In low orbit above Scarif, the battle had reached a complete "boiling point."
Although the Main Universe Empire's two Paris-class and one stealth-class ships could not compare in sheer size to the Galactic Empire's two-kilometer-long Star Destroyers, they managed to fully exploit their outstanding mobility, formidable firepower, and superior flexibility. Moving with uncanny speed, they seized control of almost the entire "airspace."
The decisive factor here lay in their ability to precisely orchestrate the engagement, forcing the enemy into a passive state.
By leveraging extraordinary maneuverability, the Paris-class and stealth-class ships wove through the cluttered battlespace like three agile "falcons," striking and retreating at will.
While the Star Destroyers of the "Star Wars" galaxy were enormous, heavily armed, and equipped with formidable defenses, their massive size and sluggish structure prevented them from outmaneuvering the Main Universe's nimble fleet. It was as though a bulky behemoth struggled to keep pace amid dense hazards, sluggish and unwieldy compared to the swift Paris-class and stealth-class vessels.
Their situation was made worse by the Star Destroyer's own internal chaos.
With three squads of Scourged Children having boarded the vessel, the crew found themselves besieged from within and without.
Attempting to fend off the relentless "infiltration" of the Scourged Children left them no room to mount an effective counterattack against the Main Universe's lighter fleet. The Star Destroyer's operations were riddled with problems, and its crew, preoccupied with survival, had little capacity left for reprisal.
Meanwhile, the Empire's TIE fighters and TIE bombers fared no better.
Each model of TIE fighter found itself hopelessly outmatched against the fleet's carrier-based fighter-bomber groups—made up of Ghost-class, White-legged Sparrow-class, and unmanned strike craft.
Relying on high speed, agility, precise targeting, and beyond-visual-range capabilities, they all but crushed the TIEs.
Whenever TIE pilots attempted to engage in dogfights, the Ghost-class and White-legged Sparrow-class craft simply refused to abandon their greatest advantages—distance and maneuverability. In most cases, the TIE pilots never even located the main targets on their radar before being locked on and shot down by "air-to-air" missiles. Their ships then exploded in brilliant fireballs.
Even TIE bombers, carrying proton torpedoes in a desperate bid to counter the Paris-class and stealth-class ships at close range, were met with a "wall of fire" from the Main Universe's intercept systems. They never managed to get within an effective strike distance.
Moreover, the electronic warfare systems aboard the Main Universe ships meant that any "lucky survivors" who somehow evaded the defensive barrage would quickly find their onboard electronics completely scrambled. Without functional radar, navigation, or control modules, the TIE bombers became little more than drifting cosmic scrap, the pilots effectively trapped in powerless coffins.
But the Main Universe fleet did not simply leave these wrecks to float aimlessly.
Whenever they detected a disabled TIE bomber adrift in space, the Paris-class and stealth-class ships sent out recovery-type Hunters—small craft equipped with powerful grapples and magnetic fields—to latch onto the wreckage and haul it back to their hangars with pinpoint precision.
They had two principal reasons for recovering these craft:
After maintenance and repairs by their ground and logistics teams, the captured TIE bombers could be repurposed, contributing to the Main Universe's pool of "nuts and bolts." As for the surviving pilots, their fates took an unexpected turn.
While these flyers might now be branded failures or expendable by their original faction, the Main Universe Empire viewed them as an invaluable "resource." Surviving the gauntlet of close-in weapon system fire indicated a level of skill, experience, and luck that could not be casually disregarded. Naturally, the Main Universe hoped to sway them to its side, assimilating them into its ranks.
Afterward, they would be handed over to the Scourged Children's 1st Division "Human Resources Department," where they would undergo ideological re-education.
Far more than a simple crash course, this process introduced them to the Empire's philosophies, compelling them to reevaluate their once unshakeable beliefs. As the reprogramming and training took hold, these former enemies—particularly since they were human—could be transformed into loyal Imperial fighters for the Main Universe.
After all, no matter how advanced technology might become, an experienced pilot remained the most critical "resource" in any aerial operation. Their skill, reaction time, and "luck in living or dying" surpassed the capabilities of most unmanned systems. (Not counting the exceedingly rare sentient machines.)
As the struggle for orbital control intensified, nearing its conclusion, a transport-configuration Pelican with an extended fuselage launched from the Paris-class hangar carrying a small strike team.
In the Pelican's hold stood a Tyrant heavy assault suit, five veteran elites, ten Hell Paratroopers, and thirty heavily armed clone troopers in standby mode.
They were escorted by a White-legged Sparrow fighter and six drones, which provided cover and paved the way for the strike team.
Their target was the space station overseeing Scarif's shield.
Though the station had gone into full defensive posture, its fixed cannons continuously pouring forth blasts of energy, "that much" anti-air fire wasn't nearly enough to rival the fierce interception nets of TIE fighter swarms—or to match the Main Universe Empire's close-in barrage systems.
Indeed, the station's reaction to the incoming strike formation proved slow and ineffective. Most of the station's fixed guns were operated manually, without the autonomous scanning and target acquisition capabilities of AI-driven turrets.
And since the TIE fighters were all but annihilated under the Paris and stealth ships' fierce attacks, the station's defenses were severely weakened.
Thus, with cover from its escort formation and aided by the Pelican's speed, the two-man Pelican flight crew breezed through the token fire and headed straight for the station's hangar, suffering no real hindrance.
Moments later, the Pelican deftly slipped past the plasma hatch, penetrating the station's hangar interior.
"?!"
"!!!"
Inside the hangar, the Imperial ground crews had no time to configure the energy barriers for an "exit-only" or fully sealed mode.
Moreover, the Scourged Children 1st Division and the Investigation Department had unleashed intense electronic warfare against Scarif's command network, sending the entire command structure into deep chaos.
Even if the control center detected the incoming strike team, their commands were significantly delayed. By the time the hangar crew got the warning, it was too late.
Before their very eyes, the Pelican's rear hatch opened—
Tap, tap!
And out poured twenty clone soldiers.
These bioengineered troops wore thick tactical armor and full-coverage mechanical exoskeletons to boost their strength and speed, each wielding a heavy Gauss rifle.
"Team One, suppress the enemy at ten o'clock!
Team Two, engage and destroy the shock trooper sentries at three o'clock!
The rest, cover our positions and set up a defensive perimeter!"
Barking orders with a calm yet resonant tone, the red-helmeted clone commander sent his squads into action.
Each clone sprang into position, swiftly adopting optimal firing lines and vantage points. Their long and short bursts provided overwhelming firepower to the still-bewildered Imperial shock troopers in the hangar, dispatching them with precision and efficiency.
No longer just the stiff, mechanical "products" of years past, these upgraded clones had undergone more than a decade of iterative enhancements to their cognition and adaptability.
They possessed tactical intellect and situational flexibility rather than rote, robotic reactions. No longer merely "high-grade cannon fodder," they were now capable fighters who could adapt under extreme pressure.
Though not as "smart" as an advanced AI or an advanced synthetic lifeform, their combat prowess was second to none—powerful enough to give even the Main Universe's veteran elite soldiers or Hell Paratroopers pause.
Combining low production cost and high efficiency, they had their limitations—less adept at intelligence operations and interpersonal skills, for instance—but they never tired, felt no pain, and executed orders until the fight ended.
Hence, the moment those thirty clone troopers poured into the hangar, the defending shock troopers found themselves pinned down under suffocating fire.
When the Tyrant finally squeezed its bulky form out of the Pelican and hoisted its rotating Gauss gun with both hands, the shock troopers in the hangar lost any chance of a counterattack.
Meanwhile, five veteran elites and ten Hell Paratroopers, shielded by these bioengineered warriors, began pushing toward the station's control room.
Once they seized control of the station's critical systems, the Paris-class and stealth-class ships would be free to provide even more robust fire support to the ground troops on Scarif.
At that very moment, the surface of Scarif was likewise engulfed in the flames of war.
Along the beaches and jungles, where the climate was reminiscent of Earth's tropics, a patchwork of various airdrop pods lay scattered.
Rat-a-tat—tat-tat!
Ching—ching-ching—!
Boom—boom!!!
Under the shield-covered sky, earsplitting gunshots and thunderous explosions intertwined, shattering the peace and bringing death to the Galactic Empire's defenders.
From above, one could see elite soldiers, Hell Paratroopers, and the Scourged Children operating in highly skilled tactical formations, methodically crushing the defensive lines near Scarif's security complex.
The Scourged Children in particular left bloody footprints behind with every step on that crimson beach.
Luna transports and Silver Gull-class vessels, having completed their initial deployment missions, now hovered above, providing suppressive fire against TIE fighters and larger ground-based Imperial assets such as AT-AT walkers.
Joined on the ground by Main Universe combat mechs and specialized Astartes armor—like the Achilles pattern Land Raider—Scourged Children spearheaded an advance on the security complex's main gate.
"Ri~ch-ch-ch—!!!"
When the Land Raider Achilles unleashed its four-barreled rotating explosive-bolt cannon, the booming roar ripped through the battlefield.
A devastating hail of suppressive fire hammered the Imperial shock troopers' defenses, each explosive projectile laced with a delayed detonation for an even deadlier effect.
Boom—!! Boom—!!!
Each eruption birthed a miniature solar flare, blossoming into small mushroom clouds around the main gate to the security complex.
The fire and billowing smoke churned skyward, presenting a doomsday spectacle for the Empire's defenders.
The blasts released shockwaves that rattled the area, hurling any newly emerged shock troopers—intent on reinforcing the perimeter—like rag dolls over a dozen meters away.
The greatest terror for the shock troopers and Orson Krennic himself lay in the sight of a giant bearing a mighty warhammer.
Leading a contingent of twenty Scourged Children Honor Guard, 1st Company Captain Gabriel Angelos charged headlong into the security complex's main structure.
". . ."
Inside the facility's control center, Orson Krennic stared dumbfounded at the screens, utterly at a loss for words.
He could not fathom how these towering warriors—clearly over two meters tall and seemingly encumbered by their massive armor—could sprint so swiftly or tear through his defenses so easily.
Most alarming of all was that Gabriel, warhammer in hand, appeared able to fling bolts of "lightning."
Was this the Rebel Alliance's doing? Jedi, perhaps?
But that couldn't be right.
Even if they were Jedi, why would they be clad in hulking power armor?
Krennic's questions piled up with no answers. A moment later, he erupted in a frenzied scream at those around him:
"Support!!! Where is the support?!"
He bellowed in desperation, well aware that, at this rate, Scarif might soon be lost.
------------------
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