My first story here on FFN. I've read many stories here and now I'm deciding to write my own. I hope you enjoy!
Please note that if you haven't read Republic Commando, you won't understand some things right away. But I'll explain everything soon, I assure you.
I own nothing except for Nauur Squad and a few other characters.
Center Street, Capitol City, Lothal, 344 days After the Battle of Geonosis.
Sieges were the worst thing ever, Jet thought. They were all about the next second, the next meal, the next nap, the next round, the next droid. Unfortunately, Nauur Squad had been trained especially for siege warfare on Kamino. Jet had accepted that as reality, along with the rest of his squadmates, but he seemed to hate the job more than the others. Glace actually relished waiting for the enemy to give in, be overrun, or just eventually die. Poor shabuir. He's got such odd tastes. Tyke liked them; it apparently gave him time to think, and since their last deployment he'd been doing a whole lot of that. And Wren was indifferent, as he usually was to such 'trivial' matters.
In actuality, Jet would have been less passionate in his dislike had his first operation ever in the war been one. And not the first mission after Geonosis. Oh, no, it was on that dar'yaim that he'd had to lay siege to a Geonosian spire that housed the Separatist emergency command and control center. Along with some di'kut'la Jedi general and a company of white-jobs, the regular troopers, Nauur had taken control of some pulse artillery and attacked the place for days until the bug leader who called himself Don Ciss, surrendered. Then the jetii, not knowing what else to do, sent Nauur into kill all of them.
At least we're not on some sand-blasted osik pit now, Jet thought as he ducked his head underneath a barricade made of shipping crates and mangled speeder-bikes. He was lying down on the dirty permacrete street, his DC-17 rifle grasped tightly in his left hand. The crates were stacked up to about one-and-a-half meters high, just enough to keep their heads up without getting them blown off by blaster fire. Even still, Jet crawled when he moved, unless he was getting up to send a spray of lasers at the tinnies. Right now there was a lull in the battle, a nice period that could be anything from a minute to hours. Jet still wondered why they let breaks like that even happen; if they pressed the attack they could overrun the position and break through into the rest of the Capitol City. That's what their aruetyc – not meaning foreign, in this case – sergeant had taught them. But he was grateful that they did pull back every once and awhile. It gave him a little time to catch up on rest.
The others were involved in other activities, though. Glace had all of his helmet comlinks off except for the squad link, and Jet could hear the Fleet Met forecast for Lothal; partly cloudy for the next five days. Just like the last month or two that they had been slugging it out on this backwater world. And we've spent a quarter of that time sitting here, blasting up their lines. Tyke was tinkering with his Heads Up Display, the HUD. He hated the barves in Republic Procurement; the new readout that had just been implemented was horrid, apparently, and although Jet and Glace were annoyed with it, they could see why he hated it so very much. Wren had severed all links and was listening to music, very traditional instrumental stuff from a system Jet had never heard of.
Nauur Squad had been tasked as Forward Operator Team nearly three weeks ago, which meant they were was just keeping clankers from overrunning the Wolffe Pack, which was trying to set up a relief network for the survivors of the initial invasion of Lothal and a guerrilla fighter group; poor Wolffe, and poor General Plo. Civvies loved their comfort and hated doing work to secure it, he'd noticed in his short months. Commandos did more work with the regular people of the galaxy, and every day his conviction that clone troopers were superior grew more. "We should just send in the fleet to just pound the osik out of 'em," he muttered, reloading his decee, tossing the old ammo clip to the side. Tyke glanced up from his work with a raised eyebrow.
"What?"
"I said that we should - "
"Raze the place," Wren interrupted, apparently pausing his music for a moment. "You remember that that's Jet's perfect answer to everything."
"What?" Jet demanded, sitting up a little. He let go of his blaster. "Sieges are too drawn-out. If the Chancellor and the Jedi Council really wanted this mission done quickly we would just call in an airstrike. Or perhaps and orbital bombardment would do the trick."
"Remember Nya's lesson about that?" Glace joined in the conversation. "Win hearts and minds as well as battles, ner'vod. Civvies have feelings too."
"Oh, shut your trap," Jet snapped, crossing his arms over his bulky chest armor. "Her advice is worth -"
The command comlink bleeped. None of them even needed to accept the call since anyone in command could override and enter into their comm channel uninvited. Although with the system Tyke was cooking up they'd be able to kick out any shabuir who tried to push their way in. Jet could only hope that came soon.
"Nauur, this is Commander Wolffe," the voice on the other end said. "What's you status?" Glace responded. As sergeant, he was to give any information that Wolffe would request, and the others had to act like they didn't exist.
"The droids have withdrawn from our position, commander," he said blankly.
"For good?"
"Negative, sir. They'll be back. We could use some ammo down here." There was a pause. Static replaced Commander Wolffe's voice for a full minute before the comm beeped back online.
"Can you hold out another day, sergeant?" he asked. Jet rolled his eyes and kept his mouth shut. Another word of advice that their useless training sergeant back on Kamino had told them about how to deal with command: keep your mouth shut until you had been spoken to directly; it would save you a lot of grief. As much as he disliked her, heeding her had helped him in the past. Keep your thoughts on the mission, private. Avoid Nya at all costs. That vow had served him pretty well, too.
"Affirmative." Glace had taken a resigned tone now. "What's the status on the rest of the campaign, sir?"
Wolffe sounded annoyed. "The Jedi Council has deployed another two battalions, along with General Unduli and General Fisto.
"Do we really need more troops down here, if you don't mind me asking?"
Another pause. "Not at all. We should just hit the droid positions in the plains with that nice shiny fleet of ours."
The fleet around Lothal was anything but nice and shiny in reality. They'd been pounded at Geonosis, then over Jabiim, and finally during a defense of an Outer Rim medical station. The admiral in charge, Admiral Sylln, was a young, cocky di'kut who called his men clone and experimented with dangerous maneuvers, always using the same excuse – his men were expendables.
"Not possible, Commander. Our Seppie friend Mar Tuuk just entered the system." They could practically hear the commander roll his eyes, even though they were several kilometers away.
"At least they have a good reason for not helping us out this time. We'll send ammunition within the next forty-eight hours. Report in at 2300."
"Copy that, sir," Glace responded. "Nauur out." Wolffe cut the link before Tyke could get to it himself. Another two battalions? This was getting to be a full war down here, or as Nya Themis would say, it was getting too much like Keldabe. Not that any of her Republic Commandos knew what the True Mandalorian capital was like. Jet smirked.
"He agreed with me, vode," Jet announced, picking up his blaster again.
"What?" Wren asked, looking up. "About what?"
"Wolffe said we should just blow 'em up."
"... Oh."
"Heh-heh." He checked his ammo: three hundred more rounds. If the clankers kept up at their current attack rate he would run out at the end of forty-eight hours and have to rely completely on detonators and his throwing arm. Enough until the Wolf Pack boys get their shebse down here with reloads. Shab, we didn't ask when they think this ordeal might end. Jet gulped and realized how dry his throat was. He took a pull of filtered water, then flipped onto his belly and sighted up through the scope. The street they were defending went right down the brown Lothal plains. As far as he could see, there were no tinnies coming their way. Things would be quiet – for a while. In the next second, though, things could change drastically. Jet decided he'd better get his next rest; he never knew when he'd get another one.
As soon as Wolffe cut the comms with Nauur Squad, he pulled his bucket on and ambled through the maze of the refugee camp filled to the brim with injured troopers and Lothal natives. It had been set up in the central square of the Capital and the surrounding streets, with tents of canvas and metal sheets strung up everywhere. Wolffe hated this job; he and his men should have been out there pounding the droid positions, or even be somewhere else entirely. There were other theaters in this war that needed attention, such as Ryloth where Ima Gun Di was losing quickly or Rodia where there were whispers of Trade Fed fleets moving to take the unprotected planet. This Agriworld didn't need three battalions and three Jedi to take care of it.
Wolffe reached the command tent, on the outskirts of the square. General Plo had insisted that the safety of the injured came before their own, so command was tucked away in a corner. Wolffe took off his helmet to duck into the small tent. The tiny enclosed space was dimmed for the sake of the holotable projecting a map of Lothal: the city, plains, and the fleet's position above it. The General was leaning over the images. He looked frustrated, even though his face was covered by that mask. One or two of Wolffe's own men were across from him, using their fingers to move the few air forces they had and their artillery units across the plains – not like any troop movements would be quick.
As he entered, General Plo looked up. "Greetings, Commander," he said wearily. "How are our forward units faring?" Wolffe stood at attention out of habit, even though the general didn't require it during campaigns; it was a waste of breath to constantly say command on deck or at ease constantly. "Better than us, it seems, sir. They're holding of the droids, although they'll require more ammunition within a day or so. Permission to send some recon units to deliver it, sir?" General Plo nodded in response. "Indeed. Lieutenant Jevvis seems to be in need of something to do; send him and Hook with speeders to take ammo and an E-Web cannon. Our Intel is reporting another regiment of droids moving towards the city." The commander didn't hide a grimace. More tinnies. A whole kriffing regiment of 'em. Plo seemed to sense the shift in mood and stood up to face him. "Do not worry, Wolffe. Nauur Squad can hold the enemy for a few days more."
"Sir, yes sir." Wolffe saluted, then turned on his heel to leave. As he stepped out of the tent, he realized how warm it was inside. He pulled on the neck seal with his free hand to let in some air, then placed his helmet back on. Instantly the HUD came online, and with a few rapid blinks he activated comm to the ARF trooper circuit.
Lieutenant Jevvis took a few moments to speak. When he did, he sounded thoroughly annoyed. "Yes, Commander?" he asked pensively. Advanced Recon Troopers, an offshoot of ARC troopers, weren't technically part of the Wolf Pack company: they served under ARC-trooper Three-Six, who was somewhere else on Lothal harassing Seppies. Plo Koon was trying to petition the Jedi Council to integrate them into the regular army, which was something that most white-jobs wanted. They could be pretty defiant to higher-up's orders, especially when the one giving the orders wasn't a Jedi. There already were some troopers undergoing ARF training on Kamino, though, which gave Wolffe some hope.
"I need you to take Hook down to Nauur Squad's position to deliver ammo and a 'Web."
"Negative, sir."
"Excuse me?"
"Hook and I won't be able to deliver anything right now. We aren't at camp."
"Well, where the stang are you, then?
Static. "Well, we were out - " Wolffe cut him off with a long, loud sigh.
"You were out. That's all I need to know. Get yourselves back to base now, trooper! This is a war we're fighting if you hadn't noticed, and you are supposed to be ready for duty at all times!"
"Er, sorry, Commander. Can't get ourselves back right away," Jevvis said hesitantly. His demeanor had changed from high-and-mighty to fearful of what Wolffe's reaction might be "Our speeder's a bit gone."
Static again, this time from Wolffe's comm. He was seething. Yeah, we need these idiots transferred into the regular army. He cut back into Jevvis's link. "I don't care, soldier! I need you back here, now! There's another regiment of clankers heading towards Nauur and they'll be there in less than thirty-six hours!" That was a bluff. He had no idea when the droids would get there. Hopefully he could prove his lie true. "And I need you to get that Intel to 'em."
"We can be back at camp in twelve hours, sir. Then we can pick up the stuff and hand it off to Nauur within twenty-four." How far did they go?
"Jevvis, where the hell are you?"
"Well... er... we're right above the tinnies, sir."
Shabuir= stronger word that 'jerk'
Dar'yaim= 'Dead world'. Hell; place that one never wants to return to. A place that is dead to a person.
Di'kut'la=idiotic. Comes from the root word 'di'kut, which means idiot.
Jetii=Jedi
Osik=Crap, Poop, dung,
Aruetyc= anything from 'foreigner to traitor'. Usually used as an insult, but means Non-Mandalorian.
Ner'vod=Brother
Vode=Brothers
Shebse=Butt