On The Ground

by BakaGrappler

As the great war rages, the fiercest fighting will always be where enemies can look each other in the eyes as they try to kill each other. Follow the Troopers fighting the isolated battles in a war that continues to devastate a galaxy.

1. After The Bloodshed

Chapter 1 – After the Bloodshed

The atmosphere of the second planet around the unnamed system's star is breathable, but thin enough to cause altitude sickness within minutes, even with trained Troopers like Privates Dillon Gauss and Kil Sammek. That is why they are both still wearing their helmets so long after the conclusion of the battle while they pace the field. A field with an inordinately large number of dead Republic and Imperial soldiers considering the size of the planet, smaller than most moons and not worth colonizing because of the world's very thin ecosystem.

Due to the rapidly shifting currents of the war with the Sith Empire, this spitball of a planet found itself near enough to the front line for military intelligence to decide it was worth setting up a supply base. That was why a full company of Troopers, over a hundred men and women, had been dispatched to rapidly build and secure a ground base for use in the long term push into the Empire's lines a few sectors further in.

That was also why a covert drop force of over two hundred Imperials had landed on the unnamed ball of dirt to try and take the base. The surviving lieutenant thinks it's because the Empire wanted to ambush any damaged frigates that limped in for repairs.

It had been a close battle, but the Troopers had pulled through, though half their number had died, and half of the remainder are wounded. That is why Dillon and Kil were the only two assigned to sweep for survivors, because everyone else is occupied.

Cradling a standard issue rifle in a ready firing position, Kil continues his story. "So you can see why I didn't want to inherit the family business. My little sister is the mechanic, not me. I only know how to hold my own in a brawl. So I became a soldier. Play to your strengths, right?"

"I suppose," replies Dillon as he automatically studies his companion, despite the fact that Kil is wearing the regular faceless and anonymous full head helmet that all the Troopers wear. Kil has always had a very non-threatening demeanor, and a face that matched. If anything, Kil's face had the uncanny knack of making him look scraggly, which was anything but the case after he'd bulked up in the training camp. But even now, if you saw only Kil's face and not his full figure you'd assume he was scrawny. That's probably why he'd gotten so good at fist fighting, a man looking like that has to hold his own at the bar. Dillon had once seen him take three guys single handed.

Dillon could have easily jumped in on that fight himself. Even though he's ten centimeters shorter than Kil, he's got broader shoulders and is quite proud of his quick uppercut. Dillon is also left faceless by his helmet, though he has a rather unusual shade of hair, a blond so dirty that it seems like a light brown that contrasts with his dark brown eyes.

"So how about you, Dillon? Why did you sign up with-" Kil cuts himself off and jumps onto a completely different line of thought. "Hey, I think we got a live one. Right there."

Dillon carefully moves toward the indicated remains of a Republic Trooper on the ground while Kil stays back on watch. A trooper minus a forearm lopped off by a Sith lightsaber and a helmet faceplate smashed in like it was struck by a pile driver. Dillon tentatively asks his companion if he's sure the man is alive.

"Nope," comes Kil's quick reply, "but I think I saw his head wiggle."

After doing a quick check on the armor's life support function, Dillon confirms that this unlikely set of remains has some life in it yet and opens a closed band communication to the two sentries stationed near the supply depot, using hand gestures to further indicate the wounded trooper. After one of the sentries begins hoofing it over, Dillon and Kil start moving again. With the momentary distraction gone, Dillon and Kil are back on their assigned duty.

Their job is to sweep for survivors, not search for the wounded.

After the sound of Dillon's blaster striking a motionless Imperial soldier in the chest fades, Kil starts talking again. "Think he'll pull through? The trooper."

"Dunno," replies Dillon, who is always oddly laid back and accepting of what happens around him. "Aside from losing his gun arm, his status readout said he'd suffered some pretty bad damage to the skull. His face is probably jelly. Those Force powers hit hard."

The end of Dillon's statement is punctuated with another blaster shot from the Imperial rifle he'd picked up. No sense in wasting Republic ammo on a job like this.

"So who was it? Was he in our squad?"

Kil's question catches Dillon off guard for a moment, the sense of humanity having been necessarily drained out of him for the sake of following the sanguine order he'd been given. Kil's sense of what is human is still mostly intact since he only has to follow Dillon around, his job being to shoot anything that shoots Dillon. After thinking for a moment, Dillon answers the question. "I don't think I checked. But if he survives we'll know who it was in a month or so."

"Why a month?"

"Well..." Dillon blasts two more Sith corpses in the short space of time it takes to dwell on his timeline. "A couple days treatment on a medical frigate for the wounds, and a week for him to recover his strength, I think they call it getting in 'stable condition.' And let's say two weeks for a mechanical hand and putting his face back together. And after that, he'll be sent right back to us for active service, where we can see who it was in the flesh."

"So you don't think he'll be discharged?" asks Kil, gingerly stepping over a corpse with a freshly smoldering hole in it's chest.

"Not if he's still got a good eye left. We need all the troopers we can get." Not waiting for Kil's certain affirmative response, Dillon blasts another Imperial soldier on the ground, this one reacting with a sharp galvanic jerk, causing both troopers to take a step back.

Kil cries out reactively, "Whoa! Good one! Sucker would have gotten past us if we weren't being so thorough." After agreeing, Dillon blasts the Imperial twice more and moves on. Kil quickly gets back into his conversational mindset. "So, about what I was gonna ask before, what made you decide to volunteer to be shot at?"

Dillon's tone becomes a little lighter and slightly wistful as he takes his leisurely time in answering Kil's question. "Well, I'm pretty much a farm kid. Born and raised on an agriculture world. Everyone was open and giving with each other since we couldn't really survive any other way. You know, one guy raises meat, another farms vegetables, and we share in order to have a proper meal, right?" Kil gives an automatic nod, even though Dillon wasn't waiting for it. "Well, I was a kid when the war started, who didn't even know what 'dishonesty' was yet, and then I hear the news that those systems changed sides, trapping the Republic fleet in between them. You remember that?"

Dillon pauses this time, not because he was waiting for Kil to give an answer, which he did since everyone had heard of the defection of the Belkadan, Sernpidal, and Ruuria systems. He paused because the memory of that news flash and how it had affected the dinner table and the mood of the town he lived in made him angry all over again. Angry enough to be able to enjoy blasting the next half dozen corpses.

"You know, learning about betrayal on such a huge scale as that... It leaves a mark. As soon as I was old enough to be accepted, I signed up and left my homeworlds."

"Homeworlds..." repeats Kil. "I still don't get it, Dillon. How can you have two homeworlds. It doesn't make sense."

Dillon pauses for a moment before pulling the trigger on another body to give Kil a look that was, from the tip of the helmeted head, akin to looking at a grown man that can't remember how to walk for more than thirty minutes at a time. After pulling the trigger, Dillon starts his well worn explanation over again. "You know I'm from the binary planets of Tarill and Tyrill, right?"

After the slightly annoyed affirmative, Dillon continues. "Well, Tarill and Tyrill orbit each other, like two moons in exactly opposite orbits without the planet in between. They have the same ecosystem, same atmospheres, and they're only a quick shuttle ride away from each other by the transit system. So there's no point in pretending the people on Tyrill are any different from the ones on Tarill, and vice versa. Especially since we all have family on the other world, just about."

Dillon's borrowed rifle makes a clunk sound as the ammunition in the blaster runs out. Dropping it like the disposable commodity it is in a place strewn with so many ownerless weapons, Dillon flexes his right hand to work the kinks out as Kil stoops to pick up and toss a replacement Imperial rifle. Republic rifles have the recoil kick up and into the shoulder, allowing more accurate aim once you've grown use to dealing with the shock. These Sith rifles recoil much lower and partially into the firing hand, making them easier to use, but putting a lot of pressure on the same muscles over and over again. This small difference just acts as another reminder of how different these two warring peoples are.

Catching the Imperial rifle and quickly righting its alignment, Dillon blasts the next body with a red bolt as he continues. "So yeah, we're all so close with one another that we Rillians think of both planets as home. Especially when we have the Ecliptic Festivals."

Kil's interest is finally piqued, as this is the first time he'd heard this part, and forces Dillon to explain more.

"Well, you know how Tyrill and Tarill orbit one another?" Dillon says this as if it was the first time the subject of their orbit had arisen. "That means that every day one of the planets partially eclipses the sun for the other. Well, it's the Ganet star, but we call it the sun. So we have a partial eclipse every day, see? But every half a cycle, down to the hour, one of the planets does a full eclipse of the sun, and we throw a party on the planet that gets to see the eclipse. Then we relocate to the other for the second full eclipse to round out the day."

"Twice a cycle?" asks Kil, making sure he has it right, but Dillon misunderstands and begins using the stock of the Sith rifle as a reference point for the star Ganet, and his left hand begins gesturing as if explaining orbital paths to a child. "Yeah, twice a cycle. See, the first time Tyrill is eclipsed first, and the second time it's Tarill, since we're on the opposite side of the sun."

"I get it, I get it" cried Kil, slapping Dillon on the shoulder to get him to stop. "I'm not an idiot. You know, I'm surprised I never heard of your 'homeworlds' before now, with that strange gravity well of yours. You'd think scientists would name it one of the miracles of the universe."

"Well actually, we do have a science outpost on both planets to study the effect. They've been nearly abandoned for centuries now and we put our own home grown scientists in there these days, watching for grav storms and the like. Weather forecasting would be the right term, I think. But we're more backwater than you'd think. We only get the occasional big game hunter as tourists."

"Hunters? You got something worth hunting?"

"One thing, yeah, it's the..."

Dillon's voice trails off, and so does Kil's attention. It makes sense considering what their sweep has brought them to. In front of the troopers is their sergeant, kneeling in the turf awkwardly. His remains at least. Perfectly balanced on three points, a grounded knee, an outstretched foot, and a vice like grip on the wrist of a Sith force user, his right hand still holding the lightsaber and the corpse just as perfectly balanced. Two men's remains perfectly poised against each other to remain half upright.

"I saw it happen, you know." Kil's voice is a little hollow as he shares the event behind the oddly beautiful sight. "That Sith was cutting through us left and right, you know how deadly they are once they're in close. Then Sergeant Menshett steps into an opening after the Sith had completed a swing, I could have sworn he'd make it. But instead of a backswing the Sith stabbed him, right in the chest." Kil pauses to indicate the hole through both sides of the armor, open air in between.

"I can't imagine how much it hurt, having your flesh vaporized like that. But the sergeant didn't slow down. He grabbed the Sith's arm, pulled him in, off balance, and blasted away into the Sith's chest, point blank. I heard the sergeant's last words as he and the Sith went down together. 'That all you Sithies got?'"

"That's just like him," says Dillon, his first smile in hours covered by the helmet as he steps in to get a closer look at the tangled enemies. The holes in the Sith's chest make it obvious that Dillon won't have to "make sure" that he's dead. But the more interesting sight is that both men are still gripping their weapons, the sergeant with his rifle in a lax position, the Sith with his lightsaber deactivated but still pointed right at the hole in the sergeants chest. Gulping hard, Dillon bows to an odd feeling welling up deep inside and starts trying to free the lightsaber from the tight grip caused by a traumatic death and rigor mortis.

"What are you doing?" asks Kil, obviously worried.

Successfully pulling the lightsaber free without toppling the balance of the entwined warriors, Dillon replies. "I'm getting a souvenir to remind me of the sarge. That these Sith, though they're tough, can still be killed as long as you're stubborn enough. Besides, this is probably the only chance I'll have to grab a memento of this place before we leave."

Dillon also always wanted to hold one of those lightsaber contraptions just once. Everyone in the Republic grows up on tales of the Jedi, after all. But yeah, this is the only chance Dillon will have of grabbing something worthwhile from this place. The division that Dillon and Kil belong to, the 1081st, is pulling out of this location. Seems the fleet this outpost was suppose to supply fared pretty poorly, and the entire push has been cancelled. The soonest a ship can reach them from the front lines is in thirty hours. The remaining lieutenant is planning to have everyone off world and moving at light speed in less than twenty four, with all supplies intact and detonating the structures remotely from orbit. All hands are going to be working non-stop to make it happen.

Turning the lightsaber over and over, looking at the oddly undecorated tube with a few spare blocky parts jutting out near one end, Dillon finds the activation switch. With a snap hiss, the blade extends in a ruby light with an omnipresent hum.

"You sure it's okay to be playing with that thing, Dillon? Hey! Watch where you swing that!"

With an embarrassed apology, Dillon releases the activation switch and the blade retracts with that strange upward sliding tone, and then stows his souvenir in a small supply bag on his belt. Dillon was happy to put it away. Holding that thing felt like holding a viper by the tail. You never knew when you would get struck and you know it would only be your fault when it happens. While Kil was understandably annoyed at almost being hit by an experimental swing of the lightsaber it only took a few steps for him to not only forgive Dillon, but to strike up the conversation where it left off.

"So you have hunters come to your world? Worlds. What do you have that's worth being a trophy?

"Ah? Well, we do have the Rillian Mountain Cat. It's a two brained predator that can really take a chunk-"

"Wait, two brains!"

Dillon responds with a look and a tone of voice as if Kil had asked if water is wet. "Yes, two brains. Rillian Mountain Cats always have two. That way when one of them sleeps the other takes over."

"So...it has two heads, then...?"

"Nope. Just the one."

In a pause that lasted long enough for three soldiers to be "checked" for signs of life, Kil finally comes to terms with the unique physiology of the Rillian Cat. "Well, I guess I can see the appeal in hunting a creature that never sleeps."

"Oh, that's not why hunters come for the Cat," says Dillon as he pushes the top body of a small pile over with his foot to get a clear shot at a second one. "It's because both of the brains have different personalities, so their pattern of movement and hunting changes every time one of the brains sleep. I remember one Trandoshan hunter say that chasing a Mountain Cat was like gambling and hunting at the same time."

"Wow, and the weirdest thing we have on Wren is the Blood Tree."

For the first time since meeting him, Dillon has been thoroughly surprised by Kil, even to the point of forgetting to shoot the bodies that are around them now. "Blood tree? What the slag is a blood tree?"

"Oh, I never told you? They make Blood Fruit. Shiny red sweet fruits about the size of a fist. Well, a fist smaller than mine, but anyway, they use the fruit to lure birds into their toothed leaves, clamp down on 'em, and eat 'em. Pretty easy to guess how they got their name."

If he hadn't been wearing the helmet, Kil's smile would have revealed the crooked canine he'd earned in a fight when he was a lot younger. When Dillon remarks on how horrible a concept that is, a meat eating plant, Kil hastily corrects him. "You wouldn't be saying that if you'd ever been on Wren. We have at least a hundred times more birds there than any other planet I've been on. All colors, all sizes, and so many that they're a public nuisance. You have any idea what it's like to have to hose off your coat and hat every day to keep from stinking up the house? We all love the Blood trees. And besides, I don't think you have the right to comment, Mr. Two Brained Tiger."

"It's a cat. A big cat."

"Whatever, all I'm saying is that all the weird stuff on your world- worlds, trumps anything we have on Wren."

Suddenly the chatting stops dead as both troopers realize where they are standing. Dillon had thought the density of dead Imperial soldiers had increased, but hadn't dwelled on it before seeing it's cause. Right there on the ground in front of him is the dead Sullustan Jedi by the name of Soun Vhandok. A friendly man that earned the respect of the troopers by walking around without a helmet and not suffering from the thin atmosphere. If Soun had not been assigned to the 1081st for the duration of this operation there wouldn't have been a single Republic survivor of this fight.

The Sith had touched down outside the range of the infant supply point's scanners and approached on the ground. Low tech, but they wouldn't have been detected until it was too late, and a hundred troopers would have been caught with their pants down. But Soun had felt something was wrong, and emergency patrols were sent out.

Even when the attack came, Soun outdid every other man on the field. The jolly robe wearing guy with a smile wider than any human can manage turned into a squat whirlwind of death. He took out three of the four Force wielding Sith on his own while holding the front lines. Every one of the thirty odd bodies on the ground here was Soun's work as he held the Imperial attack force at the perfect range for the 1081st's defensive lines to hit their advancing attackers. Soun had been fighting all alone for what seemed like an eternity to the troopers he had forced to stay behind, stay where they would do the most good. And every one of those trooper's hearts had burst when they saw Soun take that first blaster hit, causing him to lose his carefully maintained momentum, and then half a dozen right afterward. And every man counter charged the advancing Imperials hoping to reach that one Sullustan before he fell. The trooper's surge had surprised the Imperial forces and their lines broke down as they were slammed by melee combat. Not a single Imperial was allowed to escape from that tangle of violence, not even the ones that tried to run.

It's not an exaggeration to say that Soun is the one that won the battle.

And that is why the two troopers stand in reverent silence despite the pressing time limit until departure. Kil reaches up to remove his hat before he remembers he's wearing a bolted down helmet. Dillon kneels down to slowly close the Sullustan's eyes, remarking on the fact that the Jedi still seems to have a smile on his face. Dillon then places Soun's fallen lightsaber into the hands he folds over the blaster burned robes, over the warrior's heart.

When the battle ended there were too many wounded to worry about the dead. And later on, the field was unable to be secured for the gathering and transit of the deceased. That is why Dillon and Kil are out here, to secure the field.

"I know we're not supposed to call in anyone that isn't alive, but..."

"Yeah, Kil... I agree." Dillon didn't need to hear the rest to know. Soun is an exception. They can't pretend to not have seen him.

After calling in the location of Soun's body, the surviving lieutenant gives Dillon and Kil new orders, to stand watch until he gets there. The two of them stand in silence for a good fifteen minutes, idle chatter not being suitable to the occasion. When the two of them see the approach of the lieutenant it is obvious he has not come alone.

Behind the last surviving officer of the 1081st's division is a narrow loading bed, usually used for moving munitions crates through the narrow armory doors, being guided by a half dozen of the walking wounded, men who were injured enough to be removed from active duty but well enough to be on their feet. Behind those troopers is a line of white armor that seems to grow and expand as it comes closer, until it is obvious that all the troopers that survived without being mangled are there, in two rows of eleven troopers, the final trooper in one of the rows limping so badly that he can barely walk straight. The white of the honor guard's armor is spoiled from head to foot with mud stains, carbon scoring, cracked armor plates, and in some places fresh blood.

In preparation, Dillon and Kil begin dragging away the bodies of the Imperial troopers littering the ground to make room for the procession. It would be bad manners to be standing on a man's trophies while you honor him. Having just finished clearing the ground as the honor guard arrives, the two troopers salute.

"Private Kil Sammek, Sir!"

"Private Dillon Gauss, Sir! Jedi Knight Soun Vhandok has remained undisturbed, Sir!"

"Good work troopers," says the lieutenant, his voice croaking from the abundance of orders he'd been giving, "Now line up."

Dillon and Kil are released from their salute, and briskly move to the front of the two rows of troopers. Reaching the position their training has dictated they take, the two troopers stop sharply, turn, and rack their weapons into the proper grip. And then they stand there, attentive and patient as the lieutenant walks the field until he is standing just on the far side of Soun's remains. Once there, the lieutenant hoarsely shouts, "Honor Guard! Forward!"

In perfect sync, the two lines of troopers march with one loud stomp per step as they move but for the shuffle as the one crippled trooper drags his body in pace with the rest. At a distance of five meters between the lines with Soun lying in between, the troopers stop and turn a sharp 90 degrees to face their fallen comrade to shoulder arms in a single rumble that fills the air, as if ready to be inspected by a superior officer.

"Bearers! Forward!"

The walking wounded slowly lead the hovering bed over some of bodies on the ground before reaching the cleared turf, and coming to a stop just before Soun. The walking wounded step forward to have three on each of Soun's sides and stand there.

"Lift!"

The six grown men bend down stiffly. It is obvious that they are all in a lot of pain, even with the emergency Kolto treatments, but they do not utter a sound as they each take up a portion of Soun's weight and lift the small Sullustan. Reverently, the walking wounded all take small side steps as they move Soun slowly over the transport bed before lowering him onto its surface. After laying their comrade down, the walking wounded step back and bring their arms up in a salute which they hold.

Not a soldier moves at this time, as silence hangs around all of them. A civilian or a Jedi would have taken this chance to say some words to honor the remains of their friend, but troopers don't mourn on the battlefield. That doesn't stop each individual trooper from saying in his heart and his head their words of thanks and of goodbye, though. And Dillon knows that his is not the only helmet wet with silent tears.

"About! Face!"

In one move, the honor guard and the pallbearers alike turn a sharp right angle, the pallbearers released from their salute to take hold of the transport their charge is resting upon. The trooper with the mangled leg nearly falls over from the sharp shift of weight, but no one judges him for it. Soun wouldn't have minded.

"March!"

The procession is slow, and eats a good twenty minutes of the preciously short time the troopers have before departure. It proceeds past the empty barracks since no one can afford time for sleep. Past the bustling medical center, almost overflowing with patients who either stare at the passing train of people in melancholy in being unable to honor their friend, or turning their faces away so as to hide their tears. The procession passes by the recently installed proton bombs in the center of the camp, meant to be detonated from orbit to destroy any supplies the Sith could get their hands on, and the large supply hangers that have only had a tenth of their contents moved to the cargo haulers despite the hours of effort involved. And finally the procession reaches the personnel transport that had been moved into position for this event, and its long loading ramp slowly lowers, the hanger door itself acting as the ramp. And there at the opening entrance stands the ship's flight crew.

The procession stops as it reaches the foot of the ramp, the troopers turning in to face their charge and once more shoulder arms. The troopers stand motionless as the pristinely dressed transport's captain comes down the ramp wearing a transparent breathing mask to salute the 1081st's stained and battered lieutenant. In close with one another, the two officers have what is meant to be a private chat, but Dillon's able to just barely make out the words, being at the head of the procession.

"This is a trooper's ceremony, Lieutenant. Are you certain it's alright to treat a Jedi like this?"

"I am," says the lieutenant strongly, even with his overtaxed voice. "Until we turn Jedi Knight Vhandok over to the Order, he's one of our own."

After a few moments the transport's captain nods and says, "Very well then. When can I expect the rest of the casualties?"

"Soon. We won't be leaving them behind."

Satisfied, the transport captain steps forward to accept charge of the fallen Jedi, and walk the pallbearers up the ramp into the ship. Before the pallbearers could take a step, the lieutenant shouts, "Salute!"

As one, the honor guard shift their rifles to the left hand, held by the barrels, and strike the stocks against the ground to rest while their right hands shoot up to their foreheads. All the troopers, the lieutenant included, hold their salute as the honored dead is carried aboard the ship and transferred into the temporary custody of its crew. And as Soun's body passes by him, Dillon's breath catches. It was most likely nothing, just the play of rigor mortis, but Dillon got a look at Soun's face between the pallbearers.

It looked like Soun's smile had just widened a little.