Outpost
G'han Lowlands
We got our asses kicked the other night, no other way of putting it. The Mimbos nearly wiped us out when they overran our line in that attack. Haurn and I made it out, a good many didn't. Our battalion was officially disbanded and those left, all fifty of us not wounded, were called to a formation. We stood there in the dawn hours, as officers from various detachments and units combed through our diminished columns to select replacements for their commands. Not one of us wore any expression other than a gaze devoid of emotion –drenched more from apathy than the rain that fell upon our frigid ranks.
A lieutenant walked up to me. He wasn't wearing his mask and I could see his grizzled face, worn down and scarred from the deployment to Mimban.
"Do you want to be a sapper?" the lieutenant asked in his brusque voice, yet it felt more like he was telling me.
Had I known at the time what was required of sappers, I would have declined, though I am certain that was not an option. The lieutenant smiled, bore a scar that ran out across his cheek, and placed a hand, missing two fingers, on my shoulder. He then went to Haurn, asked her the same question. That was our initiation into the sappers.
The sappers' role on Mimban is compartmentalized when compared to the function of our counterparts found elsewhere within the Imperial Military. There are individuals who attend academies and enrolled in courses which taught the principles of combat engineering. They know how to sight fortifications, undermine enemy works, construct landing zones, and the like. The rest, like Haurn and myself, were made minesweepers. Minesweepers are cheap and expendable, as they can be hastily trained and if they make a mistake, the mine still gets cleared.
The lieutenant showed Haurn and I over to the company of sappers under his command. It was not a true company, as there were only thirty of us crammed into an assortment of threadbare tents in a mud-choked corner of Camp Forward. Once sappers were prepared to the lieutenant's dubious standards, they were assigned to units and sent on their way. The constant rotation meant you never got to know anyone personally. Most were too indifferent to share personal details or listen to your own. For two months, we slogged away learning our new trade. The tents were left over from an artillery battalion and in horrible shape –constantly leaked and left us perpetually miserable. Instruction was held by the lieutenant at a series of tables, beneath an erected overhead awning fashioned by a patchwork of tarpaulin and raincloaks. We were never truly safe from the war raging beyond the entrenchments of the base. Mortar rounds and rockets fired by the Mimbos fell upon us as regularly as the cursed rains did.
I am not sure you could call what we went through as certifiable training. The lieutenant showed us how to defuse mines, thermal detonators, and the basics of improvised explosives. The lessons never went into much detail and often repeated the same information, I mean there are only so many ways you can disarm a thermal detonator. We never covered how to properly spot buried explosives or how to make full use of the ordinance detection scanners. The scanners issued to us were poorly constructed and most broke down after a short exposure to the Mimbanese climate. There was little confidence in our own abilities, but I was sure the Army was more concerned with numbers than competence. In that manner, a commander could boast, "this Trooper is a trained sapper and can be assigned to a platoon", and the reports could reflect formations as battle effective since they carried the necessary assigned sappers.
Sapper school came to an end, and we received our assignments. Haurn and I managed to stick together –the new battalion we found ourselves in was comprised of convicts, just arrived on Mimban. Not your violent offenders. No, these are the political types. The activists who spoke out of turn, university students who thought they could make a change, rich kids who got into politics to piss off their parents. The Empire offered them a choice, decades languishing on a penal colony performing hard labor, or two years military service. Apparently, they were told they'd be made clerks or something menial. Guess they're in for a rude awakening.
Next thing I know, we were put aboard a convoy of the old A6 Juggernauts to carry our battalion plus field equipment to some location we knew next to nothing about. The G'han Lowlands, our destination, were situated in a far-flung region. There were plenty of these turbo tanks laying around Mimban since the Clone War –just about the only vehicle that could power through the mud. It was a two-day journey, though it felt much longer being packed in the confines of the A6s. After a while of breathing the putrid recycled air of the tank's troop compartment, you missed Mimban's toxic atmosphere. If you've ever had the pleasure, or misfortune, to ride in one of these A6s, you'd understand.
Our group of misfits was the 2nd platoon of the 3rd company of the 8843rd Rifle Battalion, if you're interested. Each company has two sappers attached, placed into one of the platoons. The sappers fall under the platoon commander's hierarchy and function as a Trooper, with the mine clearing responsibilities tacked on. The platoon comprised forty Troopers under the command of Lieutenant Venk Dangir. Lt. Dangir was a real piece of work, only a few years older than I and freshly commissioned as an officer. Apparently, he's some Imperial Academy graduate who thinks he knows everything, except how to get grades good enough to get into the Stormtrooper Corps. The lieutenant seems more preoccupied with earning a Crimson Star or the Medal of Valor, than anything else. The platoon's two sergeants, Amadme Thif and Rix Flelt, under Dangir, leave little to be desired. Sgt. Thif was elected to her post by the platoon, being she served in some capacity in whatever a 'student government' is, while Sgt. Flelt is criminally insane. Do not ask me how Flelt received his posting, I do not know.
We tried to sleep, but it was difficult. The smell of your comrades in the battalion in a confined space with recycled air becomes unbearable. Plus, you want to avoid having to wear that dammed uncomfortable respirator if possible. The climate control on the A6s were dodgy at best. Ours must've given out years ago because it was sweltering, and I was soaked from the sweat. I don't know how she did it, but Haurn fell asleep despite the conditions. She passed out on my shoulder. Whether she meant to or not –I didn't complain.
I saw the looks on all the new kids' faces –fear, anger, regret, despair. None expected to be sent to this hell. Not one of them appeared to have done a hard day's work in their life, toiled in the fields, or scrounged for scraps in the streets. Probably grew up with droids waiting on them hand and foot. These were your well-to-do, the elite. The class of people, I'd imagine, screwing over Euruta, the children of the former Republic. I guess all that comfort wasn't enough for them and they had to go make trouble. Serves them right. They wanted to fight for equality, well, they're equally kriffed as me.
The Trooper seated across from me looked young, had his boot in his hand and worked furiously to pick off the mud caked to the soles. By his appearance, neat uniform, smooth face, it was evident he enjoyed that privileged upbringing. Then he hung his head low, exasperated, defeated, overcome by the anxiety of his drastic change in lifestyle.
"I shouldn't be here," the young man groaned. "Speech isn't a crime, at least not punishable with this. If that judge knew who my father is…This is a mistake. I'll write Senator Mothma…They made a mistake sending me here."
"Army doesn't make mistakes," I offered an unsolicited reply.
"This Empire is a kriffing mistake," the man responded, with fire in his words. "This injustice would've never happened under the Republic."
"The Republic no longer exists, and we're better off because of it."
"How can you say that!?" the young man was incensed. "The Empire is a dictatorship; the Senate is nothing more than a puppet. The Republic guaranteed equality, ensured our freedoms!"
"What good are those terms, freedom, equality?" I put forward a callous reply. "I had freedom where I was born, didn't do you much good once the slavers showed up. We had equality too, everyone was equally poor, equally at the mercy of those who would abduct us and sell us to the mines on Kessel. This was life under the Republic. The Empire established order, security, peace. Their Stormtroopers ran off the slavers, they established infrastructure and offered us the opportunity to do more than scrounge an existence on our rock."
The young man glared at me with contempt, like I committed the heinous offense of speaking without permission to my better. I suppose, being he was from the Core, felt he was entitled to a degree of special treatment? Not here, Mimbo artillery doesn't discriminate. Well, I couldn't help myself and erupted into a fit of laughter, from which I could not stop. What did he expect? He wanted to defend a corrupt and defunct institution like it was the greatest governing body the Galaxy has ever known. I suppose that is life in the Core, so isolated from the realities experienced by the rest of us, impossible to perceive a true concept of how things work. The laughter managed to wake Haurn, for which I was swiftly greeted by a hard jab to my side.
"You find this funny, do you?" the young Trooper insinuated, articulated in a tone so proper. "What offense sentenced you to this? Petty theft? Vagrancy?"
"He enlisted," Haurn grunted her addition on my behalf.
The young Trooper scoffed, averted his gaze in a dramatic fashion to signify he was done conversing. I did not give it too much mind. A Trooper with an arrogance like that would not last long on Mimban. Wonder if his status could help him while he's being dragged by the Mimbos down one of their holes. A lot of them carried this demeanor –big liability once the shooting started. At least I had Haurn, I knew I could count on her.
This young man, I noticed, had a freshly issued rucksack with a crisp, clean blanket rolled and affixed to his pack. His inexperience was reflected by the manner in which his blanket was rolled –bulky and uneven, as he had not mastered the art of proper rolling technique. Haurn and I were assigned to this battalion without the opportunity to receive a proper reissue of equipment. My blanket was in decent enough condition, but I noticed Haurn's was caked with mud and torn in several places. It would be inconsiderate on my part as a friend if I had a nice blanket and Haurn did not. We were both veterans of this conflict, so far as we encountered the enemy, faced death, and lost a good mentor, while these new arrivals have not.
"Trooper," I called to the privileged young man, who snarled. "Your blanket is not rolled properly. A word of advice, it will last longer if you roll it the right way. Allow me?"
I put out a hand, as a proposal to aid the young man. He appeared to welcome the offer, willingly removed the entire knapsack, and handed it over. At once, I tore off the blanket roll and passed it to a surprised Haurn. Then, I turned the bag over, emptied its contents on the deck where I was seated. For someone new to military life, this Trooper carried a good deal of items he would not need in the field. Haurn caught on to what I was doing and eagerly joined in. We helped ourselves, dividing up the contents, brand new issued socks still in their shrink wrap, hygiene kits, ration packs.
"What are you doing!?" the young man protested, leapt to his feet.
Haurn was up instantly, in response. She threw a heavy left hook and laid the young, petulant Trooper out on the deck. The others recoiled, unwilling to do anything but offer paltry grunts of repugnance. They would do nothing, but let it happen. I did not take his things to be mean, it was just what I knew. This is what life was like on Euruta during the time of the Republic, the strong preying upon the weak. Haurn and I have done our time suffering on Mimban. We had our gear taken by veterans and replaced with their tattered kit. It was fair, we were in the position to take, so why not take. Welcome to the swamp.
The two days were at an end and the line of turbotanks came to a halt. The fog was so dense you could just barely see beyond –nothing but vast tracts of woodlands and swamps. The site was atop a hill above this section of forest, in a clearing made several days prior by a team of combat engineers. The hatches opened and we disembarked. There were stacks of large shipping containers arranged at the center of this clearing. Orders were clarified soon enough. Our task was to construct a forward operating base, for pacification actions against hostile Mimbanese in this stretch of the G'han. Enemy activity was on the rise and Army Intelligence determined the MLA were funneling supplies through the region.
First order of business was to dig. We got to work on the construction of the perimeter defense, consisting of a network of entrenchments, heavy weapons emplacements, and firing positions. 1st, 3rd, and 4th companies were tasked with construction, while second had to unload supplies. The turbotank crews were eager to get back to Camp Forward and they'd haul ass too. There was also a mortar platoon attached to the battalion, as our fire support. The mortar guys were up to their own thing, digging their own placements for the weapons and sighting distances.
I had my mask off and hanging loose on my chest, still trying to adjust to the atmosphere with controlled exposure. You could build up a quasi-immunity to the spores if you acclimated properly, just had to get the balance right without overdoing it. We called it "lungfung" when you breathed in too many spores it made you sick. The more acute cases of the "lungfung", where Troopers completely disregarded wearing their breathing apparatus, were often punishable. The condition was considered preventable by command, so those severely stricken were obviously trying to intentionally shirk duty, same as if you incurred a self-inflicted wound. The fear of a firing squad for such an infraction was motivation alone, for some, to wear the mask.
The ground was an absolute bog, but at least the rain had stopped. Haurn and I had dropped our heavy gear and worked to dig a prepared position. Dugholes manned by two Troopers placed five meters apart were the only way we could secure the perimeter. The base would eventually be reinforced by an entire regiment once we finished building it up. For now, our battalion were the ones doing all the work.
"Maider!" a voice shouted my name.
Turning my head, I see Sergeant Thif trudging over to the site where Haurn and I constructed our dughole. Thif did not look at all pleased.
"Trooper Baize reported the theft of his issued equipment," Thif stated. "He reports you and Trooper Haurn were responsible."
Haurn was conveniently absent for this impromptu reprimand, as she was out of sight behind some of the supply containers vomiting from spore inhalation. She never did acclimate too well.
"Well, Trooper Maider?" Thif continued. "Do you have anything to say?"
"Pretty bold for someone so new to Mimban to go running to their superior," I offered as a reply, much to the exasperation of Thif.
"That's two shifts extra duty, Maider. Come find me after reveille tomorrow morning."
Sergeant Thif grunted and was off to track down the lieutenant. There was little Thif could do, really. A Trooper who snitches on their comrades to command is about the most heinous thing you can do in the Imperial Army. I am sure noncommissioned officers receive an informal lecture on this when they get to Mimban. I was not going to stress over the matter, the bugs crawling out from their holes were a more pressing concern. It was back to work.
In a few hours, Haurn and I had our dughole prepared with a tarpaulin stretched over the top to keep the rain from us. It was crude, but better than nothing. I still wish we were back in that support trench, with the abundance of supplies, the pilfered heating units, the power.
"What I wouldn't give for some homecooked uj'alayi," Haurn sighed, as she bit off a piece of the barely palatable Imperial ration bar.
I never understood the complaints about our rations. At least there was food available and freely given to you. I used to go days without eating –most of my meals growing up were stolen or still alive right before I cooked it.
"They feed us, don't they?" I offered. "As long as I can eat, I'm alright."
"You aren't normal, Maider." Haurn replied, with a half-smile. "You know that, right?"
"At least we aren't going to be hungry. I've done too much of that."
For a few moments, we sat quietly, listened to the raindrops strike the overhead tarpaulin, while we unrolled our blankets and set our raincloaks to keep the mud off our backs. The temperature plummeted and it was going to be a miserable night, so make the best of the misery.
"Maybe your people on Euruta will launch an insurgency," Haurn said, through shivering teeth. "And we can get stationed there, far away from this rain as possible."
"Yeah, not likely," I answered. "We love the Empire on Euruta."
"Well, I never did thank you for the blanket," Haurn smiled, gestured to the prize seized earlier.
"Don't mention it."
"So, he really cried to the sarge, about getting his gear stolen and ass kicked?"
"Thif came over and confirmed it."
"That little bastard…say we teach him a lesson?"
Haurn didn't give me a chance to question her further –crawled out of our dughole and skulked silently across the mud. Quickly, I was over the top and by her side. Our masks were on, which would prove beneficial later. We saw the snitch dig his dughole, only a few meters away. Another Trooper we did not know was huddle within, as well. It did not take long to reach, and he was unprepared, as we slipped through the gap between the dughole's parapet and the overhanging tarpaulin. At once, we set upon the occupants with a fury of punches and blows. I was not sure if it was the snitch, I was punching or the occupant they shared the dughole with. Not that it matters, Haurn and I pummeled them until they writhed on the bottom of the pit.
With the occupants subdued, we took the time to rifle through their belongings. The snitch, we already collected what we wanted, so our attention turned to the second Trooper that shared the dughole. Overturning their bag, we found more dry socks and a small metallic container. As I packed away the loot, Haurn took out her vibroblade and went to work. She slashed the raincloaks of both Troopers to the point they were little more than tatters, incapable of keeping the rain off. Then, she sliced apart their overhead tarpaulin to let the deluge fall directly into the dughole. I then unscrewed the hoses to Baize's mask and the apparatus mounted to his back, caked the end in mud. It would take hours to clean out the block, denied air the entire time. The raid was done in only a matter of moments, and we withdrew. I happened to grab the blanket of the other Trooper, because it felt chilly, and I did not want to be cold.
We passed a frigid night in our dughole, huddled in the blankets we shared. Within the metallic case, we discovered homemade biscuits sent by the Trooper's mother, which Haurn and I enjoyed immensely. A heavy rain moved in that night. In addition to the tarpaulin, we lined the edge of the hole with sandbags. Not so much for the protection, but the fact the sandbags kept the water from flooding on us while we slept. Unfortunately, many in the battalion lacked the experience of camping out in a Mimbanese shower. They spent the night shivering and howling after getting soaked. The snitch cried like a petulant child the entire night; it was pathetic.
By dawn, we were awoken by Lt. Dangir ordering a formal inspection of our platoon. We looked like a bunch of assholes, being the only platoon to be doing this. Honestly, can't remember the last time I had to do a formal inspection. They had us in two ranks, twenty in each. I was at the far end to the right of the first, just next to Sgt. Flelt. I am certain Flelt was drunk because he couldn't stand upright without swaying. Baize and the other one from his dughole shivered uncontrollably in their tattered bits of kit. Neither would comment as to what happened, guess they learned. Then came the lieutenant, who mumbled something to Flelt.
Flelt stepped forward and strode beside the lieutenant to conduct the inspection. The platoon had our weapons at the port arms, held in front of us to be taken by the sergeant and inspected. I carried Dystraay's E-11, the one I took when I came across his body. I was the only one in the platoon, probably the whole of the company who had an E-11 –everyone else issued the standard and inferior E-10s. Not even the lieutenant carried an E-11, and I could tell he was envious. The E-11s were smaller, lighter, and overall, more reliable than the E-10s. Flelt stood before me, snatch the blaster from my grasp to perform a cursory inspection.
"Where'd you get this, Trooper?" Flelt grunted. "Steal it from an armory? Seems you're getting quite the reputation as a thief."
I gave no reply, because of prior experience talking during an inspection earned me a hard punch to the gut during basic training by the drill instructor. They'd try to trick you into talking and then punish you for it. Technically, Imperial protocol called for strict silence during a formal inspection, unless directly addressed by an officer, NCOs not counting.
"Well, Maider, isn't it?" Lt. Dangir barked, storming over. "Answer the question. Was this weapon issued to you directly, or did you steal it from the armory?"
Lt. Dangir had a young face, though it turned red when he was exasperated, as in this situation. He was looking for an excuse to put me on report. To Dangir, the more Troopers he had on report for conduct infractions, the more familiar headquarters would be with his name. It was all about making a name for himself, establish a reputation as a harsh taskmaster to earn a promotion to a more prestigious assignment. Not sure how to answer the lieutenant's inquiry. I did not steal the E-11, but it wasn't my issued weapon either. I tried to form a response. Lt. Dangir grimaced in the satisfaction that he could prepare a report, while Flelt tightened his grip on my E-11, like he was to claim it as his own. Well, it seems my fate on Mimban has an interesting way of working.
We were interrupted by a blast at the far side of the clearing. A loud whistle accompanied a second. Trails of plasma streaked across the dawn sky from some unseen point in the woodlands beyond. The Mimbos had our base sighted and were pouring artillery rounds all over the place. Shouts and panic arose from the battalion, as Troopers flocked to avoid being blasted. Flelt gawked at the lights above, failed to notice me tug the E-11 back from his grasp. I was not interested in getting blown apart in the open and I raced back to my dughole.
I climbed over the side and found Haurn already within. The Mimbo artillery intensified, though it was mostly smaller caliber mortars and mass-driver guns. The ordinance the Mimbos were throwing, I'd encountered it before, makes a lot of noise and throws up a lot of mud, it's more spectacle than lethal. It was wildly inaccurate. But, if you caught a direct hit, you were dust in an instant. The bombs descended on our base. Troopers, just crawling from their holes, scurried back to shelter like startled vermin. Untested kids getting shelled for the first time. The few officers, with any sense, ordered Troopers to the perimeter to defend against an enemy attack we were sure to expect.
The sudden arrival of a figure leaping into our dughole gave Haurn and myself a fright. We did not recognize the Trooper personally, but he was a veteran given the state of his uniform. The corporal, never told us his name, was an artillery spotter for the mortar platoon and in need of an observation post to direct the counter-battery fire against the Mimbos. Completely oblivious to our presence, the corporal hoisted a pair of macrobinoculars and shouted coordinates through his comms unit. Only seconds later, you could hear the rumble of our mortars answering with a salvo. Not missing a beat, the corporal relayed adjustments, and corrections, brought an accurate fusillade of death upon our foe.
Our position overlooked an exposed, downward slope, which extended to the edge of the forest, a distance of about fifty meters. While the artillery of our guys and the Mimbos slugged it out, shouts erupted from the tree line. Swarms of Mimbanese charged forward, screaming in their bug tones. Shots from blasters lit up the morning's darkness, as both sides exchanged fire.
A group of maybe a dozen Mimbos trudged up the hill just before our dughole. I pulled a thermal detonator from my belt, armed it, and tossed it toward the enemy. It landed in the center of their group, blew them apart. Limbs and chunks of flesh were carried aloft by the blast. Haurn let loose with her blaster at some more emerging from the trees, killing two and scattering the rest. I got the chance to put Dystraay's E-11 to work. The E-11 is a remarkable killing tool. It fits comfortably in your grasp and its weight is more manageable than the bulky E-10 predecessors. I killed three bugs and seriously wounded another, saw it crawl away into the cover of the forest.
The Mimbos were undeterred and kept up their assault. I could not get a good look at the other dugholes along our line. You hoped the students that comprised our ranks were not having those philosophical debates over the rights and wrongs of killing. Not the time to grow a conscience or uphold moral convictions; you shoot your enemy, or they shoot you. Of course, there were the cowards, who hid at the bottom of their dugholes, so overcome by fear at their first encounter of an enemy. Others let their training kick in and held their ground. It was pure survival instinct. If the MLA in this sector were more experienced, they could have exploited the weaknesses and disorganization in our line to punch through. Their thrusts were uncoordinated and failed to capitalize on the aforementioned factors.
"Hey," the corporal spoke to us. "You keep me covered. I'll get some mortar rounds on those trees, and we can get the bugs to disperse. Maybe drive them back into their kriffing mudholes."
We nodded to the corporal, then Haurn and I each pulled a thermal detonator and lobbed it toward the Mimbos. The two blasts drove several of the bugs back into the safety of the woods. From his vantage, the corporal spotted the enemy's movement and sent the coordinates for the mortarmen. The woods before us were engulfed in flames, as mortar shells descended in a fury. The shells were loaded with highly combustible conflagrine and incinerated everything within their radius. You could hear the screeches of the Mimbos above the noise of battle, as they were cooked. Even the damp climate of Mimban was no match for conflagrine, which burned unphased by the conditions. It was a devastating weapon and enough to break the resolve of the attackers. Further assaults ceased and the battlefield grew quiet. The corporal politely thanked us for keeping him alive, then crawled out of our dughole to rejoin his mortar platoon.
The battle hadn't lasted more than an hour. The enemy strength was never determined, they fled deep into the woodlands and swamps, carried away all their dead and wounded. Our battalion suffered thirty-nine killed, with my platoon incurring one KIA and three wounded. Haurn and I took a moment to rest, decompress from the stress of fighting for our lives only a short time prior. We leaned against the back wall of our dughole, blasters rested on our laps. The only sounds were the screams of terror from the new Troopers, the entitled children who just survived their first time in combat. Others were in shock, coming to terms with the fact they just ended the life of a fellow sentient. If you could consider the Mimbos as sentient. Well, until Lt. Dangir called the platoon into another formation, Haurn and I were content to sit right here.
The next evening, first and third companies were informed we'd set out on a night march. There was a Mimbanese village eight kilometers away from our base. The battalion's intelligence officer concluded the village harbored MLA fighters and served as a likely staging area for future attacks on Imperial forces. The objective was the destruction of Mimbanese combatants within the village. During the day, a platoon of Stormtroopers was dropped in along with four AT-DTs, arriving on a flight of AT-Haulers. I knew it was going to get ugly when I noticed the Stormtroopers brought their incinerator units.
Lt. Dangir assembled the platoon to relay the instructions from the company commander for the attack. The operation would begin with the Stormtrooper platoon taking up a position on the ridgeline to the north of the village. Our companies would approach from the south, spreading out to envelop the village from the south, west, and east. We had the job of flushing out the MLA, driving the bugs from the village directly into the field of fire established by the entrenched Stormtrooper platoon, serving as the blocking force. Surrounded, the Mimbo combatants could be systematically destroyed. One of the more ethical former students in our platoon questioned Lt. Dangir about the presence of civilians in the village.
"There are no civilians in that village," Dangir answered matter of fact, before our assembled line. "The intelligence officer reports any civilians have likely dispersed deep into the countryside to avoid hostilities. Only combatants remain."
Finally, it was time. The companies arrayed and the walkers moved up. As the order to advance was issued, a torrential rain blanketed the area and would not let up. I joined the other Troopers descending the slope from our base to the edge of the forest. The slope was covered in mud and quite slippery, I recall just about everyone fell during the descent. The falling down was so bad that ropes were anchored from the dugholes and laid on the slope. This afforded something to grab for our climb down.
I slowly guided myself with the aid of the rope until I made it to the bottom. Haurn was descending the rope next to me. I turned to check on how she was doing, but abruptly, she was gone. The next sight of Haurn was her tumbling end over end down the muddy slope, having lost her footing. Some of the platoon, those already at the bottom, stood around to have a laugh at her expense. I made my way down and over to her. The first step I took off that slope, I felt my boot sink into the marshy ground, up past the ankle. It was a series of laborious and exhaustive large steps to get over to where Haurn lay and a struggle to get her up with the weight of the equipment pulling her down. I reached out a hand and lifted her up and was given a nod of appreciation. Her pride was saved when Sgt. Flelt came rolling in a spectacular fashion. Though, I suspect Flelt's drunken state contributed significantly to his fall.
The company made it down and we could proceed. Everyone was cold, wet, tired –a general disgruntled mood shared. Our platoon trudged through a miserable stretch of swamp forest. The rain was incessant, and the forest floor was a quagmire equal to that of the trenches around Camp Forward. The natives, maybe years and years ago, constructed a narrow footpath of piled dirt to navigate through the swamp more easily, above the water. The only problem being it was so narrow, you could only advance single file. This was not ideal given the fact we had to move such a large force within a certain amount of time. And so, while some were able to advance on the footpath, the rest of us were fanned out, slogging through the morass of mud and frigid water. We would alternate shifts, allowing some to walk on the drier footpath while others rotated to take their turn in the swamp.
In most places, the water only came up to the knees, but that was still enough to get into your boots and soak your feet. We had to make our way through water that could be a meter or even deeper. Every once and a while, a poor Trooper would find the ground had dropped out from under them, unable to judge the depth because of the murkiness. Their gear weighing them down, we'd have to quickly seize them by a strap and haul them back above the surface.
Haurn and I, being the sappers, were all over the place that night. We had to sweep forward of the formation, with the scouts, in the search for mines. It was mostly for show, because neither one of us knew kriff-all what we were doing. The ordinance detection scanners broke on the A6 ride to the Lowlands, so we tossed them into the outpost's garbage heap. I stuck an empty tibanna cylinder to the end of a meter-long pole, pretended that was my detector and swept it across the ground to reassure everyone. It was so dark, nobody could see shit, so there was no calling our attention to suspicious mounds of dirt.
We had the four AT-DTs in our column. I was not sure if we were supposed to be escorting them or they were there to cover us. I feel like we could be making better progress without them in tow. They call them "all terrain", but that is an outright lie. The barrels on the AT-DTs extend out from the chassis to the point that they kept banging into trees every time the walkers tried to turn. If crossing a patch of uneven ground where the walker had insufficient footing, the uneven weight distribution would cause it to lose balance and easily topple. The AT-DTs sit lower to the ground than comparable Imperial walkers and struggled, much like we did, in the swamps. They simply were not able to take large enough steps and lacked the range of motion to overcome the mud.
On several occasions, we had to break out the cables, secure them to the downed walker and then to an upright AT-DT to pull the fallen one back on its legs. It should have taken a few hours to make the trek, but it was almost dawn by the time we reached the staging point, just south of the village. We got into position just in time. The forest and conditions were not properly factored into the planning of the operation, and it took longer to navigate than initially expected. The Stormtroopers, however, ditched us early on and went their own way. Their platoon was in place well ahead of their time allotment.
I laid down in a culvert with the rest of the platoon, Haurn to my right. The village was in our sights, only a few hundred meters ahead from our position in the tree line. At one point, the Mimbanese lived entirely underground, but the resource mining over the past few centuries fundamentally changed that. I could not give you the exact reason, the drilling rigs collapsed their subterranean cities, or the machines used to dig created underground sonic tremors that made prolonged habitation unbearable. In the time since, the Mimbos were driven to the surface, forced to adapt to a new existence. At first glance, their village was not unlike the settlements on Euruta, prior to the Empire's arrival. Two people scratching out an existence in an inhospitable land, I suppose, residing in impoverished shacks among heaps of refuse. Their hovels were patched together with scrap metal and logs felled from the surrounding forests. Piles of junk were arrayed in various parts of the village, near the hovels. It was mostly scrap, picked apart from the derelict assets left from the war with the Separatists. The rusted carcass of a droid Armored Assault Tank featured prominently at the village edge.
We waited the anxious hour for the sun to rise and the command to advance. Fortunately, the rain decided to stop. The village was in a clearing at the foot of a ridge, which ran across its northern side and where the Stormtroopers established their blocking position. Absolute silence was ordered throughout our lines, and it was observed, mainly due to our exhaustion from the night march. We could observe a few Mimbanese emerge from their hovels in the morning light, ready to start their day. These lot appeared sickly and decrepit, as they hobbled about. Was I certain these were the bugs that attacked our encampment? No, they did not look like they were in the condition to do much of anything. But orders were orders. The Mimbos attacked our base, so we had to go in with a show of force to dissuade the bugs from taking up arms again. Despite the military logic to attacking the village, I knew this was a revenge mission.
The AT-DTs fired the first salvo, six minutes behind the prearranged time. Their arcs of green light blasted apart two of the hovels. The explosions alerted the village and the bugs scurried in every direction, from their hovels to other hovels and back. The mortar platoon detailed three of their weapons to our force and they commenced a bombardment. Our combined artillery fired coordinated strikes on the south, east, and west sides of the village in a creeping barrage. The intention was to force the Mimbos from their shelter and push them toward the northern edge. Structures were blasted apart, consumed in balls of fire, while we watched the bodies of the Mimbos inside thrown up into the air.
The order came for the infantry assault, we rose from our positions and moved forward. Many of the Troopers advanced with trepidation, fearful to confront the enemy. Officers and NCOs alike shouted to step quickly, for speed was of the essence. My platoon was spread out, with maybe a meter between each of us. We were the vanguard and advanced directly from the south, with two additional platoons from the 3rd company following behind as support. Our 4th platoon advanced from the east, while two platoons detailed from 1st company attacked from the west with their remaining platoons held back as the reserve.
Fires burned from the village where the artillery struck, which contained sixty hovels and similarly constructed community structures. We crossed the open clearing before the village and were within two hundred meters, when the first blaster bolt fired. It struck one of our Troopers and killed them instantly and sent many to drop to the ground. This was not concentrated nor coordinated, just a Mimbo who got lucky. I think it was the only Mimbo in the village who had a blaster. The AT-DTs turned their guns in the direction of the shot and cratered the area.
I knew stopping was more likely to get you killed, should there be more armed Mimbos about, so I kept going. E-11 raised; I indiscriminately fired several blaster bolts into the nearby structures, where I thought bugs would most likely be. Other Troopers, more from panic, fired their blasters into the ruins of the village. Unarmed Mimbos surged from the destroyed hovels and fled in all directions. Many were gunned down by Troopers, panic firing at anything that moved. Those with any previous anti-war convictions sure abandoned their resolve when faced by the perceived threat to their self-preservation.
I was ahead of most of the platoon, even further along than Haurn, who would've preferred I lessen my pace. Two Mimbos ran through the doorway and into a hovel just to my front. Not sure to interpret their action as hostile or not, I pulled a thermal detonator from my webbing, armed, and tossed it through the doorway. A distorted shriek accompanied the blast. Any Mimbo I saw in the open I fired upon, as the commanders stated this was a free-fire zone and unidentified individuals were to be considered enemies. I stopped counting after ten.
It was an automatic process, you came upon an intact hovel, you'd kick open the door and toss a thermal detonator inside. I found myself in a yard of one of the larger hovels, enclosed by a high fence fashioned from bits of sheet metal. Against the back was a cellar door, sunk into the ground. Instinctively, I made my way over. Cautiously, with my left hand, I took the handle of the door and raised it slowly. In my right, I held the E-11, balanced by the weapon's strap I slung over my right shoulder. The E-11 had a light attached and I shined it into the darkened cellar. It reflected the figures of half a dozen Mimbanese that cowered within. I met their absent gaze, missing any sense of excitement and devoid of any emotion. The Mimbos looked at me, with their wide eyes, their still mouths, not a word exchanged. The E-11 dropped from my grasp, caught by the sling. I clenched a thermal detonator from my belt, armed it, tossed it in, as I slammed the door shut. I walked out of that yard, as a blast consumed most of the dwelling.
The bulk of the villagers retreated to the north, to escape our encirclement. It was purposeful to drive them in this direction. On the northern edge of the village, the Mimbo were forced to climb the exposed slope of the ridge that lay beyond. The Stormtroopers, well entrenched and situated, had a clear field of fire, and opened up on the bugs. Scores were cut down to the point that they were annihilated. Faced with our advance and the killing field, those Mimbos left threw themselves to the ground, face down with their arms stretched upwards, in their traditional sign of surrender. This was when the situation broke down.
The platoons overran the village and units became entangled, unsure of the orders concerning prisoners. I do not recall there being an order to take prisoners. The Mimbanese who survived the assault were herded together in groups, others who cowered in the burning foundations of their hovels were dragged outside. There were maybe fifty or so Mimbos taken prisoner, but no central collection point was established, rather they were spread out in groups of fours and fives. The Stormtroopers pushed in from the north. With their incinerator units, they moved from dwelling to dwelling, torching every structure in their path, regardless of its state.
Lt. Dangir called our platoon to rally near the large building in the village center, which may have been the chief's hovel or whatever. Sgt. Thif supervised a gathering of Mimbanese prisoners, of which I was one of those detailed to guard. Not far behind was Lt. Dangir, who arrived to take charge of the situation and demanded a report on the platoon's status. It should be noted that Sgt. Flelt was nowhere to be seen –not a casualty but incapacitated by drunkenness, for which he would miraculously escape punishment. Confusion arose regarding the prisoners under our guard. No accommodation was made to hold, much less transport captured Mimbanese to an Imperial facility. The Mimbos were seated on the ground, scanned back and forth, each one of us, with their enlarged bug eyes. Their fearful gaze was met by the stoic uniformity of our affixed masks.
"So, what are we supposed to do with them?' one of the Troopers spoke, though to no one in particular.
A heated exchange broke out between Dangir and Thif regarding the prisoner situation. From what I could hear, Thif demanded accommodations be provided and transports called to take the Mimbanese we capture back to our outpost. Dangir countered with the fact he possessed no such authority to make those arrangements. Thif, being the student organizer, upheld the moral position that the prisoners were in our care and our responsibility, and something that we had an obligation to them or whatever. She was making too much of a fuss over these bugs. While they debated the points, our company commander, Captain Brimmo, approached under the escort of his adjutants. Brimmo was a hard case, but the type of commander who did not tolerate nonsense or incompetence, he was one you could depend on.
"Lieutenant Dangir," Brimmo shouted. "Your platoon needs to finish its sweep of the eastern quadrant. Why are your Troopers standing around? They need to be on the move."
Brimmo turned his attention to the prisoners under our guard for a moment, then turned back to Dangir.
"Lieutenant," Brimmo started in a lower tone. "Were your orders about prisoners not clear enough?"
"But sir…" Dangir stuttered. "The Mimbanese villagers were unarmed and gave themselves up. By convention…"
"Orders were explicit," Brimmo interrupted. "We have a very tight timetable to keep. Shoot them and move on."
"Captain, I protest!" Sgt. Thif exclaimed. "These are civilians, not soldiers, not insurgents. The orders given were immoral and as such, I cannot carry them out."
Their debate continued, as Captain Brimmo became enraged. Lieutenant Dangir stood indecisively between the arguing captain and sergeant. Brimmo was incensed Dangir did not take measures to control Thif, being her direct superior. The orders were to shoot every Mimbo we encountered. It was Dangir who briefed us on these orders before we set out. I decided it was in the best interest of all if I carried out those orders, so I raised my E-11. As they continued their argument, I shot the closest Mimbo. And then one after another until all four in our custody were dead. I don't recall feeling anything regarding excitement or guilt, there were orders that needed to be carried out and I performed them accordingly. I faintly remember some shouts or protests in some manner from the other Troopers gathered around. It was over quick and four Mimbos lay dead.
"MAIDER!" Thif shrieked, prepared to deliver a reprimand loaded with indignation.
"Sergeant Thif," yelled Brimmo. "Get out of my sight. You, Trooper, front and center!"
Brimmo glared directly at me, outstretched a finger to summon me closer. I obliged and presented myself at attention before the captain, as instructed. Through my periphery, I saw the company first sergeant shove Thif –walked her away from the area. A cursory glance of how I stood told Brimmo all he wanted to know.
"Trooper," Brimmo started. "How long have you been on Mimban?'
"A few months, sir," I answer the captain. "Mostly stationed in the trenches around Camp Forward."
The way in which I carried myself, my equipment, Brimmo realized I was not new to any of this. My kit, the way I wore it, the way my blankets were rolled, ammo carried, and knapsack packed, appeared ergonomic unlike the cumbersome manner in which most of these newly sent Troopers displayed.
"What's your name, Trooper?" demanded Brimmo.
"Maider, sir!" I answered.
"Why'd you shoot those Mimbos?" Brimmo inquired.
"Sir," I fumbled for a response, not wanting to get myself into trouble. "Because they were the enemy…and orders were to destroy the enemy, sir."
"Those four the only Mimbos you killed today?"
"No sir."
"You've killed before today?"
"Yes sir."
"Does it bother you?"
"Not really sir."
"Are you a killer, Maider?"
I was not sure how to answer that last question. I've killed Mimbos, sure, but because it had to be done, this is war. It's not like I am a murderer or one of those Troopers that loses their mind and kills for the sheer joy of it, collects skulls or fingers. Brimmo shifted his body to Dangir. The captain was taller than I, and I am tall, but he towered over Dangir, complete with the looming authoritative presence.
"Lieutenant Dangir are you stupid?" growled Brimmo.
Dangir froze in place, unable to form the words.
"This failure of your command is inexcusable," Brimmo stated. "This will not happen again!"
Dangir nodded his head in a feeble show of affirmation accompanied by a "yes sir", to save face in front of his superior. Brimmo started to move, but paused, turned his head.
"And put Trooper Maider in for a commendation," said Brimmo. "He is capable of following orders."
The assault on the village concluded. The last vestiges of conflict ended when the Stormtrooper platoon, moving through the hovels, shot the sparse groups of Mimbanese prisoners taken in violation of orders. Charges were placed on the few structures not destroyed by the artillery and were subsequently detonated once we withdrew. The operation concluded within an hour, and we formed up for the march back to the outpost. The return was just as bad as the trek out. The swamps were miserable to wade through, the walkers toppled frequently, and the progress slow as ever. Those Stormtroopers took advantage of the break in the weather to call a shuttle for their extraction –spared them a long walk.
I am not going to debate whether what we did was right or wrong. We did nothing wrong. Our orders were to destroy the enemy, which we carried out. There were no, so called, civilians in this war. The Mimbanese were offered every amenity guaranteed by the Empire, a life of prosperity, order, and security. Yet, they refused. Tell me, if you are down and one offers their hand to pull you up, do you spit on it? That is exactly what the Mimbos did. They had the opportunity to contribute to something greater than themselves in the new order, but they rejected it. They were content with violence, the killing, the barbarism. So, the Empire is happy to oblige their perverse tendencies for carnage. If necessary, we will wipe the Mimbanese species from the Galaxy, if they remain unwilling to abandon the slaughter they crave.
000
