Our Songs, Our Family

Chapter 2

Under the Helm

The sounds of blaster fire rang out through the shooting range, red beams flying down towards their targets, smashing into the charred blast proof backdrop. The holo targets, depicting men and women garbed in Republic battle armor and gear, flashed from blue to red when a bolt passed through them.

It had been six years since RE-1313, dubbed Lucky by his friends, had arrived aboard the Order Service Vessel Regulator, and it had served well as his home. He was originally nervous about spending more than a couple years on a ship. Those fears were alleviated soon, as he had more to be concerned with, despite not having been off this ship since his Name Day. Passing his Stormtrooper tests, and how well he did, determined his role to play in the coming war against the Republic's doomed proxy, The Resistance. So far, he was guaranteed a spot in the front. He had excellent accuracy with the blaster rifle, and his physical fitness was well above average. He wouldn't be sent to Special Forces any time soon, but he was definitely above the mark.

He discharged the magazine after he emptied it, and slid a new one into the F-11D rifle. He brought it up to his eyes, aiming down the scope and let loose another rapid fire barrage of bolts, his rifle gliding expertly between the various holos that popped up. He hit most of his marks, some did take a few extra bolts, but he hit them. He had completely gotten used to shooting with his helmet on, though it had been difficult at first. He'd heard rumors that their predecessors had frequently suffered from an array of negative effects of firing through their helmets.

Warping of depth perception, accidentally mashing the stock against the chin and ventilator of the helmet, and various other issues arose. It was one reason why Lucky preferred to not use the foldable stock. Sure the recoil was hell, but he could keep the blaster at a fair distance and get off more rounds.

Under his helmet, his vision changed from clear to red, as the tint of the lenses was designed to minimize glare from sunlight, explosions, and other exceptionally bright light sources. A soft, orange ring darted around, linked up directly to his blaster, allowing him to see roughly where he was aiming even when his blaster rifle was at his hip.

It was experimental, and sometimes a good shock wave could malfunction the sensors, but they were still told to use it during exercises. To be frank, Lucky was more likely to turn it off in an actual fight. Relying on that kind of tech that could be easily distorted was a good way to miss your shots. For each shot you miss, that's one more the Resistance can send at you or your buddies. Besides, it wasn't terribly difficult to simply aim down the sight of the rifle, even with the helmet. Once again, the tradeoff between using the stock and not using it was clear to him. He could easily maneuver the rifle around his face without that piece of plasteel smacking him in the jaw.

He was probably making it out to be a lot worse than it was. Since the day they'd arrived on this base they'd learned to treat their armor like a second skin, and moving around in it was a lot easier now than it had been six years ago. Duce seemed perfectly comfortable with the folding stock pressed against his shoulder pad, and he hit just as many targets and Lucky did. Duce had taken to using blasters a lot quicker than any of his little friend group. Though it wasn't hard to see that Book was the worst. He wasn't bad per say, but he was definitely just average, barely making it above the cut for accuracy. He tried, but he just wasn't all in the game. Frosty, or 1460 as he preferred, was quick to remind him that he had a duty to get better.

In his own way, Frosty wanted to see Book succeed just as much as the rest of them. He wasn't a bad guy, Lucky reasoned. He wanted to be the 'ideal' Stormtrooper. In a lot of ways he was. He was loyal, unflinching, and very much capable of the stone cold actions that were expected of them. Yet, at the same time, Book, Duce and Lucky were just as loyal to the First Order. The Stormtrooper corps was their family. As much as they may, or may not, have wished they'd grown up a normal life, every trooper viewed their brothers and sisters as exactly that: siblings. So despite his cold demeanor, Lucky still considered Frosty one of his good friends.

A sudden high chirping sounded through the range, followed immediately by a considerable stream of red bolts of pressurized gas. Lucky suppressed a grin, despite the fact that it would have been invisible beneath his helmet. That would be RE-1491, or as he and his friends called him, 'Dive.' Lucky peeked around the corner of his blast shield, relieved to see he wasn't the only trooper captured by the sudden burst of heavy blaster fire.

Dive, named for his tendency to 'dive headfirst' into danger, was one of RE Corps heavy assault troopers. His short, stocky build made him a good combination for the powerful weapon. Low center of mass, and small target for the enemy, coupled with his near suicidal fearlessness made him a damn dangerous man with the FWMB. Still, you weren't supposed to expend your entire magazine at the range in such short time, and an officer proceeded to instantly chew Dive out, his voice almost drowned out by the sound of the repeater.

A bell rang out, signaling that their time at the range was done, and that it was time for another group to take over. Their designations did more than simply give them names, they also denoted battalion and team. The RE-00s through RE-12s worked together, forming 1st Battalion, the RE-13s through RE-15s as 2nd Battalion, and RE-16s through RE-18s formed 3rd Battalion. The only exception to this rule was RE-19, who formed the scout and reconnaissance. They didn't work with any other companies. Every group shared the range with each other, which allowed them to bond close together. This mean that, in battle, they'd work more closely together. Their locker rooms were assigned exactly the same because of that. RE-1300 – RE-1599 shared one locker room, three hundred men.

True to their schedule, they'd be off to the rec-room next. Lucky discharged the magazine from the blaster, dumped it into the chute where it would be refilled, and set the rifle down on the counter. He turned and exited the booth, removing his helmet as soon as they were in the locker room.

The First Order was pretty strict about helmet protocol for Stormtroopers, but as long as they were in the rec room, lounges or locker rooms they did not need permission from a superior officer to remove them. This wing of the Regulator was practically designed for casual living. Despite its strict code, even the Order realized that Stormtroopers were still people, and sometimes people just need to unwind.

They entered the locker room and Lucky began stripping off the plasteel armor, stuffing it into their correct locations within his locket, marked in pitch black letters RE-1313. Someone slapped him across the back and he turned, snorting as he recognized his friend RE-1511. "What's up Leven?" he asked.

Leven removed his helmet to reveal an enthusiastic grin, his round face nearly splitting with excitement. "Got an S on my accuracy marks, so their considering giving me one of scout rifles!" he chirped. Leven packed a megaton of energy in every inch of his tall frame, standing at 6'2. Lucky didn't mind, but some people found him a little too up beat. Frosty avoided him when he could, and barely tolerated his presence when he couldn't. Of course, Leven and Duce has bonded like long lost birth siblings, despite looking nothing alike. Where Duce had golden blonde hair and a fair complexion, Leven had wiry black hair and chestnut colored skin, with two great big green orbs staring out from beneath his highbrow. He was enthusiastic about almost anything, from blasters, to the war, to getting his armor polished. You couldn't bring the man down.

It was for that reason that no one could decide on a nickname for him. There were just too many good ones, but oddly enough he'd shot down them all. He liked Leven, a shortened version of eleven, mostly because he said it was simple. If there was one thing that mattered most to Leven, it was simplicity.

"That's fantastic, Lev. Think you'll be moving into scout and recon?" Lucky asked, peeling off his breastplate and storing it sideways.

This time, he simply shrugged, "Dunno man," he said, turning his back to Lucky as he faced his own locker and began taking off his own armor, storing his helmet in the top shelf designated for it. "I mean it'd be awesome, but I don't think I've got the agility or stamina marks for that. I'm probably just going to get the extra multiplier on my scope, maybe a full magnetic stock," he paused, tilting his head upwards, sounding like he very much approved of that idea. Magnetic stocks, as they sound, would stick to the shoulder plate and allowed for a lot less error when aiming. It wasn't strong enough that it caused you to stick to your weapon, but it was enough that the rifle wouldn't slide around the sleek plasteel. They were common on the F-11S scout rifle, which was really a standard F-11D but with a full stock, better grip, sights and an extra 100 meter range. It was designed to play off the already superb accuracy of a regular Stormtrooper.

"Still," Lucky began, "Any edge you can get, right?"

Leven chuckled, "Hell yeah, my man," he answered.

Lucky removed the last piece of his armor and slid off the skin tight shirt that they wore, replacing it with a white t shirt, the black emblem of the First Order proudly emblazoned over his heart. He gave Leven a goodbye, confident that the man would be in the lounge later, and made his way out of the locker rooms, squeezing his body between the numerous other Stormtroopers, eagerly tearing off their armor to get into their lounge clothes.

They only got an hour in the lounge before they had their evening combat drills. After that, they could finally eat, and then they were done for the day.

The doors smoothly slid open as he approached the lounge doors, revealing the Stormtroopers little slice of heaven. The lounge wasn't much, but the First Order did its best to make sure the grunts were comfortable. Numerous couches and comfort seating lined the walls, and a few pazaak tables and dejarik boards organized in rows. A few off duty troopers were already settling in, turning on the dejarik boards and looking to win whatever it was they could place bets on.

They didn't get paid for their military service. They were given everything they needed free, so gambling with their wages was impossible. Usually the bets were more intense. Who would be the first through a breach could be decided on a hand of pazaak, and volunteers for point were often the losers of a game of dejarik. For a Stormtrooper, the military was everything they'd ever known, so to them these bets were rather cheap and easy to make. Not every game involved gambling, though. Sometimes soldiers just wanted to unwind with a friendly game.

On the left side of the lounge was the sports room, where a couple troopers were already showing off their skills at Hoops, a game that was played by dribbling a ball down the field then resolved by tossing the ball through the hoop at the end of the court. It didn't require much space, so it was easy to stuff four different courts in the corner.

Lucky made his way over to his usual seating, grabbing a cup and filling it with water, before kicking back, letting his feet rest up on the ottoman and closing his eyes. He took a sip from the water as he relaxed, letting the kinks in his arms unwind from the repeated blaster fire. He ran a hand over his short black hair. It was by no means a buzz cut, but it was definitely on the short end. A lot of troopers liked to keep their hair as close to regulation as possible, some of them opting for shaving the sides and leaving more on top as an extra cushion for their helmet. Lucky never really minded the helmets inner padding, and besides that he hated having his hair grow. It was much too thick for his tastes.

"Thirteen," a voice sounded, dull and bored, but friendly. Lucky didn't bother opening his eyes, there were very few people who addressed him by his number, but offered a small smile. "Hey there, Frosty," he said. He could feel the man bristle beside him, but he didn't respond. It may have been mean, but most of the guys knew he hated that name yet kept using it. Maybe they were just trying to get him to come out of his shell at first, but now it had settled in to a regular name. 1460 surely wished it hadn't.

The fact that he didn't respond to the obvious prodding made Lucky curious. He opened one eye and looked at his red headed friend. Frosty was bothered by something, it was easy to see. "What's up, sixty?" he asked, trying to be more polite. The red headed man seemed to be lost in thought for a moment as Lucky studied his features.

Frosty had continued with the dream of becoming the ideal Stormtrooper. He did look the part, in a lot of ways. Strict regulation hair, short on the sides and just a little longer on the top, perfectly clean shaven, and unwavering stare. Frosty had also bulked up, as the lot of them had, and he imagined that the man wouldn't even need his armor to look intimidating. After a few seconds 1460 shrugged, "Nothing. Pazaak?"

Lucky knew if there was something bothering his friend that prying was only going to force him to retreat, so he smirked, gave a nod of agreement and launched himself off the couch.

"If it isn't my two favorite troopers!"

Lucky grinned as Duce, Leven and Dive emerged from the hallway into the lounge. The five of them sat down around the Pazaak table. Dive was easily the shortest Stormtrooper he'd ever seen, and his facial features only served to accent that. Standing at 5'7, the man still sported a little baby fat, his fair skinned face round and soft. He kept his dark brown hair buzzed close to his head and his even darker eyes were small, set underneath a low brow.

They were soon joined by Book, who grudgingly set down his manual on automatic cylinder feeds and joined in. Book's features had dramatically changed over the last few years. Gone was the baby faced individual, replaced by a rather attractive looking man.

His hair was slightly receding at the corners of his forehead, and he was already starting to sport a shadow of a beard on his face, which he would have to shave before drills. His grey eyes were framed by large eyebrows. Due to his balding, he tried to keep his hair as long as regulation allowed it. Two things about the man had not changed. His attitude towards learning, and his shyness.

Duce dealt out the hands and they got down to business. They weren't placing bets this time, instead they were playing by 'Senate Rules' where there was no risk and nothing got done. Despite most of their last six years in service had been devoted to physical strength and tactical knowledge, their education had still been a focus. Lectures once every seven days on the current standing of the Order, as well as news on what the Resistance had been up to. That was a critical part of their lives. Hearing about different attacks staged by the terrorists, the damage they did, fueled their anger.

"You know I heard a rumor that we're going to be doing a parade planetside," Duce suddenly brought up.

That got everyone's attention real quick.

"Bullshit," Duce was quick to dismiss, earning a resounding, but silent, nod of agreement from Frosty. Book did not look convinced, but still remained hopeful.

Lucky chuckled, "I gotta agree with Duce, man. There's no way we're going planetside."

Dive snorted, "Oh come on, when have I ever lead you astray?" he said with a cocky smirk.

Dive had a fair point. It was miraculous, but Dive had managed to gather some good knowledge on the inner workings. He was often assigned guard duty as a result of his poor discipline and big mouth, which often meant he was stationed on graveyard shifts. This gave him unique opportunities to overhear officers discussing plans.

There were two kinds of officers in the Order. The kind who viewed Stormtroopers as robots and fodder, and the kind who viewed them as professional soldiers. While every Stormtrooper greatly appreciated the latter opinion, members of the former where often the easiest to eavesdrop. They'd talk openly in front of guard posts at the end of meetings. Not classified information, but little things that a skilled ear—and poorly disciplined soldier—could pick up. What was going to be served for dinner, what types of combat drills they'd be running, and apparently that they might be heading planetside.

"Alright, I'll bite," Duce announced, drawing a card from the deck. "Why?"

Dive kept up his cocky appearance, "Parade," he said simply. They all looked at him with furrowed brows, asking him to elaborate. He played a card of his own down on the table before continuing.

"You guys remember that bomb that went off in the capital square on Cerea?"

Cerea was a planet close to what the Republic called 'The Unknown Regions' which the First Order controlled. As Cerea was not a member of the Republic, nor the First Order, it was a serious political battleground for influence. The First Order wanted to use Cerea as a base point, and the Resistance was keen on stopping that. Generally this meant propaganda, sending funds to bribe ministers in favor of neutrality but rarely violence. Apparently, however, that was changing. A new Resistance commander known as Ajon had turned the aims of the Resistance cell into overt attempts to stop Order influence.

Assaulting known Order supporters and forcing neutrality down the Cereans throats worked for a time, but only worked on the regular citizenry. The government, seeing the Resistance not only as an enemy of the First Order, but as an enemy of the Cerean government, authorized the First Order to station a small attachment of soldiers in the capital. It was only one thousand men, and they were mostly there for added security. Of course, this only continued the cycle.

Two Galactic Standard weeks ago, Ajon and his Resistance cell detonated a bomb that killed fifteen Stormtroopers, along with nearly fifty civilians. The Resistance, and the Republic, both condemned the attack, with the Resistance officially denouncing the man. It did not seem to deter him, or his soldiers. In fact, there was a rash of new attacks against both Order and Local forces. Ajon had been unchained with the Resistance's denouncement, now fear and panic were plenty on the peaceful garden world.

"Well, like I said, rumor has it that's our destination. We're going to parade around Tecave city, let the people there know that the First Order has their backs," Dive said finally, before cursing as he went over twenty, throwing his cards angrily on the table.

Lucky looked at Duce who shrugged. It seemed likely. Man what an exciting prospect, to finally step onto a planet after being stuck on a ship for six years. Lucky hadn't felt so sick of shipborn life in a long time, and the idea of real fresh air and birds and grass only made him hope that Dive was right.

"You better be right about this, Dive, I don't want to get my hopes up only to find out we won't see a planet until we invade the Republic," Leven said, half joking and half serious. Book nodded, uttering a soft mutter of agreement, as he drew a card. Book smiled, laying his hand out to show that he had hit 20, and thus the winner.

They reshuffled the deck and dealt them out again. "Still," Lucky said, picking up the conversation. "What exactly does that entail? Being on parade?"

Dive shrugged, not really bothered with deciphering his intelligence, just distributing it. Duce spoke up after that, "Well I imagine that they'll just march us through the capital, show us off to the people and anyone who thinks of standing in our way," he suggested.

Book nodded at that. "It's likely this is the final step in bringing Cerea into the First Order. Ajon really played his cards wrong," he finished thoughtfully. That statement opened up a whole other can of worms.

"You guys really think that Ajon was kicked out of the Resistance? His actions aren't exactly standard Resistance MO," he said. That was true. Civilian casualties weren't exactly uncommon in the Resistances war against them, but the Resistance stuck to purely military targets, and the civilian casualties were more often wrong place wrong time scenarios. The bomb on Cerea, however, was detonated outside a military post during a pro Order rally. The civilians may not have been deliberately targeted, but their wellbeing was completely disregarded.

"Who cares?" Frosty spoke up for the first time, a little more malice than necessary in his voice. "Ajon is a terrorist, one of the many reasons that the Galaxy needs to submit to order," he said. It was a cookie cutter answer, and while they all agreed, it was not satisfactory.

"Yeah, but, it makes you wonder if he's really rogue. He could be even more dangerous if that's true," Lucky pointed out. Frosty decided to shrug at that.

"That's possible. It's still irrelevant. The man is an enemy of ours, and he's killed our brothers. Who he serves is of little concern."

That was something no one would disagree with. It might seem weird to an outsider, but even though none of them had ever met the Stormtroopers killed in the blast, they all felt it in their hearts. There was a bond that transcended logic between the fighting men and women of the First Order. Every Stormtrooper was in the same boat, and an attack on one was an attack on all.

They continued playing in relative silence for a few minutes before a new person joined them, plopping down in one of the chairs with an exhausted sigh, bruises covering his body. They paid no mind to them, but Lucky gave the new comer a smile. "Done already, Trip?"

Trip, or RE-1333, got his name from a shortened version of triple. Again, Book's smarts came in handy with this one. The number three appears three times, so triple was just a common sense deduction for him. Trip was the only person Lucky was really close to who excelled in the Riot control element of their profession. While every one of them was trained for melee combat, only a select few actually carried their Z6 batons into combat. Trip was one of those people. He usually came to the lounge late, dedicated a half an hour of his break time to fighting other members of the Riot Group in their arena.

The man simply nodded, offering a soft smile. Trip was a nice guy, probably the least prone to violent outbursts. It was ironic that he was the best fighter, but many people noticed that his skill in fighting came from excellent parries and counter strikes, not so much outright lashing out, as many of the Stormtroopers were prone to doing. His reddish brown skin was still wet from his shower, and his black hair was an ever tangled mess sitting atop his head. He was quieter than Book was, though his was more out of a desire to just enjoy peace and quiet. He wasn't afraid or timid of social interaction, he just preferred to stay out of it. A true introvert.

Because of this, whenever Book needed to take a break from people, he could often be found in the company of Trip. The two were perfect together. Book didn't want anyone to talk to him and Trip never really felt like talking.

The rest of the game continued with relative mundane conversation. There wasn't a whole lot to talk about as a Stormtrooper. Your accuracy marks, who you thought was going to be the first person to get a kill and why, how much longer were they going to have to wait for war, what were they waiting for? Before they knew it, the alarm rang.

Time to suit up and head to the simulation chamber.

The combat enhancement simulation room was a large part of the rear of the ship, located near the bottom, just below engineering. The room was large enough to simulate a portion of a battlefield around 200 meters long. It took up an impressive amount of ship space, but its location made sure it did not impact the vessel negatively. The three hundred men of 2nd Battalion stood at attention, ready to complete the exercise laid out before them.

Standing before them was their commanding officer, Colonel Derson. Derson was formerly RE-1597 before being designated for officer candidacy. The Entire 2nd Regiment of the RE Corps was under his command, all one thousand men. He stood before them, his red shoulder guard noting his rank as a Regimental commander. The First Order used a simple color coding for officers of various levels. Regimental commanders wore red shoulder pads, which made Derson one of 10 people in RE Corps to carry one. Captains, who commanded battalions, wore blue pads, and their Lieutenants wore orange for company commander. Each company was one hundred soldiers, and there were three to each battalion, whose commander was the person in charge of RE-1300, 1400 and 1500, thus they had authority over 300 soldiers.

The men of 2nd battalion formed up behind their commanders, in lines of five men across, with the officer standing as the first man on the left. Their battalion commander, RE-1306, marched forward and saluted Derson. "2nd battalion ready for simulation!" he barked.

Derson's helmet was off, cupped in his hands below his left arm pit, revealing his aged, dark skin. Lines framed his mouth and covered his forehead, and it was easy to see he was older than the men before him. He has a soft scar trailing from his cheek bone to his jaw at a 40 degree angle, most likely from a shrapnel wound. He scanned the crown as cleared his throat.

"We're going to be working urban environment again," he announced, much to their dismay. They didn't show it, of course, and Lucky was sure to keep his face stoic beneath his helmet, as if Derson could somehow sense if he scowled. "I was not satisfied with the scores from last run. Your clear speeds were awful, and you took over half your numbers as casualties," he barked. Standing straight, he continued. "RE-1529, you and your men in 3rd company will be the defenders in this simulation," he announced. The member of 3rd company with the orange shoulder pad saluted before marching his men off to the other end of the simulation room. Lucky watched out of the corner of his eye as they moved, spotting Leven due to his slight increase in height over everyone else.

"RE-1327, RE-1492, you two will lead 1st and 2nd companies to assault the enemy position," he ordered. He turned to the window that overlooked the simulation room and nodded. There was a faint glow as the floors molded and morphed, suddenly showing Lucky the front of what looked like a bombed out building. The night sky was clear, and you could see faint lush plains in the distance. He wasn't sure what planet this was supposed to be simulating, but he sure liked the visuals. Except, of course, for the destroyed building 100 meters in front of them.

"This drill will teach two things. First, how to defend a position against a numerically superior assault. Second, how to assault a well dug in position in an urban environment. The goal for the attackers is no more than 40% casualties. I want this building taken in fifteen minutes tops!"

Lucky knew the drill, they'd run it numerous times before. The defenders had it easy in a way, as there wasn't really any expectation for them to succeed. In fact the drill almost seemed to prepare them to die instead of retreat. He'd been the defender in the last drill, personally taking out seven people before one of the concussive blasts knocked him out. They held out for twenty minutes and thirty two seconds, and killed 63% of the attacking force, which was more than acceptable.

If Stormtroopers were going to lose a fight, they were supposed to take as many of the enemy with them as they could.

He could hear the Stormtroopers that he would fight take moving around inside the building. The drill would start when their company commander gave the signal that they were prepared. After all, this was to simulate assaulting a well dug in position. The last bastion of resistance to occupation.

Colonel Derson, and the rest of the troopers, watched as a small flare was fired through the top of the structure. The drill would begin.

The troopers approached the building, hugging the walls and cover of the other simulated structures. Sound effects were added into the mix at this point. Lucky could hear TIE fighters soaring through the sky, sounds of artillery and blaster fire echoed in the distance. Fire's burned, crackling around him.

"RE-1313, take 10 through 20 around to the eastern side of the building," a command rang out in his comms. He nodded, "Sir," and turned to the men around him, giving them a swift nod of encouragement before sprinting through the rubble of a burned out building. The ten of them hunkered down behind a husk of a wall, charred corpses placed buried beneath the rubble.

"1313 in position," he said into his mic.

Lucky received the acknowledgement and then saw the smoke grenades being tossed at the foot of the building, hoping to obscure the advance of the soldiers. They did not have that benefit, as none of the men he was with carried smoke. He made sure to check his weapons as he watched the main group advance on the building.

The high velocity chirping of a repeater rang through the air, and he could hear a few yelps of pain as some men were hit and taken out of action. "Let's go!" Lucky barked, popping above his cover and laying down a rapid volley of blaster fire. He squeezed his trigger and sent a bolt through the windows that they faced, as did a few others, while the rest of his little fire team advanced towards the wall of the structure. He could see a few of the enemy troopers in the windows returning similar blind fire, and one of the men to his left got hit square in the chest by a bolt, knocking him out. The friendly troopers were outlined in blue through his lenses, while all the hostile ones had yellow outlines. Under his helmet, he could easily distinguish between friend and foe, despite them wearing the same armor.

Lucky cursed, trying to tune out the commands coming over the comms that did not specifically address him. The five men who ran ahead had made it to the walls of the building, leaving him and his remaining three men to make the charge across the street.

"Detonators!" he called in his comms and the men he had along the wall each pulled out a thermal detonator and lobbed them through the windows where they could see blaster fire exiting. As soon as they were in, Lucky took off running.

Smoke and dust blew out of the windows as he sprinted towards the wall, not slowing down as he braced his shoulder hard against the wall. There was a door with three short steps leading from the ground in front of them; that was their way in. With the majority of 1st company assaulting the front, they were the flanking force. They'd be the first men inside the building, trying to take pressure off the frontal assault.

He slowly maneuvered himself to the front of the line, peeking around the corner. He pulled his head back just in time as a jet of orange gas passed by his face. He blindly aimed his blaster down the hall, squeezing the trigger a few times as two of his men maneuvered to the other side of the door, dodging the return fire.

One of them crouched to a knee, poking his head around the corner and fired a few times. "Target down! Go!" he shouted.

Lucky burst from his position, jumping off the first step and skipping the last two. He was inside, but now the real decision had to be made. He needed cover, and he only had a fraction of time to find it. He settled for a door frame to his right, crossing through blaster fire and ducking inside the room. One of his troopers had followed him in, and they did a quick scan of the small room, which looked like it may have been an office at one point.

The other trooper ran ahead to the second doorway and began firing down it, ducking as a few orange bolts were sent his way. "RE-1313 is inside the east wing," he advised his commanding officer.

"Upstairs from your position is a heavy gunner. We need him taken down if we're going to get any closer to the front of the building!" his commander barked through the comms.

He acknowledged the new order and looked, satisfied to see that all his men had made it inside and were now trading blaster fire down the narrow hallway. He pulled out a thermal detonator and placed himself on the edge of the door frame before tossing it backwards around the corner. It rolled down the hall before detonating. He could hear a scream as someone got caught in the blast, too busy focusing on the Stormtroopers to notice the small ball of explosives.

As soon as the explosion sounded, all the troopers were out of their cover and moving down the hallway. It was only wide enough for two men abreast, so they kept it single file, forming a zig zag pattern to make sure they all had room to maneuver. Lucky was in front, leading the charge. An enemy trooper popped his head out and sent a bolt their way. It soared over Lucky's shoulder but smashed into the man behind him, hitting him in the face. Lucky dropped to a knee and fired back, hitting the enemy in the gut and taking him down. He was down to eight men, but they'd reached the staircase.

Two of his men covered the door to the other hallway, ensuring that none of the defenders could double back and make life difficult for them. That left six of them to clear the room upstairs. He could easily hear the rapid blaster fire of the heavy repeater.

"1313, be acknowledge that 1460 and a team of seven have entered the west wing."

Lucky smirked at that, proud of the fact that he'd managed to beat Frosty into the building by a minute, but also glad to have some back up. Now the defending reserves would be split between him and Frosty, not just all coming for him.

Lucky pointed two fingers at two of his men, then knife handed at the door, ordering them forward. Lucky had been appointed team leader, and they quickly obeyed his command. They rushed up the stairs, past Lucky who briefly raised his blaster away from their heads before levelling it back at the opening.

His two men stacked up then peeked around the corner. Immediately, one of them sunk to his knees as he was hit in the shoulder with a blast, but he was still conscious. He cursed, and Lucky realized that he must have only been hit with a pistol, which meant one thing.

The Riot group was defending their repeater team. "Command, acknowledge that the enemy repeater is guarded by riot troopers," he said before moving to take the place of the wounded man.

His call wasn't an excuse to delay or get backup, but more of a green light for the rest of the team to not have to worry about facing any riot troopers in close combat. That was now their job. Lucky gave a quick peek around the corner and could see them at the corner, their shields raised and pistols poking around the edges. Two bolts came his way but missed, smashing into the walls. He looked at the other trooper and nodded, before they both blindly fired their rifles around the corner. A few of them bounced back, hitting off the magnetized barriers of the shield, but it still made the soldiers on the other end flinch. The four other men in his team sprinted through the door, trying to get to the other side of the hallway. One of them took a bolt to the side, spinning him and forcing him to the ground, unconscious against the wall.

Lucky's wounded soldier tapped his shoulder pad, "Go on sir, I'll cover," he said, clearly in pain. The concussive blasts were supposed to simply knock a person out, but they could do some mild damage to the flesh and bone. Their armor absorbed most of the impact, but he had probably busted his shoulder real bad.

Lucky nodded at him, recognizing his voice as 1318. "Got it eighteen," he said, before firing another few shots and then rushing across the small hall, past his 'dead' comrade. Bolts flew by him but he remained unscathed, thanks to the effort from 18 and the other trooper, who he thought was 20. They were now on both sides of the hall, and the Riot troopers would soon disregard their blasters and begin closing for melee combat.

The room they were in only had one door to the hall, but there was another on the wall which lead to an adjacent room. If they could breach and clear it, they'd have a direct line on the room with the repeater.

He looked to his left and pointed at one of his men. "10, get up there and clear the hall. Use a detonator if you can," he said. The trooper nodded and moved forward to the door and lifted his leg to boot in down when it shot off its hinges, knocking him back in an explosion. Through it emerged two riot troopers. The remaining four turned their blasters on the troopers but they closed ranks quickly. The first riot trooper bashed his shield against one of his men, knocking him back, and swung his baton, clipping the other soldier in the head and knocking him senseless.

The baton armed man charged Lucky and the man to his right, 1316. 16 tried to shoot his hulking form, but the bolt hit his shield. He jabbed out with the baton and caught 16 straight in the stomach, knocking him down. Lucky took a step back, trying to fire at his tenacious attacker, but the man swung his baton at him, forcing him to duck and knocking his aim off.

The riot trooper dropped his shoulder and slammed into him with the shield, pressing him into the wall, before preparing to strike with the baton. Textbook move: pin the target, deliver a blow to their head to render them unconscious. Lucky was spared, though, when the riot trooper recoiled from a blaster bolt directly in his back. 16 hadn't been so easily dispatched, and had managed to get a shot off before slowly slipping away.

He owed him one.

The riot trooper sank to his knees and then to his side, hitting the floor with a thunk. Lucky turned to his right in time to dodge another swing from the riot baton of the other trooper. Lucky fell to his back to gain some distance and fired two bolts, hitting his attacker in the chest both times, knocking him off his feet. He looked around, realizing there were only two of him in the room now, him and 19. They moved into the adjacent room and peeked through the door.

He nodded at 19 who primed his detonator and tossed it into the room. They heard a cry of grenade before it exploded and the repeater was silenced.

"1313, repeater is down along with riot," he communicated on all channels.

"Roger, we've already got teams pushing into the front of the building now," came the response from his commander.

Lucky's primary role was complete, and now it was time to rejoin the rest of 1st company. With the loss of one of 3rd company's repeaters and their riot group, pushing into the building wasn't hard from there on. The Drill lasted another 8 minutes, and by the time they had finished they'd managed to get away with only 35% casualties. Impressive, considering that it was nearly half the losses they had last time.

After all the troopers who'd been killed had been revived and the simulation room returned to its normal, blank state, they were gathered in the briefing room. They'd been allowed to remove their helmets, which sat neatly in their laps. Derson stood at the front, his helmet resting on the podium.

"Impressive demonstration from all of you. Total time of eleven minutes and twenty two seconds, with only 35% attacking casualties. 1st Battalion completed the drill in a shorter time, nine minutes and forty one seconds, but with 42% casualties." He looked up from his clipboard to face the men of 2nd Battalion. A few of them may have been disappointed in losing out on time to 1st Battalion, but Lucky knew that less casualties meant a lot. The First Order relied a limited manpower reserve, and they needed every man to survive a mission that they could.

"RE-1313," Derson said, "You displayed above average command tendencies, but got half your fire team killed and another member wounded. Work on your positions better in the next drill," he said. It was mild criticism, but it still stung. They faced well more than their fair share of odds, considering who they went up against. Derson quickly moved on,

"RE-1460, your combat efficiency was compromised by the careless frontal assault on the west side. While you also took 50% casualties in your fire team, you took them all prior to entering the building."

Ouch. Lucky tried looking out of the corner of his eye for Frosty, but he couldn't see him through all the faces in the crown. He could see it, though. Frosty was very efficient, but he was too much of a mass assault person. Lucky could very easily imagine all ten of his men rushing the door, five of them being cut down, before entering.

Derson continued administering backhanded praises and criticisms for the next twenty minutes, before discussing what exactly was expected from the defenders.

"RE-1530, you and RE-1531 attempted to handle an encroaching fireteam with brutal effectiveness. You each personally managed to kill three of your five attackers, before being taken out. RE-1532, your failure to assist in this by deciding to stay back and cover the repeater ended up costing your comrades, and the repeater. I expect full participation from you next time." He said menacingly. He then looked at, what Lucky figured, was the last members of 5th companies riot team. "All in all, the riot group provided adequate protection to the repeater, all things considered."

He moved on to praise the members of the repeater for accumulating twenty nine kills. For just one repeater that was a pretty heavy amount. The gunner, RE-1568, was congratulated with quiet mutters of approval and pats on the back before a sharp glance from Derson restored discipline.

The meeting was soon adjourned, and the troopers were allowed to head to dinner. Changing back out of their armor into their tights and lounge shirts before heading to the mess hall. The seven of them sat down around the same circular metal table, chatting away about their own performances in the drill.

"Man you should have seen Dive," Trip said with a big grin. Trip and Dive had been involved in the frontal assault, providing cover fire for a large portion of the soldiers. While they were split up into battalions, soldiers from different companies generally worked very close together, regardless of their designations. Command usually encouraged this. They knew who worked well with who, and generally tried to assign tasks to groups of people. Their names didn't really matter. If 1565, 1341 and 1429 worked well together, they'd likely find themselves on a fire team.

"We were having trouble approaching the center where this big hole in the wall was. We were going to try to break through it, but they had way too many men there. We were pinned down, and they wanted him to lay down some fire," he said, trying to give his friends a visual of the field.

Dive was trying to suppress a grin as he stuffed his face with processed protein packs as Trip continued the story. "But instead, he takes his grenades and throws them straight at the hole before standing and sprinting forward, blazing his repeater from the hip." Trip attempted to pantomime the action of firing a repeater from the hip as he continued, "and I've never seen so many bolts miss a single person."

Dive picked it up from there, "Well it's not like I had that far to run. I was just advancing to the next piece of cover," he said nonchalantly. Trip rolled his eyes, "Yeah, a twenty meter dash through a hail of blaster bolts," he said mockingly.

"'Nother day at the office," Duce chimed in, causing all the soldiers to start laughing around the table.

Duce picked up, switching the topic from Dive's antics to Books always surprising battlefield cunning. "Still, Book you never cease to amaze me, man. This guy takes on of those satchel charges, right? Throws it in the middle of the field by this burned out building. It blows up and collapses this huge pillar, right in front of the target. Four meters tall, easy cover, and we were able to set up our own repeater because of that."

Book shrugged, "I mean it was just simple angles," he said, downplaying his role. "I knew that the pillar would fall if it was hit with enough power, and that once down it would be able to give us a little cover."

"A little?" Duce asked, stunned. He turned to Lucky. "We packed five guys and a repeater behind that pillar. Closed the gap to the target by at least ten meters," he explained.

Lucky noticed that, despite their jovial attitude, Frosty had remained quite silent, staring in contempt at his food, and slowly placing the vegetables into his mouth. The comments by Colonel Derson must have hit harder than he thought. Now that Lucky thought about it, this wasn't the first time a fire team lead by their red headed comrade had gotten mixed reviews. Frosty threw soldiers at an objective, but he did it with enough efficiency that it wasn't overtly criticized.

Maybe that's what was bothering him earlier? Perhaps the man was looking for a way to minimize casualties. Lucky had never even considered that Frosty may have wanted to talk tactics earlier that day. He'd be sure to let him know that he was available for that any time after their meal. As Lucky looked around the table at the rest of his brothers in arms, laughing and joking about the combat drill, there was a nagging thought that they'd be in the thick of things soon.