DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN STAR WARS
Episode I: The Infantry
Loyalty...
Their blaster shots rang out like artillery pieces in the still air of the crisp night. Half clothed bodies fell this way and that, each one ending up as nothing more than a crumpled heap in the dusty streets of the village.
Obediance...
A grenade flew through the broken window of a blaster-stricken home and detonated. The blast took out two of the building's walls and killed the half dozen victims hiding inside. Laser fire peppered through the smoke—just in case someone had somehow survived.
Readiness...
An elderly female was laying face down in the dirt, her face nothing more than a massive crater that spurted out streams of scarlet as a sobbing child tried to stem the flow with her slippery red fingers. The small girl would barely have time to register her mother's death, a blaster shot vaporized the rear half of her skull a few moments later and she suddenly left the pitiful world she had just barely joined.
The raid had lasted only two minutes in galactic standard time. To those that had called the village their home, it had lasted a lifetime. To those that had called it their target, it had lasted an eternity. As the last of the villagers were rounded up and systematically executed, the white armored soldiers formed up into patrols and began to search throughout the area. None would be spared.
"This is what happens when you try to hide from us, rebel scum!" The lieutenant spat as he gestured at the flaming ruins of what had once been a lively village. Corpses littered the streets and pools of blood were forming around them. The entire image was like something from a horror holo rather than a real event.
The spy that the Stormtroopers had been hunting was on his knees, half his face bloody. His eyes were wet with tears and he seemed extremely distraught. The lieutenant wasted no time in snapping at his men to secure their target.
Wordlessly, a pair of white armored troopers approached the rebel operative and attached a sturdy set of steel binders to his wrists. The metallic confinement device made an electronic beep following a solid click that informed them that the binders were secure.
"Sergeant! Take him to my ship!"
"Yes, sir!"
With a harsh jerk, the operative was dragged away from his destroyed hideout as the Imperial soldiers marched him forcefully towards the awaiting Imperial transport behind him. As he was being led up the landing ramp, he heard the sound of screaming and more laser fire and stopped. The troopers in turn hit him brutally with the stocks of their E-11 blaster rifles, sending him flying forward into the unforgiving surface of the steel deck of the transport.
The lieutenant was soon aboard the starship as well as the rest of the squad followed him. The Imperial officer ignored his captive and headed up into the ship's cockpit to order the pilot to take them back to their command ship in orbit.
The Stormtroopers—excluding the pair guarding the rebel spy—slowly began to relax as they removed their helmets and slung their rifles away for the ride up into orbit. One member of the squad, the ordnance specialist, ST-22143, found his seat and quickly began activating the process of simulated imagery—better known as sleep.
He had once had a name—before the brainwashing and Imperial-aided orientation—and he supposed he had once had a life outside of the military. Regardless of what it had been, ST-22143 was what he was known as now. For practical protocol, it could be shortened to "trooper" or "you", but that was rare and in between.
As the shuttle began to shake and shudder due to the weight of the planet's gravity field, he wondered briefly why the villagers had to be slaughtered. The planet didn't seem to be especially important, but then again he knew little about astronomy or sociology. In the end, he retreated to the basic principle of Stormtrooper logic: if it wasn't an obvious issue, ignore it.
The shuttle soon broke the atmosphere and soon after that the vessel sailed its way across the blackness of space to the docking bay of the Fallon, an Imperial cruiser on assignment with Bravo company of the 9th Stormtrooper Infantry Battalion—a subordinate battalion within the 17th Imperial Legion.
"You two take him to holding," ST-32412—their sergeant—ordered ST-22143 and the trooper beside him.
"Yes, sir!"
Pulling his helmet back on, though he left his rifle slung, ST-22143 and his companion relieved the Stormtroopers guarding the rebel operative and then "escorted" him down the landing ramp and onto the hanger floor.
The hanger of the Fallon was small and was barely able to proficiently handle the tie wing that was housed within it. The troopers marched their captive through the small display of fighter, bomber, and transport craft and ultimately to the hatch door at the other end of the bay. They then had to navigate through a number of hallways, lifts, and checkpoints before they had arrived at the detention center. Upon securing the prisoner in his cell, the two troopers repeated their course until making a minor direction change that then led them through another complex maze of passageways.
"Detail reporting, Sergeant Major!"
The two men strode through the hatchway that separated Bravo company from the rest of the ship. Before them, the company sergeant major was seated at his desk; an aide sitting nearby immediately made note of their arrival.
"Acknowledged, report to the armorer."
"Yes, sir!"
The two men, for all intents and purposes devoid of emotion, marched down the metallic hallways of the ship barracks and found the section belonging to 2nd platoon. Their commander, Lieutenant Calhion, was not present—as was the precedent set by Imperial officers—but his subordinate Staff Sergeant was. After reporting in with him, they then made their way to the armory, where the armorer collected their E-11s and E-14r blasters before sending them to the housing block allocated for Third squad.
"Detail reporting, Sergeant!" ST-22143 barked out as he and his companion finally arrived at their destination.
"Acknowledged, carry on."
The two Stormtroopers barked out their response in unison and then entered their barracks room. Squad rooms consisted of nine beds—known as racks—arranged in two double-rack units set against either wall with a personal unit for the squad leader—the sergeant—set against the far wall. Storage containers were stashed anywhere and everywhere that space could be found.
Still moving fluidly, the troopers began to remove their multi-section armor and gear and then they proceeded to secure all of it within the appropriate lockers and containers. Only after they had completely stored away their gear did they begin to relax—in a similar fashion to the shuttle—from "active mode" to "inactive mode."
Imperial Stormtroopers were the Emperor's fiercest troops for a reason; troopers are brainwashed following an intense period of indoctrination and physical training. Those that survived had little free will, but they were all but unstoppable killing machines. Flash lessons and simulators had given them the best minds, reflexes, and bodies; experience had given them the ability to apply all of those traits to combat.
In short, they were no longer fully human.
Not one for contemplating things, ST-22143 activated the locking mechanisms on his personal storage units before exiting the squad bay. The trooper, accompanied by three other troopers, made his way down the hall to the fresher. Inside, the four stripped down and walked into the fresher units set up within the room. As the hot water and soap mixture fell from the nozzle above his head, ST-22143 allowed his mind to wander a bit more—something he kept meaning to have checked by the unit morale officer.
It might just have been that he had come from a water world—or had it been a desert one?—but ST-22143 enjoyed the fresher and the cleansing sense he drew from it. He had no sense of morals—the brainwashing and indoctrination had ensured that—but if he had understood them, he would have realized the water was his way of cleansing himself of his sins gained in the field.
"Attention," a metallic voice rumbled out across the ship-wide com system, "hyperspace engines activated. All hands, attention. Jumping in...t-minus three...two...one."
The ship shook violently for the briefest second as the hyperdrive flared and the ship launched forward into hyperspace. Due to the surge of overpowered energy, the lights temporarily went out.
ST-22143 was left standing half dry in the dark.
So I'm trying out this new fic, I promise I will not be calling our protagonist by his identification tag for the entirety of this fic. That would drive me—and even more so you—insane. This fic will also incorporate other elements of the Stormtrooper Corps. Review and let me know what you think.
Peace.
Lostsword
