Choose Wisely, attn; John

It had been at least a year or more since Rhia accompanied her buir on a mission. Between her continued absence from Mandalore and the general import of his missions as Ori’ramikad, it just wasn’t a father-daughter sort of activity they could partake in. But now she was back, and had her sights set on a new goal. Ever since meeting the Rahls that one market day, especially Da’chetre, she too wished to attain the Ori’ramikad status, to become one of Mandalore’s elite.

In the months between her decision and now, it had not been an easy journey. For the very reason of not accompanying John on missions, her feats were only known by hearsay to the aliit’alor and, as she expected, he wasn’t going to favor her just because she was his ad. The woman had to jump through dozens of hoops, get in contact with distant vode to get testimonies, first hand accounts or footage of her exploits, and submit them in an application to even gain candidacy.

Her work had paid off though, and now she sat across from her buir on the dropship, sandwiched between two massive Ori’ramikade who were obviously chatting over her head through their helms. The woman was understandably nervous now, forefinger tapping on the trigger guard of her rifle, for all the galaxy feeling like a rookie again. Not a pleasant feeling for a twenty-six year old woman who was normally entirely self-sufficient.

However, she bit back the sting to her pride and adjusted her position, moving deftly enough in the rumbling dropship so as not to jostle her seatmates. The dim strip lighting overhead glinted off the newly painted lines of gold on her armor, the suit completely refitted to repair the damage from her prolonged stay on the field, and highlighted the new points of blue the woman had added to the ensemble. The lines of color were by no means a sort of camouflage; to the Mandalorians, it meant duty, and she meant to carry hers out now. Not run away at the first sign of pain. She was done with that, and her beskar’gam, once again a part of her being, would serve to remind her every day.

Turning her head slightly towards the prow of the ship provided a full view of their destination, the frozen wasteland of Ziost appearing between the frosting of clouds in the atmosphere. Miles and miles of dead forests stretched across the tundra, and Rhia absently checked the integrity of her atmospheric seal again, the slight hiss of the suit masking a scoff. And Ilian had been so grumpy about not coming along on this assignment. Rhia knew she’d much rather be dozing in the sun around the lake with him than storming this iceball. She quickly pushed that thought away. Ilian was back on the frontlines now, and they were lightyears apart. She couldn’t afford to be distracted, with worry or otherwise.

Of course, past her nervousness in knowing that this was another test of her abilities before her aliit’alor and the other Ori’ramikade, the importance of the mission roiled in her gut as quiet loathing and anger. Children were here, young children, stolen from Mando’ad colony by slavers. Death would be merciful, but the woman knew better than to give in to her darker urges of revenge. Unless ordered, anyway.

The plan was that they would be dropped off in squads of two or three, small covert groups that could infiltrate the slaver’s base, and clear the ground for the full assault. For a group of slavers, they were rather well dug in on this forsaken planet. The mountain side base they inhabited was old, but well fortified, which was what garnered the attention of the Ori’ramikade in the first place. Spotting the small ridge where the pair was to be dropped off, Rhia’s t-visored gaze went back to John and then to her busy hands as she checked and rechecked her kit once more.

The pilot brought the dropship down to the ridge in a swirl of snow that pattered against their beskar’game as the rear hatch whirred open. Standing and moving to the edge of the hatch, Rhia shouldered her rifle and then dropped the short distance, thick all-temperature cloak fluttering out behind her. Her boots crunched into snow that came up to mid-calf and then she twisted to watch for her buir, her suit compensating for the drastic drop in temperature.

Soon enough they were left alone on the ridge, the ship just a speck on the horizon as it went to drop off the rest of its deadly payload. Bringing up the nav coordinates of the slaver base, Rhia turned in that direction, down the ridge. They were tasked with locating the children within the base and, if possible, retrieving them before the rest of the squads moved in to deal with the slavers. Readjusting the rifle across her back, the woman started in a direction down the ridge, eyes on the sky, for any sign of other aircraft.

It was in glancing at the external temperature that Rhia realized the real difficulty in their mission. “Okay, there’s no way we’re getting the ade out of there.” She started, again bringing up the base’s schematics for quick strategic adjustment. “Not without losing them to the weather.”

Licking her lips, she pinpointed the hangarbay and then sent the adjusted coordinates to John. “We’ll need to secure one of their ships.” This was said with all the confidence of one who was calling the shots except at the very end, when a sharp raise in her voice turned it into a suggestion. Teamwork was definitely one of Rhia’s weak spots.

The dropship rocked as they entered the atmosphere of the planet, atmospheric winds buffeting them as the pilot plotted their course to the string of drop-off zones. The ship was steady enough thanks to the skill of the pilot, but even skill in piloting couldn’t prevent the passengers from feeling the effects of the planet’s weather patterns. Ziost was a wasteland, hardly fit for living unless you enjoyed the fact that there was little chance that anyone would stumble across you. But Ori’ramikade were not simple galactic policemen, frightened by a bit of hard weather and a dark history. The slavers had meddled with the wrong people.

The heads-up-display on John’s helmet was steadily going through another systems check, his eyes watching as the HUD flickered between thermal and night vision, the ever present vitals display ticking calmly in the upper-left corner. The rangefinder and zoom flickered on and off alongside it, the delicate electronics going through the motions and making sure nothing was amiss in its programming. He was only peripherally taking in the Ori’ramikade and lone vod surrounding him, distantly taking in the sprawling tundra and icy wasteland that made up the surface of the planet.

His eyes flickered over his shield status, chin nudging the switch to check that as well, the shield covering his armour like a second skin sparking and flickering, the spectacle going ignored by the other Ori’ramikade, as they were used to John’s methods of passing time. Inside the confines of his helmet, the trilling of alarms alerted him to the shields sudden loss of strength, before fading away as the shields percentage bar slowly recovered. The integrity of the seals on his suit was tested as well, in the green. Everything was in proper working order, as they should be. John had been given enough downtime lately to make sure his armour was as good as new, such was the life of aliit’alor when politics took precedence.

Systems check concluded, John let his eyes settle on Rhia. They had not had the chance to talk as they had all those months ago when Rhia had approached him on sentry duty, and even that had been short. He had enjoyed the riding lesson he had given her, catching a glimpse of what his own childhood may have looked like, but they had not spoken in length since. Rhia distracted by whatever rivalry sat between Ilian, Arken, and herself. Their display in the dinner hours had disappointed John, and he had told her as much, but her irrationality all those months ago seemed to have faded.

Her choice to present herself as a candidate for the Ori’ramikade was a step in the right direction, a sign that the child, for that was what she had been despite her age, was finally growing into an adult. As aliit’alor it was his duty to go through those who wished to gain candidacy to the Ori’ramikade in Clan Ischoron. Many did not meet the standards, although John gave them clear and concise instructions in what areas they needed to improve before he sent them away. The recordings and recounts of Rhia’s feats in battle had met the high standards of the Ori’ramikade, and John had cleared her for candidacy.

But now she had to prove that she was proper material for the Ori’ramikade.

They both knew the plan, and John rose as the pilot moved the dropship to hover over the frozen ground, the two of them being the first squad to hit the dirt and approach the slavers base. His disintegrator was maglocked to his right thigh, beskad on the left, rifle and launcher on his back, his utility belt carrying an assortment of grenades and explosives that could come in handy. John jumped right after Rhia, his weight driving him into the snow. This would slow them down, but not considerably.

His suits external sensors noted the temperature drop, but he was comfortable inside, the suits electronics working to keep his body at optimum temperature. He couldn’t feel the cold wind cutting across his armoured plates, the snow bunching around his armoured feet. His attention was on the nav point that had been dropped on his HUD, indicating the location of the slavers base, but he felt the force of the repulsorlifts kicking off as the dropship moved off to their next drop-off.

Rhia moved down the ridge, John following close after, the path in the snow he made clear as he ploughed his way forward. His suits sensors were working, tracking any movement around them, he briefly switched to thermal sensors, knowing any living thing would show up clearly.

“Not without losing them to the weather.”

He tilted his helmet in the affirmative, noting the arrival of the updated nav-point on his HUD schematic map of the slaver compound. The hangars. He knew what she planned, and it would be easier than bringing in their transports. They would have to take down any eventual ground-to-air defences, but anything automated would tag them as friendlies, unless they left the controller alive to reprogram it.

“We’ll need to secure one of their ships.”

“Considering the scope of their operation, they may have some defences set in place for airborne targets,” John supplied. “We’ll need to do a sweep of the facility to eliminate any threat to our exit strategy.” These defences could come in the form of a guy with a rocket launcher or a jury rigged cannon, they’d merely have to be thorough.

His eyes swept over the schematics again, dropping several nav-points in likely areas to contain some sort of countermeasure towards airborne hostiles. However, the slavers may not be as tactically savvy as he was, but he presumed that anyone stupid enough to target Mandalorians at least knew basic defensive strategies. It paid to be thorough, even if their enemies weren’t.

“We should not leave anything alive.” From another Mando, this might have been an expression of revenge, but from John it was merely a tactical consideration. Slavers were criminals, and criminals were well known for dirty tactics. Turning their back on a hostile, especially a desperate one, could cost them lives.

Walking ahead of John, Rhia missed the nod of affirmation, but cocked her head in attention when his voice crackled back at her through her helm. Still fording the way through the snow, she kept one eye on the schematics, checking to see if their scanner sweep had picked up any sorts of anti-air defenses. She didn’t doubt John’s word, but she also understood that facility was old, and if they didn’t, she’d rather not waste their time trying to disable what wasn’t there.

“We’ll need to do a sweep of the facility to eliminate any threat to our exit strategy.”

Finding nothing, she still kept John’s mention as a possibility, mentally noting the areas he marked on the map. Rhia would assume that the defenses were cloaked until a physical search of the area confirmed their absence.

“We should not leave anything alive.”

Or that. A grin working its way across her face, she understood what her buir meant by the statement, but it was a devastatingly Mandalorian way to go about it. There was no kill like overkill. Shrugging one shoulder as she crested a ridge the woman paused, and leaned forward, resting an elbow on a knee to take in the vista. “That’s one way to get the job done, buir.” She teased, bringing her rifle to bear.

Only a meter before them, the ridge dropped off into nothingness, small swirls of snow whisking over the edge of the dark chasm. The drop leveled out into a narrow valley, an icy, twining river far below before being swept up by another mountain opposite. The ridge they perched on framed the valley on three sides, and though it became tenuous in many places, the path looped all the way around to the base. The base itself was a cleverly hidden thing, the metal that composed its outer walls a dull grey that blended in with the mountains, but nobody could miss the obvious man-made construction there, the clean lines in direct opposition with the natural landscape.

From their vantage point high above, the Mandalorians looked down on the rear of the base, where the needed landing zone and hangar bay stuck out of the mountain to provide passage for aircraft. The two were invisible to the naked eye, their dark forms disappearing into the slope behind them, but Rhia still dropped to one knee as she linked her HUD to her scope, searching the landing pad for the aforementioned defenses.

John let her words slide by without an acknowledgement, instead stopping behind her and swivelling his head to take in the panoramic view of the surrounding area and the valley in front of them. The weather was clear, allowing them to see for some distance, a light snowfall covering in them in a blanket of snowflakes, but not heavy enough to be a hindrance once they continued towards the base they planned to assault.

The slavers’ base was cradled in the valley below, nestled close to the mountain, proving that someone had an idea about camouflage and defence, vague as it was. There was a suggestion that it went further into the mountain, using the mountains own rocky roots as a means to defend themselves and hide. It did little to hide the base from Mandalorian eyes, the artificial lines sticking out among the stark white and grey of the valley below. There was little colour deviation from that, all foliage either killed by the chill or non-existent. He could spot scattered forests, but none as thick and proud as those of Manda’yaim. These were thin and starved, offering little in the way of natural cover.

His HUD display switched from normal vision to thermal, sending his world into a blue hued environment, with a blazing orange and yellow spot that was Rhia amongst the snow, her edges fading blue and green as the heat dissipated. His visor turned to the distant base in the valley, some edges were tinged with the tell-tale signs of heat, notable locations such as the hangars, but he could not estimate how many slavers there were or where the children were located, the thick walls of the structure shielding them from thermal imaging. He spotted several chilled heat signatures patrolling the edges, moving erratically.

“They have sentries,” John supplied, following a pair closely, zooming in and enhancing. “Armed.” Although they looked to not be very interested in what surrounded them, considering none seemed to linger in one spot for long. Their rhythm was not regular, not a purposefully random patrol pattern, but brought on by the fact that standing still for a given amount of time brought on a chill.

“No pattern to their patrols, but they’re distracted.” Extreme weather tended to do that. He searched the locations he’d determined were likely to have heavier defences for any armoured enemies. His enhanced view on the HUD revealed little beyond something that vaguely looked like an older model turret in the south-eastern corner of the facility. The north-western corner had a guard pacing in circles and rubbing his arms thoroughly. Specifically assigned to the spot, was John’s guess. “An older model turret, south-east. Guard on north-west, likely to have a rocket launcher or similar.” Not very expansive defences, but they had yet to see the entire load-out of the facility.

As something of an afterthought, the thermal imaging in Rhia’s HUD spread over her vision, bringing the world into a chilly spectrum of blue and black. The silence atop that snowy mountain was pervasive, broken by the whistle of the wind through the black, snow-crusted rocks. Even the sound seemed cold and distant. This was a hostile world, but that only made Rhia’s urge to overcome the its obstacles and conquer the base all the stronger.

John’s voice broke through the quiet, and Rhia’s eyes chased them, seeking out the sentries and then the old turret on the south-east side. As she rose, the snow which had crusted to her ebony plates crackled off into a fine powder. Brushing the remnants from her cloak, the Mandalorian considered the route across the mountains to the base. A difficult one at best, and lethal at worst. The craggy path was littered with loose rock structures and overhung by lightly packed snow. A rockslide or avalanche could be the end before they’d even begun.

Even so, the woman sent a green acknowledgement light to her buir’s HUD and started on her way. Starting on the winding ridge around the mountain range, she began picking her way down carefully, mindful of traps which the slaver’s might’ve hidden. Surely they knew of this access to their base, and they would guard it accordingly... Or they never expected there to be an assault from this way. Rhia hoped for the second, but expected the first in voicing these concerns to John.

It didn’t take long for the path to become treacherous. Barely even a third of the way across, the two Mandalorians found themselves standing at the edge of a decline littered with loose rocks and ice. Rhia’s shoulders rose and fell with an explosive breath, the woman trying to keep the tension from her frame and mind. It was difficult, however, when every footfall could hit a pressure plate for a landmine, or a careless step could trigger a rock slide.

Inching down into the crevasse, she kept her eyes on her feet, leaping nimbly where the gaps became too wide and nearly traversing the way on her hands and feet for better balance. However, dexterity counted for for nothing when a blast of wind loosened the apparently blank swath of snow on the ridge before them, and uncovered the blinking red eyes of several traps. It was her worst scenario, realized.

Rhia paused at the edge of the minefield, unsure, and then the golden sheen of her overshields flowed over her armor, the snow around her boots crunching as it was pushed away by several millimeters. She wasn’t planning on setting any of them off, but every ounce of prevention counted. Gaze turning away from the hazard, it trailed up the black rock face to their right, and picked out the various hand- and foot-holds that spotted the surface.

“We can climb up and over.” She offered, eyes going back to the minefield. “And hope it doesn’t stretch the rest of the way.” Turning her head, she found the base. It was relatively close, if they could remain standing. Climbing along the rocks would not only be exhausting, but even slower than before. They were on a bit of timetable, considering the movements of the rest of their team.

They were receiving reports every quarter hour, though they weren’t real time. Atmospheric interference and the general terrain prevented that, so the information was gathered by the ship in orbit and beamed down to their HUDs. She could see the three other teams were making their way to the base and communicating their intentions for breaching it. However, they were moving faster, finding better paths. Rhia couldn’t help the sense of trepidation in seeing this. She was too slow making decisions, far too careful in making her way across the ridge. Not something the Ori’ramikade necessarily wanted in their ranks.

Finally, she knelt and began brushing off the icy pressure plate. It wasn’t new, and it certainly wasn’t cared for. In fact, it was almost broken thanks to exposure. It was possible they didn’t even work...

There was a moment of deep temptation there, a yearning for the death-defying thrill she’d tasted while cavorting about the galaxy on her own. If they just ran, they could outrun the explosions... Sure, everyone in a thousand kilo radius would hear their approach, but wouldn’t it be glorious?

Rhia held in a breath, and then absently shook her head, dismissing the thought. This was not about glory or thrill. This was a proving mission, and she had to keep her head about this. Securing her sniper rifle to her back, she moved to the rock wall and began spidering up its face, expecting John to follow and hoping his size wouldn’t impede his progress across the slope.

The beskar clad behemoth rose from his crouched position moments after Rhia, snow clinging to his greaves, crumbling and falling as his limbs moved. The green acknowledgement light blinked on his HUD, signaling Rhia’s intentions to proceed down the path they could see leading down to the bottom of the valley. He spent a brief moment to regard their path, zooming in on the distant path as he scrutinized it from a distance. It could not offer the detail of a close inspection; they would have to walk it in order to reveal all its secrets.

It was clear from the start that the path would not be easily traversed. The wear and tear of years of harsh seasons was clear on the rock, promising a rough and treacherous path. Following a distance behind Rhia, he stepped with a care that belied his bulk, following in Rhia’s footprints in the snow and frozen dirt. They steadily covered ground, movements efficient and careful as they made their way along, the quality of the path changing from each section, but in the end it deteriorated until gaps were revealed, caused by a past landslide, some boulders smashing parts of the path out of the way.

Their pace slower, their caution increased, the path a true mess in this section. The fresh gouges in the rock and dirt told them that it had happened fairly recently, weeks or days, enough evidence to presume the slavers would have placed some defenses along this way if they hadn’t done so before the landslides; any disruption in a normally so dead environment would have them regarding changes with suspicion. This prediction proved true once the winds blew the snow away from the mines, the ominous blinking informing them that they weren’t placed to catch people unawares as much as merely bar the way. But some sensor mines would not deter Mandalorians.

Rhia paused at the edge of the minefield, her shield flickering to life. John followed suit, hoping the flash of faint light as the personal shields activated would not be spotted through the snowfall. He tilted his head in the direction Rhia was looking, eyeing the black rock face as she was. Her thoughts followed directly after, but John knew her plan. If you can’t go over it, find a way around. He turned his helmeted head to look down to the bottom of the valley, eyeing the cliff walls below them.

With the tip of his boot he scuffed at the cliff’s edge, quickly measuring the distance with the rangefinder, zooming in on the part of the cliff that seemed the most suitable for climbing with the least unfortunate incidents.

“Quicker to climb downwards than along,” he suggested as Rhia stepped up to the stone wall and tested the handholds and footholds. It would take them less time and they would not have to worry about mines along the rest of the path. Rhia responded in the affirmative and John climbed down over the edge, testing his footholds as he went downwards. More than a few times his footing was lost as his weight in the armour proved too much on the looser parts of the rock face, but he chose his holds well, testing them firmly before climbing further. The inclined eased the further down they came, but the going was slow, but faster than trying to go around the mines.

More than halfway down, as he was in the process of moving a step down, he lost his footing, boot slipping on the slippery frozen rock. His legs dangled, searching the rock face for a foothold, the sudden weight bearing down on his arm making his muscles strain and protest, fingers slipping against the cool rock before he lost his grip entirely. He fell a metre before he curled his arm around the trunk of an ailing tree gripping the cliff side. Pebbles and dirt fell downwards, but John reoriented himself.

Rhia no doubt saw his trouble and would find an alternate way down, so John said nothing as he moved to the side and found new footholds and handholds, unwinding his grip on the trunk, which looked just about ready to fall down. He surreptitiously brushed off any snow to reveal any potential slippery footholds as he swivelled his helmet to view the base at their backs, thermal vision tracking any of the figures to see if anyone had reacted to the small fall of pebble and rock. A cluster of brighter figures seemed to be halting and waiting, but after a few moments they went back to moving around.

He returned his attention to climbing, the slope easing the further down they came, until finally climbing was not necessary, they could merely carefully pick their way down the slope. The rock was looser here, from multiple landslides, John picking the visibly larger rocks to pass over, avoiding the smaller rocks that would shift under his weight. More caution was needed, as they were closer to the base and could run the risk of being spotted.