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The Stormtrooper - Day 18, Part 2
"I'm too old for this," Calrissian complained, words rising above the sounds of blasters, motors and heavy vehicles being maneuvered around the barracks as Finn ran up the flight of stairs leading to the building's main entrance, the cold from his still drenched clothes freezing him to the bones. "Much too old."
Attention breaking away from the Sergeant's tank now speeding out of the barrack's front courtyard and disappearing down the street leading to the docks, Finn took a quick glance towards the four defensive cannons perched on top of the barrack's roof. The sense of victory—one that he knew from the start would be short lived—dissipated the moment he turned to face the Governor.
It was written on his face that something had gone wrong—but, then again, what hadn't?
Finn's idea of crushing the enemy's front line between his group and the defensive positions at the barracks had been, he admitted, a success, but apart from that there was little that had gone their way. In their haste to kill them, the rebels made the poor tactical decision of hunting an Order battalion like it was easy prey. Finn could have given them a full dissertation on why that was a deathly mistake in all circumstances, but the rebel offensive had given no other ground. Of the four defensive lines Finn had risked his life to contact, only one had been able to fall back to the barracks. The rest were either stranded or had already been killed, all troops lost alongside their equipment.
He had known from the beginning that time, odds, and everything else were stacked against them, but if the rebel command was holding off its attack until it had disposed of whatever was left of Finn's lost defensive lines, then they wouldn't even be given the honor of a battle. They would be facing a slaughter.
We don't stand a chance.
And judging from Lando Calrissian's expression, the Governor had probably gotten his hands on some piece of information that made the situation even worse than it already was. The man looked not only disturbed, but worried, afraid, and—
Why, why was he three strides away from an active battlefield?
"I asked you to remain inside, Governor," Finn pointed out, voice urgent, stepping closer to the man and forcing him to reenter the building's white atrium. He was not having Lando Calrissian stepping into the shoes of General Organa and taking on the star role in the 'our base is going to hell but I'm still here' play.
A soldier came sprinting down the large flight of stairs to their left, navigating through row after row of soldiers, before giving Finn a rapid salute that looked completely lopsided until he noticed the woman was raising her left arm due to the fact that her right one was in a sling.
"The last anti-aircraft positions are lost, Sir," she informed him, soldiers going passed them as she did. "First reports indicate that the troops weren't able to either disable or destroy the cannons. They are targeting the remaining TIEs."
"Get the stromtrooper squads here, quickly. Any lightspeed signatures?"
"None, Sir."
Finn closed his eyes, feeling as if the floor was falling out from under him. They weren't coming, then. Or if they were, they would arrive far too late to be of any help.
"Transfer all the injured and medical equipment to the tunnels under the barracks," Finn ordered, attention falling on the two soldiers transporting a third on a stretcher and moving towards one of the buildings wards. "Get them out of the way."
"Yes sir."
The soldier sprinted back up the stairs, leaving Finn to take Lando Calrissian through a virtual sea of injured soldiers doing their best to get blasters, solid ammunition, armor and a large array of hand held weaponry ready for the rest of the troops to take into battle. Without a second glance, Finn took one of the spare black uniforms being divided up by one of the groups and moved to a small darkened room—what looked to be an office, with most of its furniture made of glass—locking the door behind himself and the Governor.
"What happened?" he asked, tossing the Knight's soaked uniform and helmet towards the large glass desk and jumping inside the uniform with such agility he felt his stomach fall a moment later. He was doing it again. He was acting like a stormtrooper.
Finn looked up towards the white door, almost afraid of what he would see on Calrissian's face. But, instead of alarm or suspicion, Finn found the two dark eyes locked on his face, worry replaced with what he could only describe as sadness—sadness and pity. It confounded him to no end.
What?
"Is there a problem, Governor?"
"You're young," Calrissian blurted out, before a look of exasperation overtook his face as what he'd said registered. His voice became harsher. "There is indeed a problem."
Taking the heavy protective garment from the pile of clothes—the only piece of Nephys' attire that seemed to be made of a kind of waterproof fabric—Finn tossed it over himself, following the Governor with his eyes as he settled into the padded black chair on the other side of the table.
"A problem?" he repeated, biting his tongue just in time to stop himself from bursting out laughing at Calrissian's employment of the singular. Force have mercy, I'm far too tired for this. "What is it?"
Urgent knocking at the door interrupted him, making Finn shove the dark helmet over his head and run to open it. The battered pattern of the stormtrooper's armor distinguished him as the same Sergeant he'd mistaken for Slip in the Atrium. More importantly, however, he was the same Sergeant Finn had seen making his way towards the docks in a tank only a few minutes prior.
Oh, that's not good.
He jumped inside, closing the door with such urgency even Calrissian got to his feet.
Tell me we haven't lost the dock, Finn found himself silently praying. Please tell me we haven't lost the dock.
The Sergeant turned to him, pulling his helmet off as he did so. He didn't need to say anything. His dark expression was enough.
They had lost the dock.
"We are surrounded," Finn concluded, seeing him make an affirmative gesture with his head. "Do we have any status on the troops?"
"No. It is possible a small contingent was able to get inside, but we have no confirmation," he informed him, one hand raking through his extremely short hair as he spoke. "More importantly, Sir, the enemy offensive is making its way towards us. We're vastly outnumbered. Our troops won't—"
A sudden rise in the volume of the blaster fire outside made his dark brown eyes jump from Finn to the door, voice dropping while he did so.
"If the Commander wasn't able to reach the Finalizer—"
"Ren reached the Finalizer, Sergeant," Finn heard himself say, actually surprising himself with the level of certainty in his voice. "Rest assured he did."
"This delay—"
Finn grabbed the Sergeant's shoulder.
"They will come."
It was a lie and, judging by the look on his face, one that the officer believed about as much as Finn, but...
The truth won't keep anyone fighting.
Finn walked towards the door, marching side by side with the Sergeant and putting Nephy's rifle on his back as he spoke.
"We must contact the troops at the docks, have them—"
A soft cough made both of them stop, attention jumping from the door to Calrissian.
"The enemy fleet took out the satellites feeding communications," he informed them quietly, making Finn's hand fall away from the door. "You can't reach them."
If Finn's stomach were twisted before, now it had dropped through the floor altogether, leaving him with a deeply unpleasant taste in his mouth.
"How do you know that?"
A sad, defeated smile was his only response, the words collapsing under a loud explosion that jolted both he and the stormtrooper to full combat readiness.
"Get yourself underground!" Finn shouted towards Calrissian before leaving the room.
They were running, joining the sea of soldiers making their way out of the barracks, seeing them grab the blasters as they went, many of them following officers as they went outside and then they too were in the front courtyard, going down the stairs, running towards the defensive lines.
Night had fallen over the city by now, a dark veil covering the sky and painting the white buildings and wide streets with shadows. Their opponents might not yet be visible, but their shadows were drawn under the street lights, stretching like fingers in their direction.
There was a whistle and then an explosion. In the same instant, one of the four defensive cannons on the barrack's roof was turned into a flaming torch. Without missing a beat, Finn signaled the soldiers still inside the building, pointing up as he did so.
"Get a squad up there and put that—"
Out, he finished mentally, a second impact and then a deep moan leaving him able to do little more than watch as the cannon fell, crashing into the courtyard while still aflame. That same instant, blasters began firing from both sides of the battlefield, the shadows of heavy artillery appearing under the street lights. Finn was running, getting himself to the tactical advantage point next to a line of already firing tanks. He had just fallen behind one of the barricades, signaling the troops to take their positions, when one of the tanks was blown up by enemy artillery.
"Target the anti-tank guns!"
There were projectiles raining over them now, hitting the ground and the walls, rolling in all directions. They didn't explode, however. Instead…
Not these blasted things again!
Dark grey smoke filled the battlefield, blinding them as it got thicker and thicker.
They are forcing us to remain stationary.
And, like that first time, when he and Rey encountered this scenario on their first day in Cloud City, the enemy troops weren't affected in the slightest by the poor sight conditions. They were advancing all the same, relentless and deathly.
Finn was clenching his teeth as he punched the Order emblem affixed on the white tank at his side. If the enemy was using this mess to gain terrain, they were also putting themselves into target range.
"Use the heat sensors!" Finn shouted at the soldiers inside the tank.
The tank's main cannon turned. An instant later, it fired, making a huge tongue of fire rise from somewhere between the fog. It was all it took. Now that Finn knew where they were, he could make out figures in the fog. He had but to look at them, to their contours, to know that those weren't stormtroopers. Those soldiers weren't with them.
At his side, the Sergeant took the lead instantly, voice rising well above the sounds of battle as he gave his orders.
"Blast them out!"
A volley of blaster fire came from all around Finn, crashing into the approaching offensive, making it scatter for cover as it did. To his right, he could hear the sounds of another confrontation, a closer and more physical one. Putting his blaster on the ground, Finn took Nephys rifle-like weapon from his back, pointing it in that direction as he adjusted the scope and then shot one-two-three-four times.
The weapon choked, making him dive behind the barricade, hitting the weapon's firing mechanism to try and get it to work again, fire now raining on him. The tank's cannon turned again as Finn forced the rifle's chamber to open, pulling it out and then putting it back in place, only to discover the trigger still stuck in position and—
A shadow. A deep dark shadow was now in front of him. His training kicking in, Finn started getting up, prepared to throw the rifle against this attacker only to have someone stop him, a heavy hand forcing him behind the barricades and inexplicably succeeding in doing so. A second figure, this one white, was going passed him now, throwing its blaster in a low ark and making it crash into the attacker's ribs, before throwing it up, hitting him in the face and then twisting it to shoot the man point blank.
Finn could feel his jaw drop open as the Sergeant dove back to his side, holding his arm as the white protection plaques went red. Those moves—that had been specialized hand to hand combat from one of the Order's advanced programs, not core training. Finn recognized it, trying to place the technique...
It hit him.
"You're from riot control, Sergeant?"
"Indeed, Sir," he answered, chuffed.
To think anyone would sound so happy that they were.
I owe you one, Sergeant.
And he would never have the chance to repay it. Finn could hear confrontations around them getting closer and there was no way they could tip the scales in this situation. The only bright spot in this whole disaster was that, at least, Rey hadn't stayed here. She hadn't turned the TIE back as he knew she had intended to do, nor done something brave and foolish to get herself back here alone. He knew she could deal with Kylo Ren. She could leave this mess behind and get herself back to Luke Skywalker, to her training.
She will do great.
She would be great.
She would make a great Jedi.
I would have liked to see that.
But he wouldn't. He wasn't coming out of this alive. Nobody was.
Finn closed his eyes, hitting the rifle with the palm of his hand again. This time the inner mechanism snapped back in place.
At least, I can go down fighting.
It served as no comfort. He was dying here all the same. Side by side with the Order's soldiers. Alone.
"What's your identification?"
It took him a while to understand that that had been his voice, his question. It took him so long that only when the Sergeant turned to face him did Finn understand what he had asked.
"ID-2927," he informed him, clearly out of breath.
And now, Finn couldn't stop. He had to know. He had to hold on to this piece of sanity, of life, for as long as he could.
"What do they call you?" Finn inquired, signaling towards the closest officer as she shouted coordinates to the soldiers inside the captured enemy tank to their right and then dropped behind the closest barricade as it fired, jumping back a meter or so as it did.
The Sergeant was touching the bloodied bandages on his arm. He hesitated. He hesitated for so long with his answer that Finn's mind actually started twisting itself around the many silly nicknames someone could fall victim to.
"It's Fisher."
Finn's surprise must have been obvious, for the white helmet's visor moved away from the injury and back towards him.
"I received several reprimands during officer's training for, as the Captain put it, 'fishing' my colleagues out of trouble. The nickname stuck."
After a moment's incredulity, Finn snorted.
Between you and me, Sergeant, I'm surprised the Captain hasn't resigned in exasperation.
What was left of the still burning tank to their left moaned loudly, taking Finn's humor down with it as it fell in on itself.
The Finalizer wasn't coming.
Nobody was.
And he was so damn desperate for help that he was actually imagining the high shrieks of the TIEs echoing down Cloud City's streets.
Finn looked towards the stars, knowing perfectly what he would see—nothing—only to find himself staring at a bright white light getting bigger and bigger while…
That wasn't his imagination. That was—
"DOWN!"
The troops hit the ground seconds before the blast crashed into the enemy lines, wreaking havoc in their midst before it disappeared and a volley of blasts from up above took its place. Then lights, the sound of motors and the TIE's shrieks began getting closer and closer.
It can't be!
The lights flew over the barracks, then over them, their motors blowing the smoke away from the battlefield as they got lower and lower and then hit the ground, cutting the enemy's access to the barracks, their underbellies opening to let out a massive wave of white.
Either he was hallucinating or—
"Nephys."
A familiar voice. That voice held power. It pulled at him, making him jump to his feet and turn, a clear image of a silver platted stormtrooper filling his mind so completely that he could do little more than blink in confusion, mind going completely blank when his eyes came to rest not upon a silver visor, but on a woman's large blue eyes.
He knew her, but not like this.
Finn found himself leaning against the barricade, an absurd wave of relief washing over him as he stared at her, simultaneously knowing exactly who she was and being completely unable to reconcile the image of the Captain who had trained him with the woman standing before him. It was lucky that exhaustion had so completely drained him of intelligent thought, for he would otherwise have given a thoughtless 'yes, Captain,' and that wouldn't go unnoticed. With Phasma, nothing went unnoticed. Instead, he forced his eyes to go to her armor. It had been turned a grayish-red by fire, dust and darkness, but its once pristine silver color was still apparent.
"You're Nephys," she repeated, eyebrows forming a harsh, impatient line, and at that his mind snapped back into action.
"Yes." Finn had to bite his tongue to stop the 'Captain' from getting out.
"Status."
His voice and part of his mind seemed to have gone onto autopilot as he answered. He could hear himself talking, his report clear and to the point, but it didn't sound like himself. He could see Fisher at his side and Phasma's eyes studying the battlefield as she listened, hands adjusting the blaster scope, but he felt horribly detached, exhaustion draining whatever was left of his mental faculties and turning his body into an automaton, while he, Finn, was left simply observing the exchange.
Phasma was gone as quickly as she arrived, joining her soldiers and disappearing into the battlefield. And, stupidly, senselessly, Finn was able to do little more than stare wide eyed at her as she did, a sudden realization forcing him to fight with himself not to let out a piece of dangerous nonsense and alert her to his identity.
Even so, seeing her walk towards the troops, he couldn't help but be curious—
Where was her helmet?
Notes:
It's always a Fisher saving the boys' butts, isn't it?
Next up - The Strategist.
