The steel, technologically engineered foot collided with snowy plains, a massive step moving the AT-AT closer and closer to its destination. Snow bled from the sky, splattering the planet of Hoth with a beastlike furry. Snow fell at an alarming rate, masking, as planed, the imperial strike that would crush the rebellion. Nine heavily armored imperial war machines, known as AT-AT's marched through the tumultuous blizzard that was Hoth's never-ending climate, ready to serve the empire and bring and end to the rebel traitors. Along with these power house weapons were smaller AT-ST's, AT-AR's and AT-PT's Seated in the cockpit of the leading AT-AT was Major General Maximilian Veers.
He sat with the mannerism of a trained tactician. His shoulders were square, his back straight, and his hands manipulating controls at an unfathomable speed. General veers, looked out of his cockpit window, a massive sheet of transparent steel, staring straight into the horizon, beyond which lay his enemy. Veers clenched his fist and shifted in his seat, the material of his armor shifting as well. For the empire he would not fail. He spoke into his comm. link. "This is commander Veers, All units prepare for enemy engagement, group into a straight lined formation. We won't be expected so strike fiercely, strike swiftly. HE closed the comm. Channel and moved his AT-AT into position. For the will of the emperor he thought, for the wrath of imperial justice.
Hundreds of rebel troops poured out from Echo base, digging in amongst mounds of ice and snow. P-Tower anti vehicle gun placements were set along the perimeter, along with a handful of DF.9 anti infantry artillery pieces. Some were ready, others were reluctant, all were scared and doubtful. It was almost a miracle that the rebel intelligence early warning sensors had detected the imperial intrusion. If not for that the rebellion would have been destroyed. Now they had a chance, a slim one at best but a chance none the less.
Malin Mandolrim, crouched behind a cluster of ice, the fur of his helmet frosted over in an uncomfortable fashion. He was an averaged sized man, 190 pounds and 5'7. His face was youthful, the kind of face that held the experience of military training and nothing else. Indeed this was malin's first combat experience, the moment he had been waiting for but also dreading. He gripped his repeating blaster rifle, breathing deeply. "For freedom" he murmured to himself, his voice quit, muffled by the gruff exchanges of the other men. "If I die I die for a good cause" The words had just left his mouth when blaster fire was heard. Pleasantries went out the window and hell broke loose.