It's always when the rain stops, we have a problem…
Outpost 3-Bravo, Day 186
The weather has been unusually worse and grounded transport flights in this sector. We have been some time without a resupply, including new cartons of cigarras. I half suspect they've forgotten about us out here. Growing desperate for results, and frustrated from boredom most likely, the battalion's major has called for another concentrated push to incite the Mimbos. Our company was selected to undertake this operation. The battalion had next to no recent intelligence of the surrounding area –weather and poor visibility hampered observation craft. Part of our objective was to perform a reconnaissance in force –determine just how many Mimbos were out there and measure their combat capabilities. I was not looking forward to this one bit because I knew I'd be the one out front, sweeping for mines.
We managed to receive Z3-Sh detectors on one of the last shipments sent from Camp Forward. Dashnik was able to bribe/extort/threaten some supply officer into sending them to us. The Z3-Sh functions well at detecting mines. It can scan several meters underground for foreign objects and is durable enough to survive the muddy conditions. Before Haurn and I set out, Dashnik gave us a complete rundown on how to effectively make use of the new equipment. It felt nice to be confident in your kit –the Z3s would do what they were designed to do, without breaking.
The morning came for our patrol and the platoon arrayed with Lt. Dangir inspecting our ranks. I never did get up the courage to ask Haurn about what she drunkenly said to me that night, and she never brought it up. The company's other three platoons were still assembling, but Dangir was showing off, so we had to be the first ones up and ready. It had rained non-stop for a week by this point, with still no supply shuttles. I remember being hungry, as we had to cut back on rations to ensure they lasted longer. The Mimbos in a neighboring sector (not our battalion's responsibility) cut the supply road, so the A6s could not drive provisions to us. All resupply efforts had to come via airbridge and, thanks to the rains, was not possible at the moment. Under the deluge, we set off on our patrol into the thick forest beyond. Govnic and Pommavaz were detailed to our company, to assist in minesweeping activity. Considering we were headed right for the minefield that wiped out 1st company, the extra aid was welcomed.
It was not a repeat of the time we traveled beyond the outpost; we've constructed a stable path to get us down the slope without stumbling over. This was to be a long haul, as we packed five days' worth of supplies and all the extra rations the battalion could spare us, plus blankets, raincloaks, blaster charges, purified water. It was rough going, as the swamps were too deep or too choked with mud in parts to wade through. Consequently, we were restricted to the single raised path to get us through the marsh. Your feet were dry, but the company could not advance more than one or two at a time. Further slowing the march were the sappers. The four of us were at the head of the column, our Z3's swept the ground for the mines the Mimbos were sure to have planted. The path was a perfect chokepoint, any idiot could see that. You wouldn't need to use all that many mines to slow us down, since we'd have to halt everyone to clear each explosive. To our surprise, we did not encounter a single one, not until we reached the glade.
The glade was the first tract of stable ground beside the footpath that rose a few meters from the swamp. It was also the area 1st company ran into the minefield, and it was a terrible sight. Many of the bodies from the Troopers of 1st company still littered the area in various states of decomposition. The swamp conditions of Mimban preserved several, turned their corpses a sickly pale hue. All the bodies we could see had been stripped, presumably by the Mimbos. Their weapons and equipment were gone, as were all articles of uniform.
The most haunting sight was what lay on the path before us, obstructing the route, a sign placed by the Mimbos. It comprised a sheet of metal with the word written in Basic, painted in white, "MINES". Atop the sign, the skull of a human, still inside its helmet with bits of flesh barely clinging on in places. The Mimbos placed it there to mock us. Lt. Dangir, being the way he is, volunteered his platoon to lead the column and took it upon himself to remove the signage before Capt. Brimmo could come up to inspect it. Dangir told one of the Troopers, not Baize, one I did not know, to get rid of the sign. I was seated on the edge of the footpath, my feet hanging over the side, as I lit up a cigarra. Govnic and Pommavaz were a distance back recalibrating their Z3s. Haurn was closest to Dangir, turned to tell him we had yet to sweep that far ahead, when the Trooper grabbed the sign and pulled. It was not a large explosive charge, but it was loud.
I was only a few meters away and it blew out my damn ear drum –pressed a hand to my throbbing left ear to stop the pain. My head spun and I felt disoriented for a few moments. I pulled my hand away and saw blood cover my palm. A terrible scream went up, the sign was booby trapped by the Mimbos and the Trooper did not bother to check. The charge blew off both his legs. He was on his back, screaming, blood covered the ground. Haurn raced over to me –shook me out of my dazed state and generally looked concerned when she saw I was bleeding from the ear.
Capt. Brimmo was not far behind, and he was mad. Brimmo was terrifying when he was angry. Dangir caught the brunt of the captain's anger –Brimmo was shouting at the top of his lungs directly into the lieutenant's face. It was so wrapped in a fury; the words were incomprehensible. The medics would not dare to venture forward because the status of nearby mines was undetermined. Govnic passed on his way to get to work clearing when he caught the captain's attention. Brimmo set upon Govnic, demanded to know why the mines were not cleared or the area checked. The captain wound up and smacked Govnic with the back of his hand across the sapper's face. Govnic was infuriated by the humiliation and did not appreciate the gesture, but Brimmo was an officer.
Govnic and Pommavaz swept the ground around the wounded Trooper, and determined it was safe for the medics to approach and pull him out. One medic took a cursory exam of my ear and said there was nothing they could do –pain wasn't too bad, but the hearing hadn't returned. I joined Haurn and the others in our sweep, as we entered the glade. The four of us fanned out to begin our search for mines. I hovered my Z3 detector slowly above the ground, searching intently for any disturbance in the soil. Then, I heard that unmistakable chirp, almost missed it because I'm down an ear.
"Mine!" I shouted and dropped to my knees.
The other sappers sounded their acknowledgements, as Govnic also signaled he found one. The company gave us our space to work. Nervously, I took the thin probe from my belt and started to poke the ground in search of the mine, going in at an angle as Dashnik said that was less likely to accidently trigger it. This was the first time I encountered a mine in the wild and had to clear it on my own, without Dashnik's tutelage. The anxiety tries its best to overtake you, force you to completely shut down. You're so terrified of the one wrong move, the one misstep that can blast you into oblivion. At least, if you get to that point, you aren't worried about making a mistake. My hands trembled when the probe tapped something metallic through the soil. Slowly, I traced its circular outline. Dashnik's advice sounded in my head, "go slow, take your time, a fast sapper never finishes the job." My heart pounded, as I gently brushed the dirt from its top. It was a typical HX2 antipersonnel mine, should be easy. Big red light in the center, which can flash if you're dumb enough to turn that on. That part also housed the detonator, triggered by the pressure of a boot. An insidious feature of these HX2s was the detonator assembly. You removed the detonator by unscrewing it, rendering the mine inert. However, the detonator housing is threaded in reverse, so you must turn it to the right to loosen and remove it. Those not knowing better will twist left, which triggers the mine's anti-tamper switch, and it goes off. Another bit Dashnik shared that was missed in training.
Some nervous twisting, holding my breath the entire time, trying to avoid a mistake, and it's loose. I take the detonator and place it to the side. I can pick up the now inert mine. A Trooper from the platoon rushes forward, carefully along the cleared avenue we indicated, to take the mine from me and place it in a designated location for all the disarmed explosives. My first landmine, on my own, disarmed and cleared. It felt good to accomplish something meaningful. But after that fleeting moment of accomplishment, you are overcome by the dread of having to restart the process the moment your Z3 pings again.
I could not tell you how many hours we worked in that field, removing mines. I personally pulled up seventeen. Ideally, we should be working the mine clearing in shifts, to alleviate the stress, but we didn't have enough sappers for rotations. Plus, our work held up the company for which Brimmo was eager to get moving. The mines we dug up and disarmed were stacked together in a corner of the glade. When we were done, we'd toss a grenade on the stack and blow it all up –deprive the Mimbos of anything they could salvage and reuse against us in the future. We were finally on the move once more.
It was slow going beyond the minefield. We laid tape in the cleared zones for the rest of the company to follow, so they knew the safe route. The glade opened onto an elevated ridge, about fifty meters across, but stretched on for several kilometers. It took us out of the swamps, which were impassible even by Mimbanese standards. If we hoped to confront hostiles, following the ridgeline would more than likely guarantee an encounter. We traversed, as the sappers swept the ground with our Z3-Sh detectors in the search for mines. Some parts of the ridge were devoid of trees, but it was mostly forested. The foot trail was well worn and easy to follow, but the denseness of the foliage kept us to the path.
I didn't like the nights being out beyond the fortifications of the outpost, when Brimmo called the company to halt in the evening, when it was too dark to advance. Each platoon built its own fortified bivouac. We cut away the vegetation from the sides of the path, stacked logs, and dug shallow rifle pits –whole-time faced nothing but a deluge of rain. One begins to wonder if we'll ever be dry again. Day after day it is the same routine. If the bugs had any sense, they'd be far from this cursed place. But we still fear they will come in the night. Sleep is difficult, we are exhausted from the slow march, the paranoia of mines and traps, but kept awake by the feeling that the Mimbos are watching us from some unseen perch. We are wet, cold, shivering perpetually, constantly hungry. I'm so tired I don't even have the energy to pester Baize, as often. The rations begin to run low, but Brimmo insists we press forward on our patrol. The battalion commander will not let Brimmo return unless we engage some Mimbos.
If all those miserable things don't already keep you up at night, the pickets will. We sent the pickets out to watch our perimeter while the rest try to sleep. Then, you spent the night tossing and turning, trying to shield yourself from the elements. If you were on picket duty, you stared into the dense forest to your front. Every little crack, or screech from the wildlife would send shivers down your spine and you'd constantly train your weapon into the darkness. You'd have the nervous Trooper get jumpy, believe they heard something, and start shooting. That would rouse everyone from their slumber in a panic and they too would start firing in all directions, until Dangir and Thif could restore some semblance of order. Flelt was always too drunk at night to be bothered –lucky bastard could drink himself to sleep.
It had been a long day on the march, the rough terrain and minesweeping meant we made little progress in terms of distance covered. I was exhausted, as were the rest of the sappers. We were hungry and provisions had to be conserved, but the four of us wanted more because we did the most work and believed we were entitled to extra rations. Govnic followed me, as I approached Baize, who was seated with a cohort of his committee members.
"Baize, the sappers are hungry," I said. "You need to get our dinner cooked. Your political club can wait."
Baize was stuck in an awkward spot. He was terrified of me and knew what would happen if he refused, but he was surrounded by his committee peers. They constantly encouraged Baize to stand up for himself and against me, and it would negatively affect his position if he conceded.
"Make it yourself," Baize replied, though unable to look me in the eye.
Govnic immediately struck Baize, relentlessly thrashed him with a series of punches. I leapt in to combat a committee Trooper who tried to intervene, knocked them down with my own heavy jab. Govnic is a brute and could easily batter ten men if he had to. I took the ration bags from a few of the stunned committee Troopers, who watched helplessly and offered no resistance, as Govnic dragged Baize to the sapper's camp to cook our dinner. Thif watched the entire episode from only a few meters away, yet she did not intervene. She could, but she clings to some moral high ground that prohibits her intervention. We ate well that evening.
There was no retaliation or bullying the sappers could incur while in the field or on these patrols. We are an asset –we step on the nasty bits and get blown up, so the rest don't have to. Pick on a sapper and we could "forget" to sweep that bit of dirt you're about to tread upon, or you could find a landmine slipped under your pillow. Most Troopers are genuinely thankful for our work and will gladly share an extra ration or a swig from a canteen that isn't strictly for water.
Being sappers, we kept to our own. We'd string our raincloaks together at night to form a canopy. It allowed us to lay down and remain relatively dry. Another perk was being excused from picket duty at night. Brimmo made that clear, as he wanted our focus on landmines and not guard duty. Plenty of other Troopers could watch the perimeter. The four of us managed little sleep, mostly we pressed ourselves together under our shared patchwork of blankets to catch what warmth we could. The first night, however, we were awoken by Govnic screaming in an audibly higher pitch and clutching his groin in agony. Haurn was cursing at him in Mando'a, had her vibroblade out and ready to slit his throat. After that, she insisted I be between her and Govnic.
It's always when the rain stops, we have a problem. At dawn, Troopers crawled out of their shelters and rifle pits, with raincloaks pulled over their heads, to an unexpected sight. The orange glow of Mimban's sky dissipated the grey clouds of rain that tormented us these many days. Our heads tilted upwards to bask in the faintly warm rays and enjoy a momentary escape from the reality of this miserable planet. The pickets were so awestruck, they failed to notice the Mimbo walk right into our bivouac. You could imagine our shock when it became apparent a Mimbanese was among our number, and we scrambled to grab weapons. Others dove for cover, half expecting the Mimbo to explode or something. To the surprise of those of us paying attention and observing, the Mimbo slowly placed its hands on its head and dropped to its knees.
The Mimbo carried no blaster, none we could see. It was dressed in rags and looked malnourished –Mimbos are naturally scrawny but this one looked emaciated by their standards. Govnic took it upon himself to tackle the Mimbo to the ground. I suspect Govnic wanted to cut its head off or something, but he was denied the chance when Haurn and some additional Troopers jumped in to subdue the Mimbo. Dangir finally showed and the Mimbo was forced to kneel before the lieutenant. The Mimbo was speaking rapidly in the clicks of its tongue. Mimbos can speak Basic, but it is difficult for them to form our human words and it is more commonly spoken among the civilized Mimbanese, who collaborate with Imperial authorities. These countryside Mimbos stick solely to their native language.
"The hell is this thing saying?" Dangir shouted, smacked the Mimbanese prisoner with the back of his hand. "Speak Basic, dammit!"
Govnic had to be dragged away to keep him from killing the Mimbo outright –went off to smack around a Trooper to satiate his lust for pain. It was soon apparent, to our detriment, the company was not provided an interpreter who could speak Mimbanese. The battalion had one assigned when we first arrived in the G'han, but they were detailed to 1st company and subsequently blown up during that episode. I had a moment of realization, Pommavaz was the smart one, perhaps he studied Mimbo-speak at some point.
"Hey Pommy," I whispered over to Pommavaz. "You speak bug, right?"
Both Pommavaz and I were a few meters away from the lieutenant, but still within earshot of the Mimbo, who kept spurting out frantically. Pommavaz started to nod his head convulsively in affirmation. He was always up to flaunt his intellect, pulled out his datapad where he had a compiled Mimbanese dictionary to aid his translating. Haurn was with us too and listened in.
"The Mimbo says he's from a village in the next prefecture," Pommavaz listened and relayed the interpretation at intervals. "The MLA rounded up every able-bodied bug in his village and pressed them into service…He says most of the MLA fighters in the G'han are inexperienced impressments, which is why their initial attack on the outpost was uncoordinated, and veterans are trying to train them…He says the MLA force is running very low on food and a good portion are starving…"
"Them and us both," Haurn interrupted.
"He's warning us, now," Pommavaz continued to translate. "Our outpost blocks the main navigable path that links the G'han to the MLA forces around Camp Forward…Their plan is to seize the outpost and open the road to bring in supplies and reinforcements for a major push on Camp Forward…"
"No shit!" I exclaimed.
"He wants us to take him with us," said Pommavaz. "To Camp Forward…Because he heard the Empire pays lots of credits to Mimbanese who cooperate…This information is in exchange for passage to Camp Forward…Says he has no interest in fighting, dying."
I turned to Haurn and held out my hand. She rolled her eyes and handed over the fifty-credit chip we wagered.
"I told you he could speak in complete sentences," I smirked to an annoyed Haurn.
Pommavaz was visibly incensed, being the subject of our game of speculation. He flapped his arms wildly and stormed off with the datapad to compose notes. Capt. Brimmo finally came up to see for himself, the Mimbanese prisoner Dangir had in custody. To make a show to impress the captain, Dangir shouted and hit the prisoner. Both officers commenced to screaming at the Mimbo when it continued to speak in Mimbanese.
"You think we should tell Brimmo what the Mimbo said?" I turned to Haurn and asked.
"We?" Haurn smirked. "You won the bet, you tell him. Brimmo likes you and will give you a promotion once he learns you 'speak' bug."
"But I can't speak bug."
Haurn laughed in my face. It then occurred to me how awkward the conversation with Brimmo would be. After delivering the warning of the impending assault on the outpost, the captain would most likely want to further translate and ask specific questions to our prisoner. 1st Sgt. Ukes was right there and would immediately kick my ass for being a fraud. I could tell them Pommavaz was able to translate, but Pommy might shut down, immediately deny knowing anything in his quick refusal to get out of prolonged conversation –I would then catch a beating for wasting the officer's time, as would Pommavaz. I couldn't do Pommy dirty like that. Thankfully, my problem solved itself.
An explosion sounded about 100 meters beyond the left flank of our bivouac, in the area we planted our own anti-personnel mines to keep a force of Mimbos from making a run on our encampment. Off to our right, a flare shot up into the air, brightened the morning glow in a flush of green, fired by a tripwire we also set as an advanced warning. All along our lines, in every direction, another blast, another flare raced upwards. The shouting started, a confused mass of Troopers snatched up their blasters, scrambled for cover. Bolts flew through our encampment, streaked just above our heads. A few individuals caught in the open were promptly struck down. It was chaos, the noise disrupted your orientation, rendered your senses useless.
This was the opening action in the Battle of Outpost 3-Bravo, or the G'han Siege, depends on who you ask. Those few of us who lived through it, don't care either way. 6,000 combatants of the Mimbanese Liberation Army descended upon our base with the objective of capturing the position. If they could destroy the outpost, the Mimbos would be able to link their forces attacking Camp Forward with their reserves held in the G'han and surrounding regions. Imperial Intelligence came to this conclusion as well, and an all-out effort was made to defend Outpost 3-Bravo, no matter the cost of materials, the toll in lives. The bulk of the Mimbos approached the outpost from the west and encircled the base. 3rd company (my company) was to the northeast with around 130 Troopers on our patrol. We'd run into an MLA column advancing toward the outpost and we were soon encircled ourselves –cut off in the forest from the rest of the battalion.
I crawled over to a stack of logs, placed by Troopers the night prior that formed a defensive position for our bivouac. Peering through a gap in the logs, I saw a large grouping of Mimbos approach, palms of grass extended from their backs. I fired a few bolts from my E-11, dispersed the group and sent them to the ground for cover. These exchanges went all down the line, Troopers shot at Mimbos, Mimbos shot at Troopers. The mines we planted killed a few, slowed their advance, but did little overall. We hurled thermal detonators upon them, the blasts tore swaths in the vegetation where sentients once stood, but now ceased to exist.
To my right was another Trooper, laid beside me. He was the platoon's gunner and carried a T-21 repeating blaster. The T-21's rate of fire could allow us to sweep away the Mimbos before us, but the gunner did not shoot.
"Hey!" I said to the gunner, smacked him on the shoulder.
The was a possibility he might be dead, but the gunner turned his head, looked at me with a dull expression. His was a case of combat shock, where you're so overwhelmed by a situation, the screech of battle, sounds of explosions, the cries of the dying, your mind shuts down and your body cannot react. I've seen this before, when you get into the worst of the fighting. I smacked him again.
"Asshole," I shouted at the shocked gunner. "Pick up your weapon and shoot!"
It was a pointless exercise, as nothing I could do would restore sense to the man. Haurn crawled up to the logs and observed the gunner unwilling to act. She took the T-21 from the Trooper's grasp and kicked him a few times to get him out of her way, occupied his former spot. He curled up with knees pressed to his chest and sat motionless. I tossed a thermal detonator, scattered another advancing group of Mimbos. Haurn raised the T-21, let loose a stream from the weapon. The quick succession of bolts poured forth, several Mimbos twisted and contorted.
The four platoons of the company each established their own bivouacs the night prior, all spaced 50 meters apart. My platoon was at the head of the column and Dangir thought it, somehow, beneficial to establish our bivouac 100 meters away from the next. Because of the distance, the platoon found itself isolated from the others with the Mimbos closing on all sides. Brimmo was with our platoon, as he came up to inspect the Mimbanese prisoner. The captain called for a tactical withdraw to consolidate all the platoons together and find a suitable position to defend as a unified company. The Mimbos were thick on the path behind us, our line of withdraw. Dangir tried to give orders, but was immediately shouted down by Brimmo, who I trusted more to handle the situation. Thif was ordered to take her squad and punch through the blocked escape route, while Flelt's squad was to fight a rearguard action to cover us as we pulled out.
"Did you hear?" Govnic came over to Haurn and I, relayed the order. "We're falling back to link up with 4th platoon. Brimmo's consolidating the company."
"Then what?" I asked.
"How should I know? Idiot!"
The three of us attached ourselves to Thif's squad and fought to open the path. We did not trust Flelt to coordinate the rearguard. The gunner we left where he was, as he was still curled up and refused to move when we told him to. Haurn was towards the front, the T-21 she fired from the hip and blasted away the foliage at either side. There was a sense of momentum, we pressed forward and fired our blasters. The Mimbos fell before our onslaught, pushed back while we advanced. Everyone was shooting, tossing grenades, shouting, and cursing. We appeared as a pack of barbarians, crazed fiends storming down that trail. Halfway down, the lieutenant from 4th platoon greeted us with an advanced force, set out on her own initiative. The loss of communication with Brimmo spurred the lieutenant into action, fearful of the captain's wrath if she chose passivity. With the added support, we charged the distance and entered the encampment of 4th platoon. 1st and 3rd platoons were advancing to the position as well. 4th platoon occupied ground most suitable to defense. There was an abundance of rock formations that jutted out from the ground, logs were currently being stacked, and additional rifle pits dug. We could defend this spot well if we had to, but we didn't want to.
Flelt and his squad sauntered in, and the company finally consolidated. Our platoon suffered five killed and two wounded, though the two were still able to hold a blaster. I dove behind the first sturdy defensive works I saw; I was done being exposed and shot at. The Mimbos too, fell back to reform their ranks and an eerie stillness descended upon the forest. Haurn ejected the spent gas cartridge from the T-21 and loaded a full one from the ammunition satchel she snatched off the gunner. I soon remembered, in the mad dash to withdraw, we abandoned most of our kit. Nearly everyone from my platoon left behind their raincloaks, rucksacks, blankets, rations, canteens, and most importantly, ammunition. Luckily our breathing masks stick to us, we still had those at least –otherwise we'd have most of the company down with the "lungfung".
Dystraay always said to make sure your belt is always on, and you always have the essentials on you. My belt held two canteens and my entrenching tool, plus a few pouches for blaster charge packs. First thing I did in the morning was put on the belt and I was glad I did, glad Dystraay was still watching out for me. I took the entrenching tool out and started to dig, expand the rifle pit we occupied. Everywhere, officers and NCOs tried to organize the situation and assess the condition of the Troopers. Brimmo was screaming at the poor comms operator, who worked frantically with his comms unit to open a channel with the battalion at the outpost, but to no avail. Not surprising, considering the notorious atmospheric ionization of Mimban played hell with the comms. We were on our own, no communication possible and no way to signal for reinforcements or extraction. I would say it was not ideal –being an understatement.
From our position, situated on the ridge, we could see the outpost, about 12 kilometers away in the distance. All manner of explosive ordinance rained down from the surrounding forest on our battalion, sheltered in its base. Fireballs dotted the fortified landscape, dark plumes of thick smoke piped upwards. The Mimbos brought their big guns and were throwing everything they had. Despite the distance, we could hear the bombs, feel the air displaced from the bursts, as they reached us. No wonder we hadn't encountered any Mimbos in these past months, they've been out in the bush preparing this. The bugs even had their own artillery, in addition to the usual assortment of rockets and mortars, batteries of J-1 proton cannons and AV-7 mobile cannons arranged in the distance lobbed proton bombs and mass shells on our guys. More toys leftover from the Clone War the Mimbos repurposed.
"Give me a cigarra," I asked Haurn, as my last pack was in my rucksack, which lay abandoned at the old bivouac.
Haurn sighed, reached in the gap between her armor and chest, pulled out a crumpled pack. We both sat in the small position we fortified to our standards and lit up. Govnic turned, held out a hand to demand a smoke, Haurn reluctantly shared one of her few remaining. To our surprise, Pommavaz lumbered over, laden under several raincloaks and blankets. The son-of-a-bitch salvaged as much of our stuff as he could carry and brought it to us. Pommy seemed to be wrapped up in his fantasy genius world most of the time, but he'd still watch out for you, even if he didn't directly communicate it. Really, when the fighting started, he went back to our shelter to retrieve his own rucksack, which contained his datapad with all his recent notations and calculations, unwilling to part with the device. He grabbed his rucksack and that handful of blankets and cloaks.
"Pommy, you are beautiful!" Govnic exclaimed when seeing the loot. "I could kiss you!"
Govnic threw an arm around Pommavaz, landed a heavy smooch upon Pommy's cheek. The ever-anxious Pommavaz flapped his hands wildly to throw the brute off. We divided the salvaged loot between our number, three raincloaks and two blankets. For good measure, we'd always wear them from now on, ensure they were not left behind again. Haurn would offer Pommavaz a cigarra, but he was one of the few who didn't smoke, though he still drew his allocated cartons when the supply was distributed. The stash he amassed was substantial and proved a valuable currency when the battalion's resupply was interrupted. He would freely share his smokes with us, threw a pack from his rucksack to Govnic, Haurn, and me. Pommy had our backs and the sappers made sure nobody messed with him, he was as untouchable as an officer, almost.
"Bad?" Pommavaz uttered the single word, pointed at the outpost in the distance.
"Looks that way, they've been hitting it for a while now," Haurn replied.
"H-Help?" Pommy stammered another question.
"Well, we're cutoff out in the bush," I replied, figured I understood what Pommy asked. "Brimmo can't seem to get anyone on the comms."
A shell burst interrupted the lull and the carnage resumed as if there had been no pause. A scream rose from the center of our fortified position, one Trooper lay dead at the edge of a smoking impact crater, while a second clutched the bloody entanglements that were previously her legs. The Mimbos made another run at us, briefly arrested by the decent minelaying job done by 4th platoon. Groups of Mimbos were vaporized by the planted explosives. I fired my blaster several times, though the line of sight from my position was severely restricted by the dense vegetation. More screams filled the air, more blasters fired. Everyone fired wildly. Stormtroopers with half our number could've defended this position against an enemy twice theirs. If instructors devoted as much energy into training as they did beating us, we could be an elite, effective fighting force.
Our defense was a disorganized mess, Troopers bunched around cover they deemed appropriate while leaving gaps in the perimeter the enemy would soon exploit. There was no discipline, no coordination, no strategy. Some Troopers, those who watched too many holo-vids and footage from the Clone War and thought they could replicate what they saw, jumped to their feet, and sprayed the area with blaster bolts like madmen. They were all cutdown for their effort. Brimmo raced from point to point to place his Troopers, fix the gaps, but Brimmo was only one man and could only do so much. His subordinates, the other officers, were as equally clueless and inexperienced as the Troopers under their command.
The Mimbos, undeterred by the resistance we mounted, surged toward our lines. A cluster of Mimbos were before the sappers, I fired, as did Haurn with the T-21 –killed as many as we could. They still pressed forward, one leapt over our piled logs. It was a foolish mistake, as Govnic immediately set upon the Mimbo with his unrestrained wrath, seized the bug by its chest webbing and threw the enemy to the ground. Govnic thrashed the Mimbo with his brutish fists, the sound of cracking bone lifted above the echo of battle. I felt a heavy pull on my belt, looked, witnessed Govnic rip my entrenching tool from its holster. The brute unleashed the tool on his Mimbanese victim, hacked the bug apart with the spade I always kept sharpened for this very reason. Your entrenching tool serves the Trooper in many roles.
To my left, a squad of Mimbos charged into our lines, fired into the backs of Troopers all around. I flipped over from my prone position and swung my E-11 around, trained it on those Mimbos. A flash of bolts loosed from my weapon and a Mimbo fell. Brimmo had 1st Sgt. Ukes, his comms operator, and a gaggle of Troopers he threw together, rush the Mimbo breakthrough. The combatants were almost on top of each other, firing point-blank. If Brimmo was merciless with his subordinates, he was a terror to the enemy. The captain had no fear, as he broke into a run, shot one opponent, then another. His followers struggled to keep pace. Soon the groups collided, a horrific brawl ensued. I've been on the receiving end of many a punch from Ukes –those Mimbos were in for it. I wanted to get up, go join them, Govnic was already up and raced to engage in more bloodletting. Haurn grabbed my webbing, held me in place.
"Oh no you don't!" Haurn shouted. "I need you here, bugs are coming up thick as ever."
She was right, I peered through a slit in the logs and saw another mass of bugs make its run. Pommy leveled his E-10 and fired shots at intervals. I do not know how Pommavaz managed it, but he either requisitioned or stole an expensive optic, which he mounted to his blaster. Unlike the rest of us, who sprayed blaster bolts and hoped we struck something, Pommy carefully selected his targets, took his time, and only fired at what he knew he could hit –got plenty of Mimbos this way. Haurn rested the T-21 on the parapet of our fashioned defensive works, swung it side to side, as she swept the bugs before us with the light repeating blaster, spewing forth its munitions. The bolts burned through the vegetation, sliced apart Mimbos caught in its path. Their horrid screeches indicated to us how many were felled. I grabbed a thermal detonator, had to pace myself since I only had three grenades left, and hurled it down the slope before us. The blast set off one of our unexploded mines and sent the Mimbos reeling. The whistling noises the bugs make, somehow, reverberated above the cacophony of the fighting, their combatants started to pull back. Gradually, the blaster fire became less frequent, until it was nothing more than small exchanges that eventually snuffed out. We held off another assault and earned ourselves a brief respite while the bugs reformed their numbers and reorganized their strategy.
Our losses were significant, twenty-seven Troopers killed with eighteen wounded, many of those critically. The bug losses were significantly higher, their corpses strewn before our perimeter. Our company was down to only two medics, who were overburdened in their effort to treat the wounded. In the distance, the bombardment of our outpost continued with unrelenting ferocity. Those of us still alive, converged on our dead comrades, stripped them not only of ammunition, but blankets, canteens, rations. They no longer needed that stuff. It was not limited to our own, the Mimbo dead within our lines were also scoured, charge packs compatible with our blasters and thermal detonators taken from the corpses. The stuff works, so why not take. Our wounded were not spared, as their equipment was appropriated by those stronger, despite the protestations of the overwhelmed medics. Brimmo used the opportunity to restore order, shifted Troopers to cover exposed positions, and reiterated to his subordinate officers their responsibilities. The captain also withdrew every fifth Trooper and placed them in cover at the center of the bivouac to serve as a reserve –quickly fill any breaks in our lines.
Blaster fire resumed, bug whistles sounded, and their attack commenced. We hurled grenades at them, poured torrents of blaster bolts into their numbers. The Mimbos learned from their last attempt and concentrated their forces at the sectors of our line they previously breached. When our weak points were hit, the Mimbos surged forth, only to be met by the reserve brought in to hurl them back. I took a canister of highly flammable conflagrine from the Mimbo Govnic chopped up and tossed it to our front. The combustible grenade torched the vegetation and deprived our foe of any defilade to mask their approach. With the view cleared, Haurn furiously blasted away at the Mimbos with the T-21. Pommy maintained his routine and we left him to it, he kept us covered and picked off bugs perceived to be the MLA equivalent of officers. The Mimbo strategy relied mostly on their strength in numbers to overwhelm our lines, with their officers responsible for directing the flow of the bug onslaught. Shoot down their officers, the Mimbo grunts don't know which way to go –momentum lost and assault falters.
Again, we held. Again, the bugs withdrew deep into the brush to reorganize. Six more of ours were dead with maybe a dozen wounded. Silence crept over our battered lines. We were lucky, but for how long? How long could we truly hold out? The bugs had the numbers, and they could hit us all day, bleed us, whittle us down until we no longer had the strength to resist, then launch a final thrust to overrun the bivouac.
"I'm hungry," I said, turned to address Haurn. "Got anything to eat?"
"Eat a ration bar," Haurn snapped, cheek rested on the T-21, eyes focused down its barrel. "You got plenty stuffed in your pockets!"
"I want real food," I whined, hunger made its presence known.
The ration bars the Army issues do their job, provide the necessary sustenance, but their taste is horrid. The bars are laced with some sort of amphetamine to give you the energy for sustained operations. Eating the bars results in an uncomfortable state, fast beating heart and hands shaking so badly you can barely hold your blaster, let alone accurately point it at the enemy. Also kept you up for two days straight after consuming one. We had Baize cook us a stew the night prior, but the leftovers were abandoned in the retreat. I turned to ask Pommy but was met with a preemptive shaking of the head. I growled, though mostly my stomach talking. Given the sudden appearance of the Mimbo this morning, I neglected to have breakfast. I wanted real food and to avoid a ration bar if I could.
The mortar round interrupted my food gripe. It missed hitting any Troopers but sent everyone to the ground. Then another blast and another. The Mimbos figured we needed to be softened up before their next rush and brought up a mortar battery. Their accuracy was shit –many rounds overshot our position and the Mimbo gunners failed to correct their fire. It gave us one hell of a scare and we hunkered down in our works. The bugs didn't seem to care for their own, as they launched yet another massed infantry assault despite the active bombardment. This was no combined arms exercise, artillery supporting the infantry, the Mimbos charged right at us, and their bombardment never slackened. Some of the mortars underfired and hit their own advancing infantry, but the attack proceeded. We were braced against our works, ducked under the incoming mortar rounds while we opened fire on the enemy infantry. You were tired, but you could not stop, could not fail in your part to kill the enemy. If you did stop, put aside your blaster to rest, then you condemned the fate of not only yourself, but your comrades.
"Cover me, I need to reload," Haurn shouted.
She dropped behind the logs with the T-21 and began the process. I stepped up, trained my weapon forward and unleashed a rush of bolts to keep the Mimbos at bay. Haurn ejected the weapon's spent tibanna canister and rifled around the gunner's bag for a spare, took the last one. The bugs were getting smarter, they were able to get this attack coordinated, launched two sizable assaults against what they determined to be the thin points in our line. Damn, they were spot on in their assessment. I thought I swept the bugs to my front, but dozens more appeared. Haurn was ready again with the T-21 and with Pommy there, the three of us unleashed our deadly fire of blaster bolts. I don't know how many Mimbos we killed, I saw many fall, but still they surged forward. In a moment, they were upon us.
The bugs were so close, Haurn dropped the T-21 when it again ran out of an energy charge and drew her Mandalorian WESTAR-34 from its chest holster. Desperately, Haurn shot down Mimbos, as they scaled our works. It was hand to hand combat now. I blasted a Mimbo with my E-11, the barrel practically touched the bug's abdomen. Another leapt onto my back, threw me to the ground. I thrashed about wildly, able to turn myself over so my back pressed them down and wriggled free of their hold. Rendering beatings unto Baize and the other students –I've come to work well with my fists. The Mimbos are frailer and contain less muscle mass than a human, so you can generally gain the upper hand in these types of confrontations. I lashed out at my attacker, leveled several hard blows on their face, my knuckles dug into their skin. The bug squealed, but I did not cease, my mind was blank, my will to survive took control. I battered them repeatedly, mangled their features into a pulp, oblivious to the battle that enveloped our company, I was locked in my own war.
Down the line, as Mimbos broke through, the fighting devolved into this savage contest. This was a turning point in the lives of these students, who at one point preached pacifism, nonaggression, but those principles were forgotten. A Trooper learned they possessed the quality to inflict a terrible violence upon their fellow sentient. Ever since we entered Imperial service, we've been brutalized, beaten, our humanity forfeit. The opportunity to impose suffering on another, it came easily. The students knew their lives were the lowest of the low in the Imperial order, maltreated by their seniors and officers. But the Mimbos were still lower than they, they knew they could deal their hardships upon these bugs. That is how the system works, beat the one lower than you. Every Mimbo that ran into our lines was hacked apart, slashed, stabbed, torn to shreds. The students discovered cruelty and reflected it upon their enemy. They were crazed, whipped into a fury, motivated by the will to survive and the violent conditioning. The scene was appalling, mercy denied to those stupid enough to beg. Bugs killed ours, we killed theirs. When the Mimbos again could not break our resolve, they withdrew.
Troopers rose to their feet, though overcome by exhaustion, and shuffled about. Their armor, their uniforms were soaked in blood. This was more than a brawl, we didn't just bludgeon the Mimbos, we tore them limb from limb. The dead lay in heaps. The students, those that could still think, feel, were horrified with the slaughter they perpetrated, a few took to vomiting. Most just shuffled, eyes blank. I do not remember much of the Mimbo I fought, just their mangled features and lifeless body at my feet, as I sat with my back pressed against the stacked logs while I lit a cigarra. My hands were bruised, my knuckles bled, in a great deal of pain as they trembled. I wish Govnic had not made off with my entrenching tool, rather have used the spade than my fists. The company was down to sixty, fifty, maybe fewer Troopers who were not dead or seriously wounded to the point they could not fight. The remnant of our company was exhausted, and it would be nice to lay our heads down for a welcomed snooze, but the Mimbos would cut our throats if we did.
000
