oh how it was...

Dystraay received the expected chewing out because of our patrol. It was routine considering we lost a man. Rarely did these patrols return without casualties. The sergeant wasn't concerned, nor was his conduct brought into question. Just a simple matter of procedure, a formality.

Not too much of significance has happened. The support roles we perform keep us active and there is always something to do. We shore up collapsed trenches constantly because of the erosion. Then we're detailed to assist quartermasters in distributing replacement equipment. Other times, you'll find us carrying ammunition crates to the frontline Troopers. The constant movement of supplies from the rear to the frontline passes through our section of the support trench. The frontline received vastly more than they needed, despite their communiques to the rear asking for the excess to stop being sent. As a result, that excess began piling up in our area. It was a welcome boon. I personally was able to get my hands on two new pairs of boots, three raincloaks, three spare uniforms, a spare knapsack, ten pairs of socks, and six blankets. I was tasked with transporting a heating unit destined for an officer's dugout, which a mortar round leveled before I could get out there. With no deliverable location, the heater is now in my possession.

Our battalion has made our section of trench rather the habitable community. The plethora of raincloaks were strung across the tops of the parapets on either side to form an overlapping canopy to keep the rain off. Staked into the ground atop poles about half a meter in length, we had a gap between the canopy and the trench where we could aim our blasters if an enemy approached. We were fortunate when a misdirected EG-6 power droid made the mistake of wandering through our area. A group of us seized upon it immediately and tore its legs off, so it could no longer move. The droid, still able to function in its power supply capacity, now serves as our generator. There were enough dugouts carved into the ground to support a full-strength battalion. Being ours was so significantly reduced, we decided to distribute our numbers amongst the shelters as opposed to cramming and overcrowding. I shared one with Haurn we fixed up quite nicely. The empty ammunition, ration, and weapons crates could be easily dismantled. We laid their composite pieces on the floor to create a nice barrier against the mud and did the same for the walls. That heater unit was put to good use. Lighting was provided by a series of illuminator torches we strung together. All our amenities were powered by a cable we ran out to the immobilized, communal EG-6.

It was not all relaxation. We still had to contend with flooding when the rain was incessant, which was nearly every day. The water always pooled in the bottom of the trench and flowed into the dugouts, and we were never able to come up with a permanent solution. Mimbo snipers took out a few of us, despite being this far back. Troopers either forgot, or let their guard down, and met a sniper's bolt. To be honest, I think a few had enough and intentionally placed themselves into the line of fire. Dystraay would still be a hardass sometimes –conduct the random inspection or go off on any Troopers found to be idle. There was still picket duty to be performed at night. We had to post them to stand watch over the support trench, in the event the Mimbos suddenly overran our front or somehow infiltrated the lines. It was a job you did not want to draw since you knew you had a bunk in a warm dugout, but had to spend the cold night, awake.

I was on picket duty. In the distance you could see bright flashes, not in our sector, but further down the line. The 3rd brigade was mounting an offensive in their zone –drive the Mimbos out of the nearby works. The faint cracks of blaster bolts could be heard, rocket trails observed. Nothing was close, as it was going on several kilometers away. No enemy activity on our front. Dystraay trudged through the line and came upon me. I was seated in the sap, wrapped in three blankets, but still managed to shiver. I followed the advice he always gave –kept my head down so as not to present a target, remain observant, and don't fall asleep.

"How's the show?" Dystraay asked, pressing his crossed arms to his chest to stay warm.

"They've been at it a while, sarge," I replied. "Do you think the Mimbos will hit our section?"

"I wouldn't put it past them, but the bugs are an unpredictable sort."

"Any idea how it's going over there?

"Lieutenant says casualties have been deemed acceptable, given the Mimbo body count tallied. Damn fools at command, measuring success in numbers of enemies killed."

"You think they'll send us in?"

The sergeant paused, looked to me.

"No," he replied. "They'll pull us back to the staging area first. To rebuild the battalion with new arrivals or break it up and feed us into other companies as replacements."

"You mean we have to give up our prime real estate?" I joked.

Even the hardened Dystraay managed to smile at that one. He slipped the strap of the E-11 he carried on his back and leaned the weapon against a durasteel plate in the trench, before taking a seat near where I huddled in my blankets. That E-11 though, those were not widely issued to the infantry, he never said where he got it.

"These excesses are making you soft," Dystraay spoke.

I had to process his words. If you looked the sergeant up and down, you would notice his mud-covered boots, worn trousers, weathered armor. Dystraay had not been pilfering excess replacement gear like the rest of us. No, he was making do with his original issue –actually filing requisitions when he needed equipment replaced.

"I will say the Empire provides," I started. "Our battalion has more access to materials and clothing than my entire village did where I grew up."

"Don't miss home, Maider?" asked Dystraay, as if it were an address as well.

"Can't say I do, sarge. Rain takes some getting used to. Everyone keeps assuming Euruta was a desert world, but it wasn't, not like you'd think in the traditional sense. It was barren, dry, cold, lots of rocks."

Dystraay was silent. I wasn't sure if he was angry at me for sharing, or what, I could not tell. He was just staring at me with his expressionless scowl. A few uncomfortable moments passed before he spoke.

"What do you think you're going to do once this is all over?" Dystraay asked, his words betraying sincerity.

I did not know what to say. Mimban did not give you a sense of a future. Sure, we were living fancy now, but my attention shifted to the fight in the distance. In just days, hours maybe, that could be us ordered forward into the slaughter.

"I'm not sure," was all I could manage. "Wherever the Empire sends me next?"

"Doesn't seem like much of a plan," Dystraay scoffed. "You're not the stupid, backwater world simpleton you portray yourself to be. You're resourceful and you have that will to survive. You'll make it out of here, then what? You're going to let yourself be thrown onto another world in conflict?"

"I hadn't given it much thought…"

"Officer School," Dystraay interrupted, a growing fire in his voice. "Slug it out here a bit longer. Knowing you, you'll make it. No glory seeker shit, though. That will only get you killed. Duty is distinguishing enough. You'll earn yourself an appointment and then you can have your choice of assignment."

"What about you, sarge?" I asked. "Are you planning to seek a commission?"

"No, that isn't in the works. I work well as a sergeant yelling at your lot, but I'd be a disaster as a lieutenant. Besides, once this tour is over, so will my enlistment. I'm planning on returning home to Corellia, be with the family, returning to my old job at the shipyards. Wife sent me a recent holo, apparently KDY is subcontracting a good number of ship building jobs to Corellia, says lots of work to be had constructing Star Destroyers."

Dystraay lost himself in the moment. He began to go through his life story with me, pulling out the holos of family, and generally rambling. He used to work as a hyperdrive fitter for the Corellian Engineering Corporation, until the post-Clone War slump disrupted manufacturing. An influx of Outer-Rim War refugees willing to work for lower wages didn't help. Lost his job in a round of layoffs. He was young, had a wife and kids to support, so he enlisted in the Imperial Army and had served the past eight standard years. With the subcontracting to Corellia and the Empire on a massive naval buildup, work was picking up once again. It seemed like Dystraay had everything going for him.

"When you've made it through Officer School," Dystraay told me. "I do hope you have an opportunity to visit Corellia on leave or through official duties. You'll have at least one place set at a table for you."

The battalion was due to be relieved in the morning and rotated back to the rear for rest and resupply. The rain came in torrents and the trenches started to collect the water. The string of raincloaks across the top of the parapet held back a complete deluge. Rations had just been issued and we were huddled around to enjoy our dinner. One final meal in this mess we thought.

I leaned with my back pressed against the trench, seated on the firing step with my legs stretched across and feet up on an ammunition crate to keep them out of the watery muck. Haurn was seated as I was, though in the reverse –seated on another ammunition crate and feet crossed resting on the firing step. We sort of just gravitated toward each other, at all times really. It was a camaraderie forged by our circumstances. I guess we trusted the other to watch our backs. The battalion was disintegrating, so it's not like you had a selection of pards to choose from.

Past few days I hadn't eaten much, and I was feeling sick for it –did not have much of an appetite. My thoughts recently were transfixed on that night of our patrol, what transpired in that shell hole. First sentient being I ever killed. I didn't kill that Mimbo with a blaster, at range –I wrung its neck in my hands, drowned it in a shallow puddle, left its body to molder in the waste. It haunted me. I'd be jolted awake after seeing its face in my dreams. Not here or there, but constantly. I thought in war, we'd be a bit more impersonal –shoot someone down at a few hundred meters, not really sure if it were you that done it. No, this was close, this was personal, and I had to watch as that Mimbo drew its last breath, felt its last bit of life slip through my hands. This was my doing.

Haurn seemed not to care at all or did a dammed right job at concealing it. She had her vibroblade held firmly in her left hand, and a whetting block in her right. The screech of the blade against the block reverberated, as she set about sharpening. I guess she took notice that I wasn't eating.

"What, war not exactly how you thought it would be?" Haurn said, teasingly. "I mean, you did volunteer for this. Hope you are getting your credit's worth."

"Food could be worse," I joked.

"Worse, not possible with this shite!"

"Clearly, you've never tried Eurutian cooking."

She let out the most sadistic half laugh at that one. It did not last longer than a moment before she set back to work on the blade. Honestly, the rations we were issued weren't terrible. Food was always a struggle on Euruta. I am surprised that I met the physical requirements in my malnourished state when I enlisted. Disqualified me for the Stormtrooper Corps, but the Army really will take anybody.

"You aren't bothered by this?" I asked Haurn. "Not by war, death?"

"Hard to be when you are raised in it," Haurn replied, not even looking up from her work.

"Yet this war bothers you."

Haurn stopped her sharpening to look up. It was a cold glare, devoid of any feeling.

"When there is glory to be won, when the fight is honorable," she spoke. "That is what I desire, my people desire. There is nothing to be won here. This is not my fight; I have no stake in it."

"You have more stake in this fight than you realize Trooper Haurn," a familiar voice interjected.

Dystraay's heavy boots stepped through the pooled water, as he approached. The sergeant ducked under the strung up raincloaks to find a seat sheltered from the rain.

"The fact that you are here is your stake in it," Dystraay said.

"It was the Empire that sent me here," Haurn fired back.

"And that is any different compared to how Maider ended up on Mimban? Surely, he did not choose this posting. That right, son?"

I quietly nodded at Dystraay's question, not wanting to get into this escalating exchange. Haurn stopped sharpening her blade –holding it downward in her hand.

"Maider enlisted, he volunteered for this," retorted Haurn. "I was conscripted."

"And you could be serving your conscripted term at some supply depot," Dystraay said. "Counting and inventorying blaster packs or guarding convict laborers on some remote outpost. The Empire didn't single you out to be posted here, your shitty luck did."

Haurn was getting visibly frustrated and was building up that temper of hers to lash out. I thought at any moment she'd try a swipe at Dystraay. The sergeant, on the other hand, only grinned with that satisfaction of his.

"So, what's your point, sergeant?" Haurn grunted.

"You are a Mandalorian," Dystraay replied. "You aren't allowed to die an ignominious death, joining the rest out there to be swallowed up by the waste, or in some unmarked grave. You're here because your people worship war. Their actions may have run afoul of the powers that be, landed you here, but what does that matter? Mimban is not punishment, it is your trial, where you will prove yourself worthy. Opposing it, resisting it, that is weakness on your part, Mando'ade."

Haurn felt disgusted and brought to a visible rage. Dystraay, for his part, coolly resumed his speech.

"You know what I say is true," said Dystraay. "That is why you jumped headlong into that shell hole. The famous Mandalorian bloodlust is unmistakable."

Out of frustration, Haurn threw the vibroblade from her hand. The twist of her wrist made it look to be an absent-minded toss, though it was anything but. The blade passed through the gap between my outstretched legs and impaled the mud of the firing step, missing my groin by an uncomfortably close distance. I instinctively jumped from the commotion and managed to fling myself face first into the bottom of the trench, into the pooled water. Dystraay laughed and pulled the blade from the mud, as he stood. The sergeant handed it back to a scowling Haurn before he turned to offer me an outstretched hand and helped me to my feet. I too had to laugh at the predicament I brought upon myself. It took only a moment or two for Haurn to crack her façade and join in.

"Be angry all you want about how you ended up here, it won't do you any good," Dystraay said, shifting his deportment. "You aren't getting off Mimban any time soon. None of us are. And I don't want to find out either of you have taken the quick way off…"

The sergeant finished his grim address, the euphemism struck close. Soon, he was on his way down the line, probably off to scare the shit out of some other Troopers. Dystraay, I will never forget him, the best damn NCO I've ever known. Meanwhile, Haurn and I were once again seated. I batted the mud from my face and uniform recently acquired from my fall. From my periphery, I saw Haurn giggling at the state I was in. She must have thought I was a pathetic sight and took pity on me, for she pulled a towel from a pocket and handed it to me to wipe the grime off. The interruption was enough to take my mind off things, albeit for the moment. I got an appetite back and began to consume the rations. Haurn set back to work on her vibroblade. We settled in for another stretch of routine, though we weren't expecting what was coming. Not a few bites into the ration, we had our first contact from the Mimbos in days. The Mimbos hit us hard that evening.

The rocket landed in the frontline trench and the ground violently shook. Dirt and mud thrown up showered our ranks. One missile after another descended on our works. It was not limited, but all across a wide front –hitting our lines simultaneously. We had no warning of an impending attack –all dove directly into the mud clogged bottom of the trench for cover, braced against the grime coated walls, or scrambled into the safety of the dugouts. The barrage was relentless, as hundreds of bombs fell on us. The blasts soon reduced the usefulness of a trench –grinding down the parapets. There was nothing we had on hand to lob back at the Mimbos. Their artillery was masked somewhere out of sight and blasted the hell out of us. What good would our blaster rifles do against such firepower? We were sitting targets for our foe –meat to be flayed apart at any moment.

For an hour we endured this punishment, relentless as it was. I saw a dugout collapse and bury those who sheltered inside. I decided I would take my chances cowering in the works, not wanting to be crushed and suffocated beneath the ground. The bombing churned up spores, so you had to scramble to get your respirator fitted. Otherwise, you'd find yourself passing unconscious from a violent coughing bout.

I heard one of the Troopers next to me, must've caught it bad in the gut. He was screaming in pain and calling for his mother to come take her son away from this. That screaming, that damned screaming. I tried to shut it out –worked my hands under the helmet to cover my ears. The mud thrown up by the blasts rained down on my already saturated body. It further caked me in its putrid muck.

I settled down into the mud, with what I hoped was the safety of the wall of the trench. I pulled the tattered raincloak over my head and hoped to just wait out the bombing. Every blast crept nearer and nearer to my position. The impacts upon the ground reverberated the air around you so violently it felt as if your chest were about to collapse in on itself. You didn't dare hold your breath out of fear the air in your lungs would be pulled right out from a sudden drop in pressure caused by a nearby artillery impact. Couldn't think much of survival through all of this, how could you? Your best hope was for a bomb to land right on top of you –blast you apart instantly, make it quick.

There was a violent explosion, and I was blown several meters down one side of the trench. When I finally got up, all I could see was smoke and clouds of dirt. I could hear the cries and the screams of the survivors. As I crawled towards them, I could see what remained. Some had been cut in two, some in three parts, legs, and arms, not disintegrated, were strewn all over the place and there was the acrid smell of death perforating the filters on our masks. So ended the comforting thoughts of a relief and a relaxation bit at the rear. It began to feel as though any chance of leaving this hell would be on a stretcher or in a bag.

I pulled my mask off once I noticed one of the breathing tubes was punctured. It must've caught some shrapnel or something. I was on my elbows pulling myself through the mud. Our once gentrified trench was virtually unrecognizable. The bombardment had reduced it to craters and undulating mounds of terrain, all littered with the debris of war. The bombardment slackened and then came to an abrupt halt. The screams of the wounded soon replaced the shrieking whirls of death blows impacting the ground. They were the most horrific screeches. You thought you had heard the worst days ago, but every time it just seemed worse than before. I thought I could get used to it, but no, I never would. I was covered in mud, resembling some form of filth covered vermin dragging its way through the human dross. Limbs and bodies surrounded me, and I had the uncomfortable task of pushing them aside to find my way forward. Not sure where I was going or where anybody was.

One by one, there would be a Trooper –pulled to their feet by some unseen will. A few were in a daze and could do nothing but sit on the ground, their legs pressed against their bodies. Others, more nobly, tried to check on the wounded, not sure what they thought they could accomplish. There was a section of ground, what looked to be one part of the trench still intact. The frontline was no longer there and what remained of our support trench formed the new front in this sector. The retaining wall was partially visible, as were the sandbags and outline of the parapet. With what strength I could muster, I hauled myself to my knees and trudged, with great effort, to lay myself against its cover. It was my first opportunity to get a good look around.

The bodies, how numerous they were. It was foolish to believe we had any force left after that bombardment, what with all the corpses I saw. Amazingly, there were many who were able to rise to their feet and shake themselves of the muck. A few trickled over to where I was, and we huddled together –wanting to comprehend what had happened.

"Kad Ha-rangir must favor you," the welcomed voice of Haurn spoke, not fully understanding what she meant by that.

She pulled her respirator mask from her face and tossed it to the ground. It had apparently malfunctioned as well. After doing so, she descended into a violent coughing fit, as her lungs coped with the Mimban spores.

"Or they have a much more violent fate in store for me," I joked, extending an arm to pull Haurn over to where I was seated.

Once again, I managed to lose my blaster. Dystraay would be pissed that is for sure. To be fair, it was stacked with the other blaster rifles for those of us not actively standing watch. Haurn had hers across her back, probably for the best. Movement to our left had us startled, as Sergeant Dystraay pulled himself through the wreckage and debris. The sergeant had his E-11 slung under his shoulder, the strap secured by his right hand, while in his left he carried a T-21 repeating blaster. Immediately, the sergeant made eye contact with me and noticed I was without a weapon, I honestly wasn't the only one without their blaster. He tossed the T-21 into my arms.

"They're coming, keep your heads down and take aim!" Dystraay shouted and then moved further down the quickly forming line.

Haurn and I braced against the cover, as more Troopers rushed up to the position. We were so disoriented from the bombardment that we had little chance to prepare. In the distance, figures moved swiftly. They formed a massive tide of onrushing bodies, too numerous to count. Each figure had a grotesque array of brush and grass protruding from their backs. Every manner of blaster, from Republic issue, droid army cast offs, picked up Imperial arms, to abominations cobbled together from necessity. There were hundreds of them dashing at us at a frenzied pace not five hundred meters from our line and closing the distance rapidly. It was too damn close, and they got the drop on us –using the bombardment to disrupt and fracture our line. The Mimbos carried out the assault –made no real attempt at concealment. Instead trusting in sheer weight of numbers to overwhelm us. The line of Mimbos stretched from the right and the left of our battalion front, overlapping it completely. Their whole mass came relentlessly at us, screeching their pitched battle cry.

I leveled the T-21 on the remnants of the parapet. We waited until they were within about one hundred meters. I squeezed the trigger on that weapon, and oh how it sang. A torrent of blaster bolts leapt from the barrel of that repeating weapon. They passed through the air and into the ranks of the Mimbos that rushed onward. The first Mimbo I knew I hit –their red hued body jerked about in multiple convulsions before flopping to the ground. Not much time to think on it as several others raced forward to take its place. I fired the T-21, the barrel glowed red from the heat –the result of the ferocity and desperation of the fight. Dystraay came by once again, this time to leave a small ammunition crate for the repeater, containing two gas canisters and four energy packs. Not sure where he got it, but I appreciated the reload. Haurn was able to assist me with the weapon. I'd be ejecting a spent canister while she removed a full one from the crate, allowing for an expedited reload.

Whole sections of their lines appeared to vanish, as my fellow Troopers joined in the serenade of violence. Our bolts traversed the enemy to and fro along their ranks, unceasingly. The entire front was covered with advancing Mimbos, the effect was devastating, and they could be seen falling in droves. You almost did not have to aim, we just fired into them. Such fire was delivered with fatal consequence. Yet, they were an enemy undeterred –fanatical in their attempt to see us dislodged. Our ammunition was running short, our energy charges just about depleted –a consequence from the bombardment scattering Troopers from their supplies. And still the Mimbos advanced, over the countless bodies of their comrades slain by our blasters.

The situation was desperate. One by one, blaster fire began to slacken as charge packs ran dry. Troopers scrambled to sift through the wreckage or the belts of the dead for more ammunition. Those who had thermal or fragmentation detonators, lobbed them over their heads into the enemy within an arm's throw. Some released the safety pressure seals on the tibanna canisters, being there were no energy charges to power their weapons to ignite the gas, and hurled the volatile cylinders, which exploded violently upon impact. The resulting conflagration engulfed the foe in an agonizing inferno. And then, the enemy was upon us. The Mimbos surged into our line, leaping from the blast craters and landing amongst the Troopers. We engaged in the vicious, archaic art of hand-to-hand combat. Troopers grasped their weapons by their stocks and swung them wildly like clubs, or they improvised with what they had at their disposal. Some drew vibroblades, the non-issued kind some Troopers purchased at the training station's promenade, right before we shipped out. I preferred the entrenching tool.

The T-21 was impractical once they got close. Damn thing was out of energy charges, so I swung it at the first Mimbo to come at me. The barrel was scalding, as I used it to bludgeon the head of that Mimbo, its flesh seared from the heat. I let the weapon go since the impact crushed the barrel. Things aren't supposed to be used as a club. It did crack the skull of that bug, however. I removed my entrenching tool from its holster attached to my belt. The durasteel spade I sharped for just this sort of action.

Another Mimbo was in the line, held an E-5 with a long vibroblade fused to the end of the barrel. The bug drove the blade repeatedly into the body of a convulsing Trooper sprawled pathetically on the ground. I don't know what possessed me at that moment, rage, fear, hatred. You couldn't do it on a clear mind. I raised the entrenching tool and brought it squarely down onto the right shoulder of that Mimbo. The enemy let out a screech and dropped its E-5 –wanting to grasp at the deep gash now profusely bleeding down its arm. Before it could turn to face me, I hacked it a second time, another gouge into the flesh near the first. I felt sanity abandon me in that moment, blow after blow I landed on that pitiful creature. All the anger pent up about this planet, the misery here, the xeno slavers who terrorized Euruta, everything, just broke out to the surface. I damn near cut the thing in half, when I felt a hand pull me from the Mimbo's corpse.

"Maider, relax!" Haurn shouted, turning me around. "It's dead."

No sooner had we made eye contact, then another set of Mimbos charged us. Haurn drew her WESTAR, being her rifle had run dry of power. One by one, she let loose a bolt that dropped four attackers. The killing power of a WESTAR is phenomenal –throwing the Mimbos from their feet, dead. Damn, I wanted one. There was an officer's body sprawled on the ground –his SE-14 pistol in a holster on his belt. Must have been from another company, for I did not recognize him. I knelt by the departed officer and took the blaster; he had no further use for it. Not as powerful as a WESTAR-34, but it'll still kill Mimbos.

Haurn and I stuck close together, as we tried to make our way through the chaotic mêlée. Figured we'd look for Dystraay, as the sergeant would know the best way out of this mess. The fight had devolved into individual combat, as one enemy fought the other. Mimbo and Trooper brawled in the mud as savages, bashing, thrashing, choking, clawing, stabbing, gouging, and, where the water collected deep enough, drowning. It was mayhem and impossible to determine which side held the upper hand. The bodies piled upon each other, screams from the dying mixed with the primal cries of war. We hacked, slashed, and shot our way through anything that didn't look human. The blood of both species being spilled tainted the mud a most grotesque shade. Human and Mimbo contorted about in their death throws –their entrails spilling from wounded bodies. Retreat was not an option, as one could not discern a route to escape. The hard rain fell upon us and blanketed the area in an icy deluge. Every step you wanted to take, to advance against the enemy was arrested.

A Mimbo confronted me, brandished a DC-15 with a welded-on vibrobayonet. The bug had their bayonet at the ready, whereas I was equipped with a spade. I felt the fear of death for a few seconds before realizing that the bug was out for my life equally as I was after theirs. I was faster than they were, slashing the Mimbo across the face with the entrenching tool after knocking the bayonet away with my spade. I hacked the Mimbo repeatedly after the bug recoiled with its hand over the gouge where I wounded it. The bug was dead as blood spurted from the wounds.

A Trooper nearby clubbed a Mimbo to death with the butt of their blaster rifle. A Mimbo strangled another Trooper with its gangly hands. I watched a Trooper split the head of a Mimbo open with the blade of their entrenching tool –cleaved it right in half. Everything came spilling out in the most repugnant sight.

Then a laborious thud, the sound caught your attention –the grinding of durasteel and hiss of pistons. All accompanied by the screech of thrusters. AT-DTs dropped one by one from the sky, from the AT Haulers that flew them in. The heavy guns of the walkers were useless in this fight, but the drivers got creative. They ran the AT-DTs directly into the fray –brought the heavy feet down to squash any bug in the open. The crunch of Mimbo bones had a pleasant ring to the ear. Accompanying the deployment of the AT-DTs, were several companies of fellow infantry and Stormtroopers. Our reinforcements did not hesitate –charged in with their blasters blazing. These were fresh troops, veterans of many a scrap on Mimban. The contest did not last much longer. We now had the numbers, and the bugs were hopelessly out gunned. The Mimbos tried to resist, but it was in vain. Those that could, broke from the fight and ran. Some burrowed into the ground and quickly disappeared into hastily dug holes. None among us dared pursuit, as it meant a certain, gruesome death. Mimbos who could not escape were cut down where they stood.

The shooting started to die down. The Stormtroopers took up positions along what resembled our former trench. This was to be the newly established frontline I suppose. A was formed and they made their way around individually, up to all the Mimbos still alive, to the bugs writhing on their backs, too wounded to move. Troopers shot them, one by one. After what we went through, we weren't in the mood for sympathy.

Stormtroopers always thought too highly of themselves. They got to squat down and watch the frontline. Meanwhile, the infantry was left with the dirty work. Some shouts from their officers and they separated into two groups. First group dropped their gear, stacked blasters, and went to work with their entrenching tools digging new breastworks right behind the Stormtroopers. The Army wasted no time getting right back to where we were. Second group was on recovery. They had the gruesome task of helping the medics carry out the wounded and search for those, somehow, still alive. Others in the group began the process of gathering the corpses in the vicinity. The Imperial ones would be removed to the rear for services. The Mimbo dead were rolled into a shell crater and burned.

I stumbled through the mud, the muck dragged my boots and demanded I take even larger steps. I could not tell how many from the battalion were left after this, all I saw were the reinforcements rush by. I still had Haurn at my side, a welcome relief. We trudged forward a bit, making for the direction opposite of where the reinforcements setup their new line. To be honest, the idea was to wander away with the wounded. After all, the battalion was set to be returned to the rear, not like there was a battalion left. I remember she had turned to me. She was exhausted. The night prior she stood picket and had yet to get some sleep since her watch –banking on plenty when we were moved to the rear. Haurn collapsed into my arms as I reached out to embrace her. We were close, comrades in arms. Right now, she hadn't the energy to stand, and I just really wanted to hold onto someone. Haven't had anyone close in a long time.

As we trudged off to join the walking wounded and stretcher bearers, we came upon Dystraay. It hurts just trying to put these notes down. The sergeant laid upon the mud; his expression contorted to an animalistic war face. A large cavity torn through his chest armor and scorched the flesh beneath, shot at close range by a heavy bolt. His E-11 was still in his hand, charge empty. It was like him to go down fighting, a few Mimbo carcasses splayed lifelessly around as his final testament. Haurn and I just stared really. We could not summon the words to express the sight before us. Dystraay was our mentor, a father figure, our sergeant. Now, he just lay there, dead. I slowly knelt beside the body, seized upon the tag disc on the chain around his neck and removed one. Figured I'd find a way to send it home to his wife and kids. Shit, he had a family and was so close to being out of the Army for good, to spending the rest of his days with them. It made me feel guilty, why him and not me? I didn't have anyone back home depending on me, waiting for me to get through this, Dystraay had.

One last thing before I stood up. I took the E-11 from his hand and pulled the strap over my shoulder. Dystraay's blaster didn't deserve to be picked up by some mud-grunt who didn't know the sergeant. With me, it was a way to honor his memory, I guess. I pulled his raincloak, which lay to the side, detached it from the armor straps and used it as a shroud to cover Dystraay. We waited there for a few silent moments. The rain continued to pour onto our backs, but for once we did not seem to notice. Losing Dystraay, well, I don't know what to really say. Just made me feel sick. I had very much wanted to take him up on that offer of a family dinner, if I ever made it to Corellia. Stretcher bearers were along shortly. We watched as they reverently placed Dystraay's body onto a stretcher and then they were gone.

000