The planet Brentaal IV sat at the intersection of two of the core's
most vital hyperspace routes: the Hydian Way and the Perlemian Trade
Route. Tens of thousands of ships ranging from massive Imperial warships
to small freighters passed through the system daily and at the heart of
it was the spaceport in the capital city of Cormond. The large circular
structure had hundreds of spokes extending from it, each one able to
accommodate the docking of up to a dozen vessels of different shapes and
sizes. Operated by the Ringali Shell Security Force the mammoth
structure handled hundreds of arrivals and departures each hour. The
Galactic Empire attempted to scan what vessels it could, but a lack of
resources ultimately led to a lackadaisical job being performed. Night
had fallen on the city and civilian traffic had begun to grind to a halt
and larger freighters had begun taking up turns in the docking queue.
There were a number of RSSF agents and Imperial Stormtroopers patrolling
the facility, but they were too few in number to effectively cover the
Meanwhile in space, Coda Sol had been spending the last week or so
since dropping off his stolen cargo of concussion missiles, outfitting
the White Dwarf with as much in the way of explosives as he could
scrounge and cram in to the bulk head. It turns out that the YT-2400 had
quite a bit of space for such cargo, which Coda had gleefully found out.
Of course, he had thought it imprudent to just leave all that ordinance
lying around; besides, it did not take a week for a guy to wheel a hover
loader full of explosives into a cargo bay. No, he had spent the week
finding every smuggler hatch, nook, and cranny, and packing it full with
whatever the rebel alliance could spare him and then cut a few corners
by tearing out parts of the ship that were not necessary for flight or
landing and stuffing those full of explosives too. It might not be
hyperbole to say that he had found a way to cram a ton of explosives,
that is to say, a metric ton, into various parts of the ship.
Would the ship be destroyed? Oh, you bet. Depending on where he
decided to land the ship inside the docking bay, he might even destroy
the entire platform if he was lucky. Just for safe measure he had
fiddled about with the transponder signal as well, re-naming the ship
something innocuous and mucking up the IFF signal, transmitting it
He was preparing for his final descent, further engineering some com
issues, making sure to give the new ship's call sign, the Busker,
and giving a few static-charged transmissions of his intent and cargo.
He was mostly just doing his best to frustrate the air traffic
controller until he was allotted a berth, grinning as he turned out to
be quite good at irritating those in authority.
Brentaal docking control acknowledged the signal, the IFF code having
worked successfully and failed to allow them to identify the freighter
as the vessel that blasted off Corulag some eleven days earlier. After a
moment the traffic controller cleared the ship known as the 'Busker' for
landing at Cormond's spaceport, assigning the vessel to docking arm D,
Carson had been watching the ritzy hotel for quite some time now,
waiting for just the right person to come along. It had taken four
hours, but they had finally appeared. Several hours before, he had
purchased a rather standard looking, yet expensive, handbag. That, he
thought cynically, would probably never be reimbursed by the Alliance
paymasters. He had been looking for someone who carried the same bag,
preferably very busy and talking on a comm. Business types were reliable
about that kind of thing. But then, when you wanted to find somebody
doing a certain thing, they never were there. Thus, his little four hour
escapade in front of the hotel. As he watched his new target check in,
he breathed an inward sigh of relief. Had he waited much longer, he
would have been forced to go hit the facility without this little
distraction, and that might have proved just a little more difficult
than he wanted.
Finally, he saw the opening he needed. The target set his bag on the
deck and motioned to the clerk behind the desk, then stepped off towards
the bar. Perfect.
Moving towards the desk with a purpose, Carson made a point of
looking perturbed. He approached the desk and stood next to the target's
bag, setting his down immediately beside it, and then motioned to get
the clerk's attention.
"Excuse me. My name is John Andrews, and I've got a suite reserved.
I'd like to check in, if that's not too much of a problem."
The clerk looked at him, and then back to his datapad. Punching in a
few numbers, he took on an almost convincing look of apology. "I'm
sorry, Mr. Andrews, it appears that you don't have a room here, sir."
Carson acted as though he was infuriated, and after several minutes
exchange, the security guards at the door approached him from the sides.
Feigning fear and indignation, Carson grabbed the businessman's bag,
leaving his there in its place. After being escorted out by security, he
made his way back towards his speeder.
He checked his chronometer. He had a good half hour to get to the
facility, which was pushing it a bit, but he thought that with luck and
a lack of checkpoints, he might make it. Jumping into the passenger
seat, he tapped Zek on the shoulder, indicating that it was done and
they were ready to move. As soon as they were around the corner, Carson
began changing into a different outfit, tossing the business clothes
into the back of the speeder. He would need to look like a bum for this
Aside from everything else occurring, Zek was outside keeping his
eyes peeled checking things out. He would observe the exterior inside
the speeder. He awaited for his partner to finish setting off the job.
In the meantime, he continued scanning the area for any suspicious
activity. Anything that would get the duo caught. Then when he saw
Carson, he nodded and waited for a second. Upon Carson entering the
aerial craft, he began kicking up the speeder's engines and drove down
the roads. Making a turn, he would drive behind the building in which
the Rebels had planned to bomb. Meanwhile, he parked the vehicle blocks
away. Shutting down the vehicle, he made preparations to set off a
charge incase Stormtroopers tried searching for evidence afterwards. The
detonation was in hand, but not turned on just yet. Leading away, he
glanced over to Carson. "Let's act like spicers. They'll never know what
hit'em." Emptying the vehicle, Zek had adjusted the SSK-7 blaster
underneath his jacket. Approaching a corner from the back entrance, he
nodded over to Carson. Stumbling off foolishly, he produced a goofy
expression. "Hey, did you see that dumb Hutt the other day?" He laughed
pretty loud. "What a bantha fodder!"
The entrance of the auxiliary docking port was guarded by two members
of the local security force. The two RSSF agents were equipped with a
minimal defensive blast vest and helmet, which were more ornamental than
functional. There was a DH-17 in each of their holsters, set to the stun
setting, which had been newly issued to them by the Empire following the
disaster at the Horizon training facility. They could see Carson and
Correson approaching, but neither of them looked particular like a
threat to the men. "These two look pretty loaded," one of them said to
the other, snickering against the strap of his helmet.
The Busker had landed smoothly, though perhaps not in it's
allotted berth. When he had been allowed into the facility he had
scanned the area to see where his large improvised explosive would do
the most structural damage and parked his freighter near there. Coda had
come to this place very lightly armed, again wearing only a vibroblade
that would be easily concealed inside of his uniform. When the ship had
docked he had walked through the ship, making sure all the transceivers
for the explosives were still functional and in place. He passed a
mirror and pulled aside the collar of his uniform, verifying that the
dock worker uniform he had under the courier company's uniform was
covered and inconspicuous, he was looking to make a clean escape again
without being noticed.
The cargo ramp had opened on the ship and Coda had done his best to
casually stroll out, disappearing from sight before an authority figure
could approach him about his vessel. Naturally, as any good captain
would do, he closed and sealed the cargo ramp before he ran off, making
sure it was secure against trespassers, ships like this were being
stolen all the time after all.
Coda was busy getting lost in the crowd, jostling shoulders and
basically doing everything in his power to make it difficult for anyone
who saw him to maintain a good bead on him. It more than likely would
not look like he was trying to say, lose a tail, just taking the fastest
path to an unknown destination. At his earliest opportunity he got out
of the main dock and ducked in to the first available abandoned room,
making sure it was somewhere that likely would not be visited in the
short time it took him to disrobe. When he felt secure he began
undressing, removing the spare courier uniform and revealing the greasy
maintenance worker uniform. When his transition was complete he stuffed
the spare clothes behind some boxes, just something that would protect
against a cursory inspection was all he needed and he made his way back
down the hall, pulling a cap out of his cargo pocket and pulling it over
his head to obscure his face.
While he walked down the corridor he checked his chronometer,
verifying that he was still on time with his project. One of the buttons
in his chronometer would send a low frequency transmission to the
explosives on a certain frequency, so he still had to be relatively
close to set the thing off. It was likely to get loud and he was hoping
he could get far off before things got too hairy.
Carson had seen enough spicers to know how they acted. He curled his
left arm up tight against his chest as he made his way towards the
guards, twitching slightly. He stared at a fixed point in front of him,
as he knew that blindness was one of the results of prolonged use of the
substance. He dragged his right foot at an awkward angle, like the
victim of a recent stroke. He must have looked a sight. Hunched slightly
to hide his size, he was sure that he did not look threatening at all,
and he jerkingly made his way up to the guards. As he reached where they
were, he bumped into one of them, seemingly accidentally, but rather
firmly nonetheless. "What the hell?!" he exclaimed, violently panicking
and freaking out, and he made a sharp left, staggering for the door. He
slammed into it before he managed to get it open, taking the guard with
him. To an onlooker, and hopefully to the guards, he just looked like a
panicked spicer, lashing out at a threat he could not see, paranoid for
no particular reason. As the door opened, he slammed his way inward,
still pushing the guard.
The guard groaned as Carson slammed into him, and he was forced
inside of the docking facility. He fell to the ground as he was not
expecting the spice addict to collide with him. The other guard turned
his back to Zek and looked towards Carson, his hand going for his
holster to pull out the DH-17. "Get out of here!" he yelled towards
Carson as he raised the barrel of the blaster and leveled it with the
Once both guards were in the doorway, Carson struck. Like a spring
releasing its tension, he uncoiled his body, slamming backwards into the
guard behind him to force him back towards Zek, and then recoiling back
forwards. He slammed his right foot down on the throat of the guard that
was prostrate on the floor, and just to ensure that he had done the job
right, he dropped it back again, shifting all of his weight down onto
the man's larynx. He heard several pops as the cartilage gave way, which
he knew would buy him enough time. Reaching underneath his jacket he
withdrew the silenced Adjudicator pistol and put it against the right
eye of the guard on the floor before squeezing the trigger.
Correson acted quickly producing a viroblade from underneath his
jacket. His jacket was zipped up to avoid any blood spraying on his
clothes underneath. Grabbing the man's mouth, he squeezed his nose to
prevent him from screaming, he thrust his hand forward stabbing his
kidney. Then pulled out, only to slice through his throat, left and
right of his arteries, cutting his air tubes and throat.
Both of the guards were dispatched in quick fashion, the slug
entering the man's eye and ending his life in an instant. Before the
other guard could react the vibroblade was upon him, the blade cutting
at his throat which forced him to drop his blaster and grab for his
throat. With the two guards out of the way, there was no meaningful
security between the entrance and the main docking bay where the bulk
freighter was being unloaded of produce from Salliche.
Coda on the other hand, was circling around the dock to the farthest
side he could while keeping the Busker / White Dwarf in
sight, his eyes locked on the ship, though making sure to scan for any
security that might be suspicious. He had stopped at a vending machine,
sipping on a drink to make himself seem a bit more nonchalant and casual
while he looked out for anyone catching on to him. It seemed Coda had
some time to kill, biding his time until he was ready to blow the ship.
A series of binary load lifting droids were in the cargo bay,
offloading a never-ending series of crates from the Action VI transport.
Each of the containers contained crates of valuable produce that helped
sustain the population of Cormond. As a population of 65 billion,
foodstuffs were a necessary import. There were four RSSF agents assigned
to guard the shipment, but they were situated at a table at the left
corner playing an intense game of Sabacc. Thus was the state of affairs
among the local security who viewed the Rebellion's influence as minor
based on reports provided by the Empire.
Rake motioned for Zek to shut the door and drag the guard the rest of
the way inside, and then began moving down the hallway. As he reached
the entrance to the docking bay proper, he took a good look. Standing
about a foot away from the wall and peeking around the corner, he could
see the droids at work, and he began to search for the guards. He was
crouched slightly, so as to keep his profile lower, but he knew that
would not do him any good. A head poking around a corner is visible no
matter what it does to hide itself. Realistically, he could probably
have strode right in, but that was not a chance he was willing to take,
as realistically, if the probably was not a correct assumption, he could
probably end up dead, and that did not sit too well with him. Eventually
he spotted to the guards, sitting in their corner completely engrossed
with their game. There did not seem to be any other people around, not
even docking controllers or maintenance personnel. Guess that's what
happens on an off day. Night shifts were usually smaller anyway. Rake
brought his E-11b up from its single point sling, where it had been
hanging, stock folded, under his armpit and concealed beneath his
jacket. He flipped the stock out and sighted in on the guards. He
settled to a stable firing position, assuming a decent kneeling, and
using his non-firing hand, he grasped the edge of the door frame for
Letting his breathing steady, he ensured the stock was nestled
tightly into his high shoulder pocket and that his grip on the weapon
was high and firm. He stared at the front sight post, letting the image
of the guard that looked the most dangerous grow blurry and grayed out.
Centering the clear front sight tip on this blob, he began to take out
the trigger slack, letting his breathing settle into its natural three
second pause. The bolt came as a shock to him, the weapon kicking his
shoulder violently, the blaster gas igniting and propelling downrange
towards the first guard.
As he recovered his natural point of aim, he shifted targets, letting
the sight post rest in front of the second target. He knew he had to
work fast before they realized what was happening, and as such he had
not released the trigger fully after his follow through, merely waiting
for the tell-tale "clunk" that indicated that the trigger had reset.
This meant there was no trigger slack. His weapon was now a hair
trigger, and as soon as his sights were settled, he let another bolt go.
Following behind Carson, Zek kept a low in crouch position, meanwhile
his hand drew out his SSK-7 weapon. The heavy packed a punch when fully
blasted. He secured the weapon within his gloved hands, following
Carson's lead. He checked sights of guards whom patrolled the area. He
had no time to check his surroundings as Carson ultimately began firing
upon the patrolling men. The firing was no surprise. He expected this.
Upon seeing Carson's targets, he waited till things cleared out. From
there he'll move out and proceed with their original plan.
The first guard was dead before he knew what him and the other three
began to leap from their chairs when additional blaster bolts began to
hit them. Two of the guards were hit with the blaster fire, leaving one
who was still alive. He reached for his security alarm and pressed the
button, before a kill bolt slammed into him as well. A silent alarm was
triggered alerting nearby Ringali Shell and Imperial forces, all the
while the droids continuing their work of unloading the cargo.
Carson hit the detonator for the suitcase bomb in the hotel.
Hopefully, that would tie up the local authorities for a while. He had
watched in horror as the guard had managed to trigger the alarm, but he
did not believe it would be too big a deal. He ran over to the dead
guards and rifled through their pockets. Finding what he was looking
for, he pulled loose the man's identification and security code. He tore
into the pocket of the squad leader, his orange tab marking him clearly,
and checked for a set of orders. Finding it, he scanned down until he
found the "Command and Signal" section of the order. After reading
through about four paragraphs of useless bullshit, he found what he
needed. Call signs. Matching the identification to the orders took some
effort, but he eventually figured out which squad these bozos belonged
to. "Zek! Go get a new speeder! I'll take care of this place in here!"
Carson then picked up the comm one of the guys had, and dialing in
the frequency for his superior, he pressed the PTT key.
"Bravo Six, Bravo-One-One, message over." He waited a minute for the
response. Finally, it came.
"One-One- go ahead."
"Six, disregard that last alarm."
"One-One, Six. Copy, out."
That done, Carson began his business of rigging this place to blow.
He moved over to the freighter that the droids were unloading and opened
the access panels to the fuel tanks and weapons stores. In each, he
placed enough photon grenades to send the ship to the nearest moon. Once
he completed that, he moved to the fuel dump for the docking station and
repeated the process. And then he ran like a little girl out the back
door, hoping that Zek would have that speeder ready quick.
Guards dead. Mission success. Zek knew they are closer to finishing
the job. He followed Carson like a rat. Practically being the designated
driver more than anything else. The man just had carried his blaster,
using as back-up incase of situations. Seeing him call off the
authorities, he continued and pressed on watching Carson momentarily.
Meanwhile, he equipped his detonator which had already switched on.
Single push and the speeder just outside blocks away exploded.
Destroying evidence. Then, he nodded and sprinted out the doors while
Carson tended the access panels. Relocated near several lots, seeing
multitudes of parked vehicles. Running towards a specific speeder, he
leaped and landed inside, getting situated until he began hotwiring a
speeder. Once the thing got going, he drove the speeder towards the back
entrance waiting for Carson.
Carson jumped in the speeder almost before it came to a stop. "Get
this baby the hell out of here, Zek. Back roads, take it slow and normal
once we're a few blocks away." He settled in and waited as Correson put
distance between them and the docking area. Once they were clear enough,
he hit the switch, which set a one minute timer in the hangar area. He
had been forced to do that since they were not sure they would have
transport on the way out, and the range of the device was not enough to
put enough distance between them and the explosion itself. As they sped
away, Carson felt it before he heard it. The sudden change of pressure,
like diving too deep or riding an elevator too high, and then the slap
in the chest that you could feel to your bones. Explosions were not like
the movies, just fire and sound, but instead were forceful, violent, and
moved the air itself. People could be killed merely by the shock of the
blast, without ever getting touched by the flames, fragments, or sound.
Internal bleeding, organs literally dislodged. All of that could occur
in the blink of an eye. And so, almost visibly, the shock wave rolled
outward from the docking facility, literally lifting the speeder as it
hit them. It was not fiery, though. It was as though a sphere of air had
literally been charged, becoming translucent, whitish, hazy, and then
coming back in to burst into flames. And then the sound hit. Instead of
the deep, impressive boom that the holos showed, it was the sharp, ear
splitting thud-crack of a truly devastating explosion. Even knowing it
was coming, Carson was not exactly prepared for it, the sound forcing
his head to spin, leaving his ears ringing and his balance messed up
from the sudden shift in pressure. They would know they were hear now.
As Carson stared through the rear view, he watched the building
literally disappear, the structure collapsing and then vanishing, its
remains either utterly disintegrated, melting, or sent out at just under
the speed of sound as fragments themselves. The explosion had not just
damaged the docking facility, it had pulverized it. Buildings around the
facility collapsed when, on the closer ones, the pressure from the shock
wave actually pulverized the concrete supports. For those more distance,
the pieces of the freighter and the dock itself slammed into integral
parts of the construction, like ad-hoc wrecking balls. The destruction
was remarkable. Carson whistled softly, or at least he thought he did.
He could not quite hear himself. He had not done it for any particular
reason, mind you, just felt that he had to express some sort of reaction
to the utter devastation they had left in their wake.
Coda had just finished his beverage when he felt the entire building
rumble accompanied by that low, deep, rumble. He had actually jumped
when he felt it, though he composed himself quickly and gotten up.
People around the building began to stop what they were doing and there
was some panicked chatter. Coda could recognize a sign when he saw one
and began making his way closer to one of the exits, acting just as
agitated as any other civilian in the area and justifiably so. The
scariest part of the whole operation was he really was probably far too
close to the explosion, so he put as much solid surface between him and
the explosion as possible when he detonated the ship.
He pressed a button on his chronometer to set off the timer, giving
himself about 4 minutes before he would set off some kind of
mini-holocaust. He was eager to get into some kind of transport, finding
the nearest open-top conveyance with a driver, leaping inside the
vehicle and suddenly slamming the driver's forehead into the dashboard
until the unfortunate civilian slumped.
He beat the man's head against the dash once more for good measure
before rolling the man out of the door and climbing into the driver
seat. At a glance at his chronometer he had about two minutes to get to
some kind of minimum safe distance. As such, he was certainly flouting a
few laws and was not terribly concerned about being seen just now. He
was speeding through the lanes, occasionally glancing at the chronometer
before the shock wave struck.
The largest explosion to ever hit Cormond, and indeed the largest
explosion of the war in this sector, erupted from the YT-2400 docked at
the spaceport. As the explosion expanded outward the nearby fuel storage
containers were hit and the explosion began to amplify in intensity. The
entire docking arm was launched into the air and all of the occupants
were immediately incinerated. A massive plume of fire and smoke began to
extend towards the heavens, visible even in space. Next, the surrounding
transports began to explode and the collateral damage began to spread to
the facility itself.
Most of the spaceport was now in flames and the *cracks* and *pops*
of secondary explosions began to echo through the night sky, which now
appeared to be dawn based on the intensity of the flames. Suddenly the
two neighboring docking arms began to explode as the fires spread,
sending their docked transports into oblivion as well. Hundreds ... if not
thousands. ... had perished in the initial shock of the explosion. That
section of the spaceport that was attached to those docking arms began
to collapse, trapping additional victims beneath the rubble.
Panicked screams began to fill the night air as what transports were
left began to frantically depart the scene. The control tower suddenly
lost its moorings and slowly tilted over to the left side, slamming into
the spaceport and exploding in a secondary heap of flame and heat.
Sirens began to echo as all available Imperials and RSSF agents began to
head for the area. In the midst of it all was an ISB agent in
plainclothes, who took no hostile action, simply observing the chaos for
what it was.