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Trans-Canada Highway, Canmore, Alberta, North American Union
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Cale Mallory's legs no longer ached like they had at the beginning of their trek across Canada's seemingly endless plains. Not even the 4,000 meter climb up the eastern side of the Canadian Rockies they had undertaken in the past two days had put a damper on the seventeen year old rifleman's spirits.
He was heading to war. And like his older brother, Justin, he would become a hero.
The last he had heard about his Ranger brother was that he had survived the Battle of LA as a combat veteran.
Well, Cale considered himself a combat veteran also. His regiment had taken part in clearing the streets of the Winnipeg ruins from looters and street gangs that had taken over the city for several months after the aliens had destroyed it from orbit.
The 134th Infantry Regiment had been formed in Minnesota by draftees from across the upper mid-west. Cale had been living with his family in Camp Chicago after they had fled Detroit, when he had been conscripted. His mother had cried but his father had only shook his hand and told him to take care of himself. Cale thanked God, that his parents had been assigned by FEMA for agricultural and recovery work back around Detroit. They had been evacuated from that nightmare of a refugee camp two weeks before the massive barrage from the enemy orbital navy had been unleashed. The Camp Chicago massacre, as it was called by every news service from coast to coast, was the biggest war crime disaster of the Empire War after the destruction of all the cities on the first day.
The regiment had undergone two weeks of what Cale considered grueling basic training before they were issued their bicycles and trucks. Heavy equipment and supplies were hauled by two dozen heavy 'Deuce and a halves', three of which were the new trucks with hydrogen fuel cells, while the remainder were hybrids. Cale smiled with pride when he learned the three advanced trucks were made in his home state in a secret underground factory somewhere outside Pontiac, Michigan.
With the severe shortages of fuel the Union was suffering the average infantaryman wasn't deemed important enough to rate a ride on a truck west to fight the invaders. And so columns of thousands of them bicycled, marched or in a few cases rode horses west.
Like most American teenagers born after the connected smart vehicle law in 2019, Cale had no idea how to drive a non AI-guided vehicle even if he had wanted to. The novelty of riding a bike across the country was an amazing adventure. If only the aliens hadn't made it so difficult. Every bridge and overpass had been destroyed, making river crossings dangerous at best. Sometimes there would be stretches of highway for dozens of miles that were left cratered for no reason Cale could imagine, other than to prove the aliens were a nuisance hundreds of miles from the front. That the destruction was deliberate and left large swaths of the country cut off from each other didn't even occur to the young soldier.
Every night they bivouacked alongside the highway. After establishing a perimeter and setting out guards the raw recruits were in for several more hours of drill under the watchful eyes of their sergeants and officers. Some of the officers were veterans of the South American War a decade ago. Some had recently faced the ETs in LA.
He felt Winnipeg had bloodied the regiment. He hadn't had to use his weapon against the so-called Warlords of Winnipeg but he had watched as artillery rained down on the gang-bangers. They had lost two men to street fighting and another three to booby traps that the hold-outs had left behind. Cale had thought the fight was intense but his sergeant had said it wasn't much of much compared to the ETs. He told Cale Winnipeg should have been left to the Canadian Force Reserve or the Police, not front line infantry units who had better things to do.
Fortunately, hold-outs and gangs were rare. Most of the Canadian population seemed generally excited to see the troops going off to face the enemy. He got the impression that the columns of soldiers were the only traffic moving along the highways these days. It seemed every small town they passed through would turn out as if the soldiers were in a parade.
The Canadians shared food with them and sneaked alcohol to the regular soldiers when they thought their sergeants weren't looking. Some of the population thanked the soldiers in a more basic way. If a friendly Canuck girl or two showed up looking for him one day, Cale wouldn't be surprised.
Now, several weeks after trudging across the prairie wastelands, the snow-capped peaks of the Canadian Rockies lay ahead of them. Their objective for the next day or so was the town of Banff. Beyond Banff lay British Columbia, where their orders were to reinforce the NAU lines north of Vancouver from an Alaskan attack and, if at all possible, liberate Juneau.
Cale didn't like the idea of fighting the traitors in Alaska, not when the ETs were down south. But his sergeants didn't ask his opinion. Instead they droned on and on about how a soldier's duty was to follow orders. Thank God it was summer. Cale hoped to be out of Alaska by the time winter came around. Hopefully the misguided Alaskans would throw that idiot Palin out on his ass before the offensive ever got underway.
Cale had just maneuvered around yet another sporadic phaser hole in the highway when the column was ordered to halt. He was close enough to the lead of the column to see the roadblock that was situated across both sides of the highway. Royal Canadian Mounted Police manned the barricade. Cale watched his regiment's Colonel get out of one of the lead humvees and go forward to talk with the police force.
"Dismount." Orders rang out from along the column. Cale wasted no time getting off his bicycle. His sergeant directed his platoon into a shady spot in a ditch near where the Colonel was talking to the RCMP officers. Cale downed some water and pulled out his lunch, a spaghetti MRE. Many soldiers did the same.
"You need to turn your soldiers around and go back to Calgary. This road is closed by orders of the President of the NAU and the Prime Minister of Canada." A RCMP officer told the Colonel. Cale snorted at the man's thick Canadian accent.
"Calgary! That's fifty miles back and it took us three days to get through it because the ETs blew it to hell and gone last spring." The Colonel shouted.
"We know about that but there's nothing we can do about it. Nobody is allowed to get through to Banff except CDC medical workers."
"I have orders to get these men onto Vancouver. What's so Goddamn important in Banff that my men can't get through?"
"Martian Plague, that's what's so damn important! It's breaking out all over the northwest thanks to all those refugees from LA."
That shut the Colonel up for a minute. The rumors of the new plague had reached the men of the 138th even in the barren Canadian prairie. The stories told of coughing spasms and festering wounds that caused great pain before killing the victims. The words 'plague ahead' raced down the column. Some soldiers looked as if they were about to flee from the RCMP's warning alone. Cale looked to his sergeant for guidance.
The older soldier whispered, "The Colonel will find a way around. Don't worry."
"You are the commander of the 138th Infantry correct?" The police officer asked the Colonel.
"That would be me."
"You have been expected. Communication came sputtering back after the aliens disappeared last night. We made contact with your superiors down south and were sent a message to give you." The policeman handed the Colonel an envelope.
Cale watched as his commander removed a sheet of paper and read. Several of his staff officers looked over his shoulders and shook their heads. One of them cursed. Another one got a fierce expression on his face.
"About time," he said. "gather the men."
"Form up!"
Men raced up from all along the column and formed neat ranks in front of the Colonel. Cale looked at the barricade, from behind which the RCMP watched the gathering troops nervously. They had to realize that they were severely outnumbered and if the heavily armed soldiers decided to force their way past the roadblock they didn't stand a chance.
"Men of the 138th, we have new orders." The Colonel shouted and raised the piece of paper above his head. "We're going to backtrack a ways to Calgary."
Murmurs of disapproval raced through the ranks. Cale didn't want to go backwards, either. Ahead of him lay glory.
"We're going back to Highway 2 and taking it south. We're no longer ordered to face off against the Alaskans. Instead we're going to the big show! We're going to Las Vegas to kill us some ETs!"
Shouts and whoops of joy arouse from the ranks. Soldiers patted each other on the backs as if they had just won the Superbowl.
Cale thought about the change in orders. If his brother was still alive he'd be in Vegas. It'd be great to see him again.
"Remember," The Colonel continued, "They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. The only things from Mars that are staying in Vegas are dead ETs. We're going to kill them all!"
That elicited more cheers from the recruits. Cale's were some of the loudest.
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G50 Expressway, Huzhou, People's Republic of China, Earth
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Corporal Malm was nervous, which was a welcome distraction from the continuous rage he had felt for the last couple of weeks.
The cause of his anxiety sat in the driver's seat next to him. Deck Chief Zhell was patiently guiding their massive walker down the cratered Chinese roadway. "Nothing like a little on-the-job training, huh, Luke?"
"No, there's not, Corporal. But if it was all the same to you I'd rather have Corporal Dusel back behind the controls." The young trooper responded. He was so new he still hadn't been issued proper pilot gear to replace his Deck Chief uniform.
Malm checked to make sure he was only speaking through his helmet's audicasters. Who knew who was listening in on comm calls these days. "No offense, kid, but so would I."
The arrest and incarceration of their former driver had shocked the crew of Monkey 9. Even their normally silent and stern commander, Major Wells, had shown signs of anger. The sound of the commander's teeth grinding came from behind the two army pilots.
Dusel's supposed charges had been treason and dereliction of duty but several witnesses to the event had informed Malm through informal channels that Dusel had been responsible for breaking up a massacre of Chinese civilians during the drive to secure their southern flank. Evidently his friend had gotten on the wrong side of one of the Empire's new Commissars. In line with the inherent evil Malm had discovered in the Old Empire long ago, he loathed the new Empire's enforcers. The so-called Loyalty Officers complied with everything Theater Commander Seco passed down from above. They had been arresting troopers for everything from not shining your boots well enough to moving too slowly into line.
Every trooper outside of Target West was too busy looking over their own shoulders to pay much attention to the Chinese Army facing them. Luckily for the Imperials the Chinese had turned on themselves during the past month. Civil War had torn through the countryside while the Empire's troopers consolidated their defensive lines after being forced back from the flooded Yangtze River during the last monsoon.
A buzz on the hyperwave alerted Malm to a new comm. "New orders of the day, sir." Malm turned to Wells. He printed out a flimsi and handed it to his commander.
Wells skimmed through the orders. His eyes grew wider and wider as he read. Malm couldn't be sure but he swore Wells whispered the word, "Seneschal?"
"Gunner, are you aware Moff Seco, excuse me, Seneschal Seco, has ordered the initiation of Military Tribunals to begin today in Target West?" Wells said when he finished reading the orders.
"No, sir. "I understood he's been putting them off." Malm answered.
"An incredible waste of military resources."
"As you say, sir." Malm said.
"Driver, would you say that you are not properly trained?" Wells asked Zhell.
"To be honest, sir, I'm not sure how I haven't tipped us over by now." Luke replied.
"Gunner, patch me through to Monkey 1." The commander ordered.
"Yes, sir." Malm switched comm channels on the console holoimager. A second later the holoimage of High Colonel Jade appeared.
"Monkey 9, what is your status?" Jade asked.
"Sir, we have cracked repulsor-transfer cases in three of our walker's four ankle joints." Wells said. Malm spun his head around to face his commander knowing full well their walker had no such damage.
"That bad, huh?" Jade said. Suddenly Monkey Force's commissar was standing next to the High Colonel. "What do you want to do about it?"
"Requesting permission to fall out of the line and return to Garrison for repairs. We can't do anything about that damage out here in the field. We'd also like to requisition a new Driver while we're back at base." Wells requested.
The three crewman patiently waited as Jade explained the malfunction to the Commissar. Finally the political officer nodded his assent and walked away from the holoprojector. "Looks like we'll have to do without you for a few days. The Army has been ordered to hold in place, so now looks like the best time for you to get back and make repairs. Be careful though, there are rumors an uprising is in the works back at Target West. Could get sticky rather quick."
"Thank you, sir. We won't be gone long." Wells said.
"I hope not." Jade suddenly whispered, "The Original Light only knows what laser-brained scheme this fool, Seco, has got cooking for us next. Monkey 1 out." The blue figure vanished from their console.
"Sir, my sensors aren't registering any . . ." Zhell looked confused.
"Your sensors are experiencing a glitch. What you want to tell our commander is your estimated time of travel to Garrison Complex West 4 in Target West?" Malm cut the substitute driver off. Wells gave Malm a knowing look. Malm nodded in understanding.
"Oh, well, um. I'd say we can get there in seven hours standard at patrol speed." Luke replied.
"Excellent. Driver, move out." Wells ordered and then turned and disappeared down the hull access tunnel.
"We really going to go get a new pilot, Corporal?" Zhell asked Malm.
Malm watched the road ahead with a new determination in his eyes, "No, we're going to retrieve our old one."
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Lobby Security Checkpoint, Tarkin Tower, Culter City, Mars
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The front atrium and reception areas of the military complex were in a state of chaos and confusion. Culter City RescueOps and the burn-off brigade rushed through the lobby, hauling repulsor lifts of heavy fire-fighting equipment. Field medics yelled at beings to clear the way as they brought down wounded from the disaster currently happening high above.
Colonel Katarn made his way outside, along with the Devaronian, Commissioner Jord'Dan of the Culter City Guard. They had stayed at each other's sides throughout the day's events. Once outside the bright Martian sun revealed long lines of officers and personnel from the military headquarters boarding a dozen heavily guarded gravtrucks. They were all prisoners that had been swept up in the long lists of names issued under Operation Diathim's arrest orders.
Along the roadway stormtroopers pulled strings of razor teeth wire into place as they set up barricades in front of the building. Civilians hurried by, trying to pretend they hadn't seen anything. Years of Imperial rule had taught them to mind their own business. A fine mist fell on the scene from the RescueOps crews fighting the fire several kilometers above them.
"Something's not right here." Katarn said to his peer.
"You're telling me. I've never seen anything so . . . vague during my entire time in the CCG."
"Military protocol dictates we should receive orders in writing. Isn't it that way with you civies?" Katarn asked.
Jord'Dan nodded that it was so. "Instead this Captain Charge has all of my officers and deputies hopping all over the city terrifying everyone. We don't watch ourselves we could set off an uprising. Emperor Yos was extremely popular with the beings."
"You saw the body then?"
"Yes. He's gone." Jord'Dan sighed.
"Since that is the case, then we've got to just keep following orders as they're presented to us. Captain Charge far outranks me."
A red-armored CCG trooper walked up and handed Jord'Dan a note. The Commissioner dismissed the trooper and unfolded the flimsiplast. Comm signals were still being jammed across the city by the Royal Guard for some as yet unknown reason so those in charge has resorted to written notes.
"Good news?" Katarn asked.
"No. It seems Princess Phasma was attacked in Tarkin's Square at the same time that the bomb went off in the Emperor's briefing."
"Yes, Captain Charge has already announced her death."
"I sent my men in to secure the scene. The young Princess was nowhere to be found but my men did find the bodies of several dozen Loag, half a dozen Royal Guardsmen, including a few of the Princess's handmaidens, and the remains of the Mayor." Jord'Dan revealed. "They also sent me this message by secure courier that they found the decapitated corpses of two unknown individuals wearing CCG uniforms at the site."
Katarn signalled for the other officer to fall silent as another courier approached. This one was from his own unit. The stormtrooper saluted and gave his report. "Sir, we've just received orders from the acting Director of the Bureau of Operations. The Legion is to blockade the Kuati Research Quarter and place Moff Kuat under arrest." Katarn returned the salute and dismissed the runner, then stroked his chin in silent contemplation.
"What is it, Colonel?" Jord'Dan asked.
"Something just doesn't feel right about all of this. I would hate to find I'm being taken advantage of." Katarn replied.
"A coup, you think?" Jord'Dan realized.
"Of that I am certain. What I can't say is which side we're on." Katarn indicated his personal airspeeder. "Get in."
They entered the backseat of the vehicle. Katarn leaned forward and spoke to his driver, "Take us to Moff Kuat's residence. Be quick about it." The airspeeder took off with a lurch. A wave of gravtrucks filled with heavily-armed stormtroopers followed in their wake.
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Command Bridge, Imperial II-class SD Quill, Equatorial Orbit, Mars
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"Still nothing?" Lieutenant Commander Vertitus asked the sailor manning the CommScan station.
The crewman looked up from the crew pit. "Sorry, sir. We're trying to burn through that jamming station on the surface but they've blocked almost everything from getting out from near Martian orbit."
"And your certain it's the Royal Guard who's executing the jamming?" The Quill's Bridge Commander, an officer that went by Gentis, asked.
"The signal is extremely powerful but we've been able to deduce that it is emanating from the Royal Guard billets attached to the Imperial Palace. They also seem to have secured the HoloNet's broadcasting station within the capital."
"Are they saying anything?" Vertitus asked before Gentis could. Captain Nake and several other officers had been caught at a meeting within the capital when the emergency arose and command of the Star Destroyer had been confused and fluid ever since another Star Destroyer had blasted upon them. The Bridge Commander had the same rank as him but had increasingly deferred to him during the crisis. Vertitus happily took the reins.
Vertitus's gut burned with anger whenever he thought of the traitors aboard the Insertion, which had executed an escape to Earth during the confusion. Vertitus suspected the renegade warship had been welcomed with open arms when it reached the war-stricken world. Somebody was moving against the government and every sign Vertitus had seen pointed in one direction: Moff Seco.
"Just to stand by for further broadcasts. And they're asking for the continued loyalty of every true being of the Empire who stands by the House of Yos." The sailor answered.
"So is the Emperor alive or not?" Vertitus asked in growing irritation. He hated being left in the dark.
"They're not saying." The crewman answered, knowing that all eyes on the bridge were on him. "I will continue to monitor all channels."
"You do that." Vertitus said and moved away from the crew pit.
"We've got Laser-Aimed Ship-to-Ship commo with the KDY driveyard and the nearby Charger." Gentis reported.
"Do they know any more than we do?"
"No, the commander of the Charger is suspecting a coup against the crown."
Vertitus nodded. "We need to start gathering the lost herd. Wrangle in the lost nerf, as it were."
"Your orders, sir?" Gentis asked on behalf of the Quill's crew.
"Which starships are detached from the Fleet around Earth at the moment?" Vertitus asked.
"Most of the Subterrel Squadron is currently on independent missions. The Flood and the Slash are both on anti-pirating picket duty in the Phasma Belt. The Charger was the first warship to be allocated the hypermatter that they just completed onloading at the driveyards. And then the Senate and the Immobile were maintaining sentry duties at the tibanna factory on Earth 5. Unfortunately the Battle of Geonosis is on station above Earth and who knows if we can contact her. Oh, also a dozen or so smaller frigates and cruisers are here at the driveyards or protecting miners out in the Kuiper Belt." The other officer reported.
"Interesting. Get someone out of jamming range and recall them all to this position." Vertitus ordered.
"Yes, sir. But why?"
"Because the Empire has gone to war with itself."
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Lake Mead Boulevard, north of Frenchman Mountain, Nevada, NAU
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A menacing M1A2 SEPTUSK Abrams blocked the road ahead of the rangers. Soldiers at the checkpoint waved them over to a waiting medical screening station.
Sergeant Cortez was thankful for the stop. His dogs were barking after the three day march. Another hour or so and they'd be within Las Vegas' city limits.
What was left of his platoon of Rangers stretched out along the mountain pass. The absence of bitching and gripes showed just how exhausted his commandos were. They didn't even complain as the field medics at the checkpoint insisted on taking a blood sample from every soldier before they continued forward.
The officer in charge of the roadblock came up to Cortez. "We're running the blood now, sergeant. Won't be long till you're on your way."
"Don't worry about me, sir. I'm in no hurry to throw down with the ETs again." Cortez looked up at the officer for a moment, studying his weathered features. The man nodded. It was obvious that Cortez's unit had been through hell even without Cortez telling him that. They had spent the last three weeks harassing the enemy's supply column that ran all the way back to LA.
The officer took a small box from a pocket on his body armor, "Cigarette?"
"Thanks, sir." Cortez said and read the officer's name tab: Beiber. "Hey, didn't you used to be somebody?"
"Maybe twenty some years ago. Now I'm just a damn Canuck conscript like a million other guys." The officer responded and lit their cigarettes with a fancy zippo lighter.
Cortez shrugged. None of them were the same as they had been before the Empire came, that was for sure. "Why all the blood work?" Cortez pointed at the medics. "Some nasty puta giving all the boys VD?"
"I wish. Some bad-ass bug is going around. Word going around is we got it from the ETs. Lots of soldiers in the rear are coming down with some kind of festering skin disease. Been reports of it in refugee camps back east, too. Whole units have been taken out of the line." Beiber said.
Cortez let out an appreciative whistle, "That bad, huh? Skin disease, like eczema or something?"
"A lot worse, like, fatally worse. It's got the fucking brass freaked out. They keep using words like Spanish Flu or Smallpox whenever they think we grunts aren't listening."
"So are the trenches in the front line safe?" Cortez asked, watching Corporal Mallory across the road wince as a medic took his sample from his arm. "The ETs don't use as much shit-eating gas or biologics like we do."
"No one really knows. That's why we're screening here. Wouldn't do for a pandemic to break out amongst the Army." the officer grinned, "As for the front line being safe, well, you look like you'd know better than most just how safe butting heads with the ETs can be." The officer pointed to the smoking ruins a few miles off on the horizon.
The landscape was a far cry from when Cortez had last been in the city seven years ago on leave. Las Vegas had been pounded flat by the artillery and air forces of both armies fighting over the skeletal remains of what had once been dubbed America's Playground.
"You know if I didn't know any better I'd say the ETs' air cover is pretty fucking light today. They weren't keeping this small a number of their fighters over their supply lines out in the desert." Cortez observed.
The officer turned and scratched the stubble on his chin. With a look of confusion he pulled a scope from his leg pouch and pointed it towards the battle. "That's god damn weird, sergeant. Usually those 'H' fighters are buzzing over Sin City like a thick cloud of vultures. Now I'm only making out a few flights of them patrolling over the Strip."
"That's the part of the city they hold, right?" Cortez had heard rumors about how the battle was being fought on their march in from the desert. "Maybe somebody should light a fire under the Air Forces ass to do something about it."
"Somebody damn well should. God knows we've moved a hell of a lot of troops into the city in the past week. As for the Strip, aliens tried to do two things at once, encircle the city and drive straight up the middle. The minute things got rough for the ETs they stopped trying to envelope the city and decided to take it to the street. They started from the south and took most of Las Vegas Boulevard but we stopped them at the Wynn and the SLS Vegas and we've fortified the shit out of the old Stratosphere Casino. Besides the southeast neighborhoods we still hold most of the city. They're pushing forward but it's at a crawl now, not a blitzkreig."
"I hope we killed a bunch of the alien shitheads when we did it."
"Not so many of them as they killed of us. If we didn't lose thirty or forty guys for every one of theirs I'd be really, really surprised." The officer admitted reluctantly. "But we gave them hell. The guys at the front say it took the ET's a week to take LA but it took them a week to cross the street in Vegas." Beiber smiled at his joke.
A medic walked up and told something to Beiber just out of Cortez's earshot. The officer nodded before turning to the Ranger. "Sergeant, it looks like you and your men check out. You can go on by. About half a klick up the road there's a unit of MPs that will show you into the line."
"I don't know if I should thank you, sir, the fight being what it is and all." Cortez slowly stood up and brushed the dust off of his pants. He slung his rifle back over his shoulder. Alongside the road Rangers started standing after seeing his example. They knew it was time to hit the road again.
"Send 'em to hell, sergeant." The officer saluted.
Cortez saluted back. "From the looks of Vegas I'm not sure if the ETs will be able to tell the difference."
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Masterton, Occupied New Zealand, Earth
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Clone Marshall Commander Bly looked out at the camp with quiet pride. The camp was spread out along the Highway 2 from the Carterton Golf Course to the Tauherenikau Racecourse and filled to the brim with almost two hundred thousand earthlings.
It wasn't the vast horde of abos that impressed him, it was the subterfuge Bly and his vode had undertaken to complete the task of caring for all of them. The abos in the camps had been gathered under the guise of Operation Piper as slave labor for monumental terraforming projects on Mars. Piper had been slowed by an outbreak of an Earth malady of some sort and since its resumption most of the labor units had been pulled from the United Protectorate on the other side of this world.
The sounds of hammers and workmen drew Bly's attention. Most of the earthlings, Kiwis they called themselves, were refugees of the city of Wellington to the southeast. The clonetroopers of the 212th Assault Legion were now under the nominal command of Bly, but in reality in the clutches of a sleemo Commissar by the name of Major Hurler. The silver lining was that Hurler cared about one thing only these days: the capture of Bly's vod, Marshall Commander Cody, who had gone AWOL shortly after defending Kiwi civilians from an Australian missile attack almost a month ago.
As long as Bly was continuing to send out patrols to beat the bushes and search the countryside for his errant brother Major Hurler didn't pay any attention to what the Marshall Commander was doing in this camp.
The refugees here were geniuses at building pre-fab housing units they called double-wide trailers and had covered the valley floor with thousands of them. The 212th's Combat Engineers had been assigned to the camp and had constructed medical facilities, safe water and sanitation utilities, and even a smart power grid based off the earthlings possession of a large amount of solar panels and wind turbines. The refugees were allowed to leave on pass to work and most of them came back every night. The Kiwis had even asked for assistance in building a school for their younglings. Bly thought school was a poor substitute for flash-training but he wasn't there to judge.
He smiled at the ruse again. Partisan activity and being bombers had almost vanished across the island in the past few weeks, which gave his vode a much-needed break. But the best part was pulling the nerf wool over the Commissar's eyes. To Hurler this place looked like another concentration camp, ready to be swept up to fulfill the Empire's needs, and so he never gave it a second thought when the camp grew exponentially larger every day, even when the clones weren't being ordered to partake in slave sweeps.
And the day he orders me to send them to Mars I'll drop the fences, recall the guards and let the abos fend for themselves, Bly told himself. Cody was right in wanting no more part in all of this.
The Jedi had a saying during the Clone Wars, "speak of the Sith-Lord and he shall appear". Bly recalled the odd phrase when he saw the Commissar's Death Engine enter the camp. The large repulsor vehicle was called the Crab due to the twin pair of pincer-like projections mounted on its front. By now the Kiwis knew what the strange looking vehicle meant and just like Hurler's previous appearances inside the camp they made themselves scarce in a hurry. Bly smiled, knowing that the Death Engine was the recipient of almost daily missile and roadway bomb attacks. One of these days he hoped the Kiwis got lucky.
The Death Engine glided to a stop in front of Bly and his aides. The hatch on the well-protected command cockpit lifted, allowing the nasty little Commissar to exit. Because he still refused to don stormtrooper armor, the Commissar's gray uniform made for a conspicuous target.
Inside his helmet Bly's jaw dropped when he saw what was following the Loyalty Officer out of his monstrous contraption. If he wasn't seeing it with his own eyes he'd never believe it. It was a real-life Mandalorian verd in beskar'gam emerging from the Death Engine. A lifelong profession involving the intricate study of armor told him the Mando'ad was most definitely female.
A Trandoshan, along with a clanker of the IG assassin droid series followed behind the Mando. The way she carried herself signified to everyone watching that she was the one in charge.
"Beroya." One of his aides said in astonishment.
"Yes, bounty hunters. Let me do all the talking." Bly told his troopers as the party approached.
"CC-5052, I have come for a status report on the hunt for the aberrant clone CC-2224." Hurler demanded. An hour ago an order had come down from FleetOps that Commissar officers were to review all orders before they were issued, effectively putting them in charge. Evidently, Hurler wasn't wasting any time.
"Major, my scouts have reported a possible sighting by one of the indigenous population of Clone Marshall Commander Cody six hours ago in the Kaweka National Forest. This is in concordance with other sighting reports that he is operating in the area around the city of Napier." Bly repeated the official report he had sent to Hurler's office several hours ago. It was a lie and Bly knew it. The truth was Cody was probably in the northwest around the city of Auckland. Almost two dozen clones had disappeared in that area in the past week, leaving signs that they had joined their former commander in the wilderness of the North Island. Bly had yet to report one of them AWOL and he didn't intend to.
The Mando female cocked her head in his direction as if she was carefully analyzing his every syllable.
"Yes, you reported that. Send three more companies to scour that area." Hurler ordered, no longer bothering with the illusion of a formal request.
"It shall be done." Bly replied and motioned at one of his aides to send the order that would undoubtedly waste three more companies' time.
"Also you are to hand over everything you have on his whereabouts to these bounty hunters." Hurler waved a hand at the trio. "They will be undertaking a hunt of their own."
"The Navy must be paying well, Major. I wouldn't have thought you could afford the services of the Martian Bounty Hunter's Guild." Bly jibed.
"He can't. Our services were secured by an interested private party on Mars, vod." The Mando stepped forward and spoke for the first time. Her voice through her helmet was a haunting echo of his lost home world, a world he had never set foot upon: Mandalore.
"Su'cuy, I am Bly of Kamino. I am Mando'ad, as are my vode here and the brother you seek. Who are you to hunt my ori'vod?" Bly asked. He glanced at Hurler, who looked uncomfortable with the Mando'a being thrown around. Bly couldn't care less.
"I am Nichole Felk, ad of the Cuy'val Dar, Hota Felk."
Bly remembered her father, one of the Mandalorians hired by Jango Fett to train the clones on Kamino. He had been an artillery specialist and Bly recalled the first time he had undergone her father's live-fire training exercise. The impacts of the incoming rounds had thrown his training squad like Tooka dolls. He had been two years old at the time but Hota had taught them how to get through it. "I knew your buir. A good man."
"A good man who abandoned me and my mother for ten years to train you clones." Anger marked her words for a moment. "That was a long time ago, though."
"Kamino was a lifetime ago." Bly offered.
"No worries, long memory, short fuse." She offered. Hurler was in a huff they were ignoring him, which didn't bother Bly in the least. "All you need to know is your brother has a bounty on his head and I'm the one that's going to collect."
Bly believed her.