Prowler and Sentinal can be seen dropping from low travel orbit. Commander Rall taking in her situation and opening a holo communique to Commander Kesk in the Pillager near her starboard side. "Prepare batteries for anti-air fire, until we know for certain we can focus on ground operations..." turbo laser batteries throwing detrimental fire into the air to try and scare out Republic craft, as well as sending barraging blasts into the city itself.

Colonel Marxis watches the dance of blips and blops across his holoscreen with practiced solidarity. His analytical mind crunches numbers and considers avenues that no machine could ever hope to replicate given the uncanny prescience biological experience and training could bestow on the leaders of military forces. Marxis' abilities could be the crucible on which the NR might be able to break the back of assailants - or it could spell their doom. He had given up including that fact in his decisions long ago; that was why he was sitting in the thick, shielded bunker instead of carrying a carbine outside. The mule was worth far more than the wolf. Intelligence was far harder to come by than strength. His hard eyes drift to the collection of green dots just outside of the city, flying low and inconspiculously over rocky terrain. Pulling his lips into a straight line, Marxis addresses the individual behind the comline.

"Get markers on known landing points and let's find out where those enemy troops are moving. I need densities. Have our infantry stay out of sight. Make sure that armor is camoflauged or hidden if possible. Air support is to be on standby."

The subordinate nods and relays the information over a secure channel.

Imperial air support does not find any resisitance in the city and is instead met with nothing more than relatively empty streets. Civilians have been corraled into bunkers or basements where they'd be relatively safe. The Republic guard waits.

Galatea peaks out from a thick block of concrete and peers up into the sky watching interceptors and arbitrary fire grace the sky like fireworks. The combat medic doesn't appreciate beauty. Turning to the rest of her squad, she offers one last nod of encouragement and crouches down with her head pressed up against the wall and carbine at the ready. Her breathing is steady, quiet; her mind clear and knowing of what was about to occur. She almost grins.

Daxin pilots his shutle to the south edge of town. Not meeting any hard resistance other than small arms fire, the shimmer of shields disappear from around the shuttle. Wings still locked in flight mode, he appears to be reconoitering at this point, waepons still putting out the random red burst of laser energy.

Moving with the sway of the ship, TK-4461 frowns beneath his helmet. As the Ties continue their sweeps, the DX-9 shuttles and armor transports begin to touch down. Shield systems coming offline as they prepare to disgorge their compliments. At least it would seem as such, until, escorted by the advance of the Corvettes come two new waves, to the direct west and south of the tie approach. One of which reconnoitering where the Lambda shuttle has moved to hover, hatches opening on the sides of some of the barges to unleash a torrent of Scout Troopers mounted on their Z-47 speederbikes, dropping in scatter formation. "Lieutenant you may begin your landing now. Muster with the other infantry craft." The newly arrived barges start to drop first, sides opening wider to allow A9 Flying Fortresses to emerge, flanked by AT-ST and AT-AA armor support.

"The majority of the assailing forces have appeared to have landed, sir." He looks over his shoulder to make sure that the Colonel has absorbed what he has said. It wasn't entirely abnormal for a commander to get lost in their minds, lulled to a trance state by the soft march of colors across the holoscreen and the gravity of what they were responsible for.

Marxis nods his acknowledgement, his unblinking gaze not breaking away from the screen. As reports come in, the screen gets more and more populated by red dots of varying size and description. There was an odd attraction to seeing the battlefield paint itself on the screen. A collection of individuals working off of individual information with collective goals made for a curious tapestry.

"Call in our air support. When they're within a couple kilometers from the landing zones unveil our artillery and focus on those corvettes and the interceptors. I want our bombers free to blanket those landing spots in flame." Marxis pierces the image with his finger placing rally points and targets that would be relayed to the NR forces. "Have infantry move to higher ground and use whatever remaining munitions that have to take out the scouts. Have them stay covered. We're not trying to be heroes here, we're trying to hold them off until we get reinforcements." The comlines are a flurry of activity once again.

With new orders received, Galatea turns to the squad and nods, confirming her acceptance. The other three members of the squad immediately get up and track their way up the building's floors to give them a better vantage point to take on whatever speeders and forward infantry have made it to their position. They hunker down on the third floor. High enough to provide advantage but low enough that they'd survive a jump - even if it they wouldn't feel to good after it. All that remained was to wait until something came into view.

The squads closer to the landing points come out of hiding, and start aiming at the perimeters to try and slow the advance of landing troops.

The landing craft under the north eastern screen of fighters remain closed, no activity whatsoever for the moment. But at the western and southern ridges, the movements continue to flourish. Stormtrooper squad after squad marching off of the transport shuttles, with Floating Fortresses pushing the line of scrimmage with AT-STs pounding weaponsfire into buildings and the ground. Scout troopers whirl past through the air, taking in recon information.

"Advance slowly, they'll use Rebel tactics as ever, scout for traps and keep losses to a minimum for now. Captain Mungral, maintain your push east, and we will start our advance north..." Sensors for the NR counting somewhere around an entire cohort of Stormtroopers alone at each drop point, with a score of AT-AA and ST providing armor support on either end, and a quintet of Floating Fortresses for ground fire support.

The Pillager then opens up with the Maurauder's feared form of assault, Diamond-Boron missile launchers throwing out flak and anti-personel missiles, their groupings respectfully going to the air and land per their type.

"Squads One through Four, move in your assigned directions, and be prepared for our other little suprise..." rushing down the ramp with his own squad, blaster at the ready.

Tarps laden with optical imagery are pulled back from AA cannons and infantry load up personal rocket launchers in an attempt to clear a path for the bombing squads that are pulling into space where sensors will not have a hard time picking them up. For all intents and purposes, the squadron has been split up into two and intend to criss-cross across the city to try and take a chunk out of the enemy while they were more or less in the same place. It was a suicide run to some degree, where the ships would be put at incredible risk but some gambit was being made on confusing the enemy enough with the sudden inclusion of artillery fire coupled with the republic fighters spearheading the event. Annihilation wasn't the objective, instead the NR army wished to wound and harm as many infantry as possible. For this, they had loaded up with napalm-like weapons designed to melt through armor and flesh without putting the civilians bunkered away at risk. It was far easier to clean up that the debris left from explosions. A ship or two within each group are armed with EMP-type armaments, intending to disable as much armor and machinery as possible.

The fighters accelerate ahead as the cachunk-cachunk of artillery pistons driving high velocity energy projectiles try and cover the sky with flack and drive a wedge into the Imperial air line. Within moments, if all went well, the bombing squads would make a sweep over the most dense areas they could see on their sensors, filling the street with magnetic pulses and rolling fire.

Air assaults from the long time used former rebel tactics was expected. And while losses to flak from the fighters may be noteworthy, and there will be no shortage of ground injuries from such a movement. The use of AT-AA units comes into full circle. Their massive missile batteries swiveling to throw flechette and energy flak into the to blunt the bombing run forces. With the ground towers firing against them, the Tie units begin to pull up, heading skyward to get out of range and behind cloud cover, the Scimitar classes leading the retreat whilst the Corellian Class Prowler and the Maurauder Pillager open up fully with their arsenal of anti-fighter weaponry, all but elevation maintaining thrusters taken offline to provide shield power. Still, weapons do break through, cutting scores into the ships hulls, forcing them to back off as well, to make a place between the landing forces.

The north eastern landing craft still do nothing... they don't even have anti-air. All that they do is detonate violently with the coming of the bomber forces. A decoy to draw off fire.