TK-102

Chapter one: Tuskens

"Aww, man my boots are full of sand!"

I let out a sigh. 402 was whining as usual.

"Cram it private."

I could tell by the way that the sarge uttered the order that he was pissed. Hell we all were. My unit is a branch of the 506 th legion. Famous for coming right after the 501st. And well... being after the 501st again. The 506th may not be the most famous legion, but I didnt join the military to be famous. Nope. I joined because I drank too much Corilen Ale too near an Imperial recruiting office. The recruiter slapped a set of shiny white armour on me and told me my new name was TK-102. Anyway that's not the point. We were all pissed off because we had been marching around the giant dirt ball that is Tatooine all day, and all we'd done was make a complete circle. Enough was enough.

"Sir."

"I swear 402, if you complain again im gonna... oh 102. What?"

"All due respect sir, we are getting nowhere. Can we not stop for a break?"

"Your intelligent right, private? Actualy dont answer that."

I frowned under my helmet.

"Well if you were intelligent youd know that we need to find shelter before nightfall. You see at night time, when all the little aliens and humans go to sleep, all the nastie things come out."

"Like pirates sir?" 205 chimed in. I was getting sick of TK-205. Ever since he joined this squad he had been kissing the sarges ass. He was hated by all the other troopers, including me, and I think even sarge was getting tired of him now.

"No 205, we can handle pirates, rebels and womprats. I mean the real scary stuff. Tusken Raiders for example."

TK-147 laughed.

"Whats so funny 147?" Sarge asked.

"Sir, my father fought in the clone wars. He fought tougher things than a bunch of nomads in rags."

147 was keen to point out that his father was a soldier for the Republic at every oppurtunity. Not because he was proud, but because having a clone father meant that he had some clone blood in him too. That was what he was proud of, the fact he had a tiny bit of the blood of a Republic commando in him. Mind you he's an ok guy.

"I know how great your father was 147, but unfortunatley most of us in this unit are un-modified, weak, mortal men. Hell I dont know if 666 over there IS even mortal."

I turned to look at 666. He was marching along at the back of our squad. That is to say the back of the six of us. 666 never spoke, never slept and never took off his helmet. Emporer knows what age he is let alone what race. The six of us, me, 402, 205, 147, 666 and 50- Sarge, walked along silently for about two more hours. There was the odd sound here and there but appart from that, nothing eventfull happend. Then I spotted a giant black shape on the horizen. It looked to be a sandcrawler from where I was.

"Ok men. We'll set up shop at that sandcrawler for tonight. We'll carry on to Anchorhead tommorow."

The whole unit let out a sigh of relief, me included. I looked back at our footprints. They stretched back as far as I could see, all the way back to Mos Eisley. But then as my gaze shifted back from the begining of our trail I caught a glimpse a two dark figures. 402 saw it too.

"SIR!" He shouted.

"WHAT NO..." Sarge's voice stopped as a gaffti stick collided with his helmet causing a crack that made me feel sick.

"Fi...Fire!" 147 stammered.

We were all way ahead of him. A blast from my E-11 hit one of the tuskens squareley in the face. All that was left of its face was a giant black singe. One down, one to go. I was distracted by the sight of sarge lying on the floor. He seemed to be moving. I hoped.

"102" I heard 147 shout. I turned around and the sight of a masked face wearing a re-breather greeted me. The tusken let out a raw and liffted its club to swing at me. Then its arms lowered and it fell backwards. 666 Stood behind the dead tusken. He holstered his smoking carbine and started off marching again...