22 BBY
Harnaidan, Muunilinst
The last few moments of peace were spent in silent waiting. The platoon of clones stood on the deck, their arms holding tethers, steadying themselves against the Republic gunship's abrupt and occasionally jerky movements.
They'd already checked their weaponry, a collection of over a dozen blaster rifles, locked and loaded, power magazines placed in their appropriate pouches along their utility belts. All crates in the cargo section were secured with as many nets and fasteners as the Grand Army of the Republic regulated, so if the gunship were to get shot down, no one would be impaled or crushed with any of the items they were bringing to the front.
They all looked in the general direction of the new sergeant amongst them –the second sergeant in their platoon, the first being their unit's assigned platoon sergeant. This sergeant wasn't theirs, but they all knew him; he belonged to the same company they did. At one point they'd either been on the receiving end of his care or had watched him patch up one of their brothers.
Sergeant Irid, the senior medic of Ghost Company, 212th Attack Battalion, looked through the sights of his weapon, a DC-15s carbine rifle after having just slapped a fresh magazine into it.
He wondered if he would have to use it.
That'd likely be a yes. More and more, he had to use his weapon for offensive use. The Separatists didn't give a flying black mynock about the Aldera War Conventions and the non-combatant statuses most medics were given in a proper war. Knowing the Separatists, they likely targeted clone medics. The Trade Federation and the Techno Union were not exactly known for their integrity.
This weapon used to be for self defensive purposes only. Now, he was no better off than a regular trooper. He was an infantryman with a heavy background in medicine. He was a doctor running around with a gun; the ultimate war-time irony.
"Gentlemen, we're three minutes out," the leader of the platoon, a well seasoned lieutenant called Murr yelled over the sound of the gunship's thrusters. "Get ready to off load and haul out. We're going be dropped off in the center of a business complex, where some wounded have been taken. We're to provide security to the medics and let them do their job, but our problem is that Separatist forces are advancing in this area. We've got reports of sniper droids having been deployed as well. We've got to keep the area secure until the medics do their job, stabilize the wounded, then we can get 'em evacuated. Got that?"
They resounded all, "Sir, yes, sir!"
"Good, get ready," he said, looking at them all.
Irid turned at to the lieutenant and shouted, "Sir, how many men are available to help me with the wounded? I understand we're short staffed on the ground."
"I can't spare too many men, Sergeant," the lieutenant said. "From what I understand, reconnaissance has discovered at least two platoons or possibly an entire company of droids on foot headed our way, and that's not even counting the possibility of armor, MTTs or super battle droids. I can give you three men at most, since there's already one medic on scene. They're some of my most experienced men," the lieutenant shouted back, before turning back to his men. "Cid, Iron, Dash, you're with the sergeant. Do what he asks, and make sure you keep him and yourselves alive while doing so."
"Understood sir," the three bellowed.
"Good," the lieutenant turned back to the sergeant, saying, "They're some of the best I've got, Sergeant. If one of them happens to get injured, at least patch 'em up before you send them back around. They're the kind of troopers that like to complain a lot."
"Don't worry sir. If all goes according to plan, the worst injury they'll receive is tired ear drums from hearing me order them around," Irid responded. He heard a bark of laughter bust from the lieutenant's side of the com channel.
"You're my kind of brother, Sergeant," the lieutenant stated, before turning his head away and raising a finger to where his earpiece would be –a habit from using too many training helmets with bad audio receptors. The Kaminoans were lousy with maintaining their equipment. "One minute gentlemen," Murr announced.
They all nodded, repeating a variation of "Yes, sir," while subconsciously looking to their weapons for both comfort and preparation. They all knew they were going into what should be a semi-docile area, and they also knew they were only there to provide security; what should be an easy operation. But they knew all too well what these last several months of war had taught them – just because the mission seemed tame, didn't necessarily mean it would prove to be. And even the tame missions, at times, brought casualties.
The platoon mates looked around at each other somberly – they couldn't help but wonder, who would be there when they finished this mission, and who wouldn't be, and would that include themselves. Irid knew; he was wondering the same thing himself.
"Ten seconds," the lieutenant howled, removing his DC-17 hand blaster from his utility belt's holster. The men all turned and faced the gunship doors they happened to be facing and raised their weapons, holding them in trembling hands.
Irid raised his weapon, putting his left hand shakily on the fore grip of the small blaster rifle. He hated this part; the uneasy calm before the storm. He'd much rather have a small but livable gunship crash than this. Especially with sniper droids; they were the worst combatant to deal with. Often times, they would sight in on the gunship with a thermal scan, and wait on its door, waiting for them to burst open and pick off those inside, already having one in their sights because of the scan.
He'd seen what sniper droids had done, and could do. They were the perfect snipers. Not human, but machine. No muscles rippling back and forth in micro movements on their arm that the eye could hardly perceive, no inhalation to throw off aim. They were perfect for the job, swiftly, mechanically and methodically reducing the size of a squad of six to two in seconds, if the last two were lucky enough.
If there was a droid sniper that had seen them at the moment, it was sighting in on them, while they were still descending toward the ground, the gunship's strong blast doors about to remove them of their cover, and their safety.
Their descent evened out and they came to as close to a halt as a gunship could get; an idle. It was at that moment the white doors slid out from their bays and pushed themselves back, and away from their exit. The city showed itself, bright and glimmering even still whilst it had turned an abandoned plaza square, into a now smoking battlefield.
They were about to dance with death, yet again.
"Now men, doors are open. Let's move! Let's move! Let's move!" Murr barked, waiving his hand, gesturing to them emphatically to get off the ship. They didn't need to be told twice. They all jumped off the ship's deck, away and clear of it, trying to get as far away from the large target as possible. They moved fast, and ran forward to the decrepit vehicles lying ruined in the streets, desperate to get to cover.
That was when the first shot rang out, from high above their heads. A body dropped. Instantly, they ducked and ran , a second shot hitting a trooper square in the visor, dropping him dead where he stood, a third only barely having missed its' target, grazing it's intended victim on the back, making him cry out in pain. He collapsed against the vehicle –a pair of torched land speeders.
"Sniper," someone cried, for those who didn't realize. Irid looked up to see what he expected; tall buildings on all sides, only three to four of which the shot could've come from, all of them with several windows and possible perches on each floor, with more buildings all around them where more droid snipers could easily be deployed.
This is an infantryman's nightmare.
"Lieutenant, what do we do?" one of the troopers yelled, only to receive no reply. He turned to his brothers, "Where's the lieutenant?"
"Oh kriff," Irid heard another trooper say. The entire platoon looked to him, wondering what possibly could be the reason he'd said that –then seeing what he saw.
Lieutenant Murr crumpled up on the ground, in the center of the square, not sixty feet from their position behind the land speeders, in the middle of dead man's land, blood quickly pooling around his upper chest. Irid knew he must've been shot in either the head or the throat for him to have lost that much blood that fast.
Murr would die in a few minutes. They were on their own.
"Who's the next in command?" Irid demanded ducking down lower against the skin of the land speeder as a sniper round bounced off the edge of the speeder's skin, near his head.
"Sergeant Niro, unless you outrank him, sir," Dash said, sinking as low as possible behind the speeder as well.
"Sergeant Niro," Irid barked, "You're next in command. Take control of this situation."
"On it," the sergeant, Niro presumably, shouted back, before turning to his men, crouching, and saying, "Zes, take out your macrobinoculars and try to spot him. Nailer, you're on countersniper duty, set up against that stack of crates over there," he said, gesturing to a spot to their left. "Rill, you've got the heavy ordinance; get a rocket ready to blow this clanker out of the kriffing stratosphere as soon as Zes spots him. Jammer, Veck, fire at him; try to make him reveal himself."
Niro turned back to the rest of them, the three by Irid. "Cid, Iron, Dash, you're still with Sergeant Irid; protect our medic. He just became more valuable than ever."
"But sir, what about the lieutenant?" one of the troopers asked, the one named Rill. "We can't just leave him there. No brother gets left behind."
"I understand, Rill. But the fact of the matter is, a sniper is up and out there, and as far as we're concerned, he could be positioned to pick any of us off as soon as we make the wrong move, and moving back there where the lieutenant is a definitely bad move. We've got to hold off on rescuing him," Niro said.
"But Sergeant-"
"I'm sorry, Rill, but it's too dangerous. Now get that rocket ready," the sergeant bellowed. Rill moved to a position alongside the building's edge, inside the post of the door, while Jammer and Veck fired wildly in the general direction of the shot with their DC-15a blaster rifles, Nailer having set up a counter sniper position alongside the building's wall while Zes tried to spot him.
Niro brought his hand to his ear again, clearly receiving some information, before turning to the medic and saying, "Sergeant, the wounded are just on the opposite side of those buildings, inside one of the smaller banks on the street next to us, running parallel to this one. You're to get there immediately," he repeated.
"Understood," Irid said, looking at the three men who were to accompany him. You couldn't tell facial emotions from under a helmet; but he felt the emotion coming off them in a rolling wave; fear, anger, and duty.
"We're ready to go, Sergeant, just say the word," Iron said, no inflection in his tone besides the confidence and anger in his voice.
"Let's go boys," he said, "We've got to get through that building back there first. I noticed broken glass there on our run from the gunship. We can likely use that to cut through at least half the block, by making an exit through the back of the building and maneuvering our way through the back alleys to the next block over. We've got the wounded there according to your sergeant, and we need to get there to save as many men as possible. We've got to get them evacuated, as soon as possible. Understood?"
"Understood,Sergeant," the most senior of them, Iron said. "Lead the way and we'll follow."
"Good," he said, "Now on my count, we're all going to get up and make a run for the store front four buildings down, and then make a hard right. We're going through one of the windows."
"Sir, since we're going to be right there, I want to pick up Lieutenant Murr," Dash said. "He needs help –now."
Oh no, not this, Irid thought. "I admire you're dedication and loyalty, trooper. But it's too dangerous. It's crazy enough we're trying to do this while a sniper knows our location, more so while trying to pick up a wounded man."
"Sergeant, he'd do the same for us," Cid stated. "We need to get him back, now."
Irid growled, thinking over the possibilities. Would it work? "No, it's too dangerous, I'm sorry. We're going to have to pass him by," he said, the words tasting wrong even as he said them. It was the right move to do though, right for him, the men he'd been entrusted to and the lieutenant.
Wasn't it?
"On the count of three, we're leaving," he stated. "On my mark; one, two, three, mark!"
They ran. They ran like they never had before, pushing their legs to go farther and faster than they knew to be possible. They were trying to outrun a machine; they were trying to outrun its ability to readjust its aim. They were trying to outrun Death itself.
Come on, he thought to himself. Just a little ways further, he encouraged, passing the second store front. A single shot already burst forth, singeing the air next to him as it struck the ground with deadly force…
…a mere ten meters away from where Lieutenant Murr lay, bleeding out to death.
No, I can't take him, Irid thought to himself. It'd be too dangerous, he could bleed more if move him; moving him could worsen a spinal injury...
Yet he found himself running towards him.
Ah kriff it, he thought. He was already trying to outrun Death. If he made it; great, but if he didn't, he'd have died trying to save another brother. He could die at rest with that knowledge that he'd tried.
"Cid, Iron, Dash, when I get to the lieutenant, I want you to turn and fire at that sniper," he said. "After that, get yourselves to the building I talked about; the one with the broken display window. Get inside it as soon you get there, understood?"
"Fierfek, Sergeant, you're going after him?" Dash asked in shock.
"Just fire when I get to him!"
A random voice cried, as he ran. It wasn't one of his men running by him; they were just reaching the fourth store front and going to hide behind a wall to shield them. He came to the conclusion it must've been one of Niro's men.
"Niro, are you okay?" Irid asked, veering off course to the storefront.
"Nailer has been hit. I'm taking over as countersniper," he could hear the sergeant say, just as he squeezed off a round. "Where are you-what the kriff are you doing!"
I honestly don't know, he thought to himself, as his slid onto his knees alongside the lieutenant, flipping him over roughly, to hear a painful cry in protest. "The lieutenant is still alive, I'm grabbing him."
"Are you insane? That sniper droid will take you down for sure."
"Then keep him busy for me" the clone medic yelled, lifting the wounded officer onto his shoulders to carry, just as a blaster bolt bored into the earth less than a meter away from him, then two more, stitching the ground nearby, reaching closer and closer to him with each shot.
Fierfek, fierfek, fierfek, fierfek, he thought, running as fast as he could with an eighty kilogram man on his shoulders. He felt he was moving too slowly, intuitively he knew it. There was no way he could avoid it. If he were the sniper, he'd be setting his crosshairs down on his target, setting them on the center of his back to have the most possible chance of both hitting him and causing either immense injury or death. He was going to get shot; he was surely going to get sho–
"I got the sniper droid" Niro announced triumphantly, "At least once, not sure yet. Hurry yourself up and get to safety you kriffing crazy medic."
Irid couldn't believe his fortune. He wasn't about to get shot. He wasn't about to die, and he'd saved the lieutenant, all in one fell swoop. It was unbelievable. Thank the Force, he thought.
The medic quickly turned the corner behind the safety of the storefront's protruding wall, and jumped across the broken display window's sill, landing with all the weight of the lieutenant and himself all on his knee. Fek, he thought wincing, feeling pain surging to his kneecap. He was going to need to examine that later.
Dash and Iron grabbed the lieutenant off the poor medic's shoulders, and placed him on the floor, while Irid took a moment to recover from his mad sprint, taking in a deep breath, trying to get his heart rate back to a semi-normal speed.
"Take off his bucket," Irid gasped, kneeling next to him while flipping off his own.
They did so, and the lieutenant coughed, blood spraying from his mouth, laughing somewhat deliriously. "What's so funny?" Irid asked him, to engage him in conversation and distract his mind.
"I saw what you did, outrunning the snipers' shots," the lieutenant said. "You've got some star system sized choobies, Sergeant; you're definitely one of Jango's," he said chuckling, then coughing up more blood. After a moment of silence, he asked finally, "Why'd you do it?"
So the lieutenant had heard the order to leave him there; Irid had wondered if he did. The medic shrugged, while tugging out his med-pack from his backpack, popping it open with ease and familiarity. "You looked like you could use some help, sir. It's my duty to help troopers that need it," he said, a façade of distraction in his voice to hide the strong feeling of love and duty he held for his job, and those who he was entrusted to help. "That, and now I get to tell the others later how I saved one of Commander Cody's prized officer's singlehandedly from a terrible death. Imagine all the field cred I'll get just for that alone."
A sputter of laughter came from out of the lieutenant's mouth, as did another spray of blood, leading into a fit of coughing. After waiving off Irid's attempts to quiet him, he said, "I knew there was a reason I liked you, Sergeant, I just knew it," the lieutenant said with a wide tired grin.
And with that, the lieutenant closed his eyes, finally able to relax, knowing he was in the best possible hands –the hands of a brother.