Star Wars, The Cooper Chronicle's, Book 1: The Rise

Chapter 21: Hiigaran Assault

Jerome: Well, certainly would be nice letting the boys upstairs know I'm alive.

He said, chuckling while leaning back, bouncing along with the unpaved road as the truck rolled on. The ride left the young man's eyes to wander towards the other soldiers, holding a mixture of blasters and slug throwers. They each wore the same egalitarian armor many of the terrain sector militaries wore. However, unlike the standard dark green or tan most took, their armor was a dark shade of blue upon the metal plates and with grey underlining on their ASUs.

The roar of artillery batteries firing off another salvo signaled the truck coming to a stop as they pulled into a clearing. The rest of the convoy pulling up alongside the first, dispelling their cargo of men and supplies. Gesturing with her head, the young man followed Stella as they disembarked, forging their way through the trampled overgrowth towards a large tent. A radio antenna sprouted from the center of it, like a metal tree among the grove surrounding the camp as they pushed through the waving flaps, Stella marched into the buzzing nexus, the young commander and his droid on her heels.

Stella: 2nd Mechanized Infantry reporting, what's the situation?

She called out, eyes darting around the cramped space before landing upon an older gentleman in his early fifties, a cigar held delicately between his teeth as he gazed up at the new arrivals from a large sprawling Holotable.

John: Colonel John Avery, and it's a hell in a handbasket. Droids have fortified around the hill and making probing attacks against whatever we throw at them. The defenders holding up inside have yet to signal in... and we assume that the manor's been breached. Who's the kid?

He addressed, rolling his cigar to the other corner of his mouth with a raised brow as Jerome stepped forth.

Jerome: Jerome Cooper, commander of the 717th Clone Attack Battalion. We had a slight hyperspace miscalculation, forced to crash after taking fire, sir.

John: I expected Republic command to send aid, but never this quickly. Well, we'll need all the help we can get, especially with the reports of their commander on the deck.

He grumbled, gesturing the two officers while pulling up a smaller map than what had been displayed upon arrival. Shown in soft blue light was the current state of the mansion. Sat atop a massive hill that plateaued near the top, droid forces were spread out. Fortified positions made at both the foot and apex, heavy armor set up with clear lines of sight of the open field and what forest there was left as wildfires slowly burned on all but one approach, leaving little room for attackers to hide in a frontal assault. Glancing over the map, Jerome rubbed his chin; mild discomfort wormed into his forethought as he spoke.

Jerome: You said there were reports of their commander on the deck? Any idea who it could be?

John: Indeed, said it was a woman wielding a dual red blade. Ring any bells?

Jerome: Sadly.

Jerome cursed under his breath, his hand falling to his father's lightsaber, tracing the curve of its bony ornament as he surveyed the map again.

Jerome: What's the status of your artillery?

John: Hitting everything that leaves their perimeter, but we can't hit too close without risking the Senator's life.

Stella: Which means we run our men into a suicidal charge or do nothing and let the defenders inside the mansion be slaughtered, if they haven't been already.

Crossing her arms, the woman sternly gazed at the projection, John simply shifting in his seat as he took out his cigar and tapped the ash off the tip.

John: Quite the predicament.