The Rout

"Serpent, Serpent!" the comms unit blared, a voiced announced our company's callsign. "This is Foxtail lead, with three and four on flight. Give coordinates and advise condition?"

We could not believe the garbled, transmitted words, as they reverberated from the comms. A flight of at least three Imperial patrol transports, the repurposed LAAT/le gunships, were on their way to us. Every callsign for IPT squadrons had to start with the letter "F", in this case Foxtail. Pilots could concoct any name they liked, no matter how obscene or ridiculous, as long as it started with "F", so as to be immediately identifiable over the comms. Brimmo snatched the receiver from the operator and was updating the pilot with our location, yelled to Ukes to fire off a green flare. The gunship flight raced overhead, one rolled side to side to acknowledge it recognized us. Our position was cleared enough for a gunship to land, but there was only room to accommodate one at a time. They circled around, one broke off from the formation, kicked on their repulsor lifts and descended upon the bivouac.

The order from Brimmo was to get the critically wounded out first. This began the painfully hurried process of cramming as many bloodied and screaming Troopers inside the compartment of the gunship as possible. They were in great pain and better care should have been taken to place them, but the compartment of the gunship was small, and we had many wounded to load –feared the Mimbos could renew their assault at any moment. Wounded were stacked and packed in the most haphazard and desperate way. Blood seeped through bandages, since the bacta patches were all used up, and pooled in a collective mixture on the compartment's deck, splashed when a casualty was tossed within. When we could not load the gunship without a wounded comrade falling out, we signaled for it to takeoff and the next to take its place. If command had the sense to send just one of those Sentinel-class landing craft, we could of all climbed aboard and evacuated the whole company. Hell, we could even make it work with an AT-Hauler, though there would be those clinging to the rigging.

As the IPT second lowered, repulsors arresting its slope, an unguided rocket whizzed by. One of those cheap, shoulder mounted units. The pilot saw it in time, jerked the craft to the side and avoided getting shot down. The third gunship, not yet burden by passengers, came about, traced the rocket's origin. Its gunner plotted a solution, trained the forward laser cannons and the gunship blasted that stretch of forest. Trees and foliage were instantly vaporized in large sections. Guessing the Mimbos were massed in that area, because the gunner fired two rockets from the gunship's missile pods. The usual concussion warheads were swapped with conflagrine tanks. When they impacted, a wall of fire engulfed the view before us. We could hear the screech of the Mimbos caught in the inferno, as they cooked.

I think we scattered the Mimbos, especially when the other two gunships spammed the vicinity with their conflagrine rockets. It ceased to be a forest, reduced to a flame charred landscape. The heat turned our faces red, skin felt hot to the touch. Your lungs were taxed to breathe the charred air, and we all fitted our respirators. The third gunship swooped in and took the last of our critically wounded and the flight made for the medical facilities at Camp Forward. One of the pilots promised to return for us, but we had our doubts. Weather looked to be moving in and command could easily divert the IPTs to another sector, or they could be sequestered to give a visiting Moff a nice aerial tour of a pacified zone.

Brimmo was the only officer left and he weighed his options. Dangir sliced open his hand touching something sharp and determined it was sufficient to merit a casevac on one of the gunships. The other three lieutenants commanding platoons were killed at various points in the day's fighting. Sergeants now filled their roles. Flelt had command of my platoon, stars help us. If given the opportunity, with no one around, I'd consider putting a blaster bolt through his back. Thif was badly wounded by a gut shot. Initially thought mortal, she was evacuated and would survive. Govnic was bayonetted by a Mimbo, but that only made him mad. He beheaded his attacker and held the severed head high, screamed like some bestial entity. It sent several Mimbos running terror stricken at the sight. Govnic tried to refuse casevac –the monster said he hadn't had his fill of killing yet. They shoved Govnic aboard once he passed out from the blood loss caused by his bayonet wound. There were maybe fifty of us left, less than half of the number when we began this trek, but we were no longer burdened by wounded.

Time slipped away from us while fighting for our lives. It was well into the afternoon. We had a fair distance to cover and the Mimbos could use the night to pick us off. This would be no tactical advance, but a mad dash to a stretch of ground the bugs were currently bombarding into stardust. Alternatively, we could hunker down in this position, our numbers dwindled, ammunition critically low, food and water out.

"Maider!" I heard my name called, looked up from by seated position in the rifle pit.

Sgt. Flelt tramped over. I could tell right away he was in an irritable state, the alcohol withdraws slowly creeping in.

"I'm taking over for Dangir," Flelt grunted. "You've got my squad!"

"What squad?" I scoffed, the morbid urge to comment on our losses.

I was a corporal, so that put me in line for command, though until now, it seemed a superfluous station that threw a few extra credits into an account I could not spend. Flelt did not appreciate the rude lip, kicked me in the head with his boot.

"Captain says we are making a run for the outpost," Flelt fired off. "Because you want to be a shit, I'll volunteer you to take the six Troopers of your new squad to serve as our rear guard."

Flelt grunted and trudged off to inform the rest of the platoon holding this stretch of the bivouac that it was time to leave. I lifted my respirator, took a swig from my near empty canteen, passed it to Haurn to let her finish it, since I knew she was out of water. Under this lull in the fighting, we formed up the company. Haurn and Pommavaz joined my squad, of the Troopers, Rizdak was the only one whose name I remember.

"Let's keep our numbers tight," Brimmo stated, as he walked along the line. "We need to move swiftly. There will be no stopping, if you fall behind, we will leave you behind. We stop, the bugs'll get you. You fall behind, the bugs'll get you. So, let's do this quick."

The captain ended his address and walked right up to me, spoke directly.

"Maider, I trust you to watch our six," Brimmo said.

"Yes sir," I answered, nodded.

It was an exhaustive slog once we got underway. I thought we'd be spared the rain, but the weather here mocks us. The downpour began almost immediately, mud churned up with every step we trudge. Bringing up the rear, it was especially thick. After an hour on the move, we were without an encounter with the Mimbos, but there was still some distance to go. The comms operator spoke to the gunships when they arrived, though he couldn't establish contact with the outpost, the battalion had no idea we were coming. One of the gunship pilots said they would relay word of our intent to return to 3-Bravo, yet we could not be sure if battalion received the message. I was not convinced there was an outpost to reach, the bombing so reduced the landscape to a pockmarked stretch of mud. Despite everything, I could not help but hold onto that small bit of optimism –we would survive this trek, we'd make it to the outpost, and an armada of gunships would swoop in to break the siege. But once you get optimistic, it all falls apart.

The first blaster bolt flew from the thick foliage to our right, struck some hapless Trooper in the center of the column. More shots followed, tore into our ranks. Troopers trained their blasters, fired wildly into the brush, others just ran as fast as they could. I spotted four Mimbos emerge onto the path behind us. Haurn saw them too, turned the T-21 she still carried and wasted them in an automatic burst. One of the bugs leapt from the bushes to my left, tried to get me with a drawn vibroblade, but I put a bolt right through its guts. To our front, the column was leaving us behind, I shouted to Haurn to hurry. She went through the charge pack on her T-21, declined to reload and tossed the weapon to the ground. Empty, it was too cumbersome to drag along. Though, she broke the pressure seal on the weapon's tibanna canister, which gave us about thirty seconds to run. Enough time for us to get away, but convenient to explode in the hands of the next Mimbo who picked it up. I didn't turn back to watch the blast.

Rizdak and the others of my "squad" were no longer inclined to carry out the duties of the rearguard –they dashed with the others to vie for the head of the column. We stepped over the half-dozen Troopers shot down in the sudden ambush. My foot was grabbed by a frail hand, and I was met with pleas for help, as a poor kid clutched the gaping blaster wound in his chest. Nothing we could do for him. The hand went limp, he lay motionless. More blaster fire, faster we dashed along the solitary path, confined to the tract because of the thick brush on either side. How the Mimbos could navigate the foliage is a mystery, though it seemed to limit their options to fire upon the column. We took to throwing thermal detonators, picked off our wounded and Mimbo dead back at the bivouac, into the brush. It appeared to drive the bugs away.

The column stumbled across the glade, the one riddled with mines. It had only been a few days since we swept through the field, but it felt like a lifetime ago. The elements must've ripped up the cleared route tape we laid, for sections of it fluttered in the chilled wind that wafted through. Another burst of blaster fire from the Mimbos greeted us from the path behind. I dropped to my knee, as I spun around, fired off several shots to disperse the attackers. Being we were on the glade, an open area that allowed Troopers to spread out, prudence was cast aside. Morons forgot, or didn't care, we were in an only partially cleared minefield.

A Trooper deviated, attempted to sidestep the rushing throng to dart to the front, stepped on a mine. It exploded, reduced the Trooper to a fine pink mist. We all hit the dirt, sheltered ourselves from the mine's fragmentation radius. A moment passed and we picked ourselves up. Two of the closest Troopers to the blast did not rise –bodies riddled with impacts that eviscerated the flesh, tore through the useless protection afforded by their chest armor. I checked myself, as I was fairly close, but was unscathed. When I turned to offer Haurn a hand to help her up, I froze. She was on her side, grasped her right thigh, where a piece of shrapnel tore out a large section of flesh. We were under orders not to stop, but I couldn't obey those orders, abandon my best friend, the one I've gone through all this shit with, the one who made it all bearable. The fight evaporated all around, my attention focused solely on Haurn. I knelt beside her, fumbled for something to staunch the bleeding, there was blood everywhere, stained her trousers, swirled with the mud.

Pommavaz noticed it, he still had his awareness –threw me a bacta gel pack. I sprayed the gel all over Haurn's leg wound, the compound going to work to stop the bleeding, disinfect the site, and begin the healing process. The bacta worked wonders and time spent in a bacta tank would heal this wound completely, but it was not an instant fix. Haurn, being Mandalorian, managed the pain well, though she cursed excessively in Mando'a. She could not stand, let alone walk. I wasn't thinking clearly, which is putting it lightly, as I was a wreck. I was terrified for Haurn, concerned about her injury. Pommy hung back to provide cover, since he was doing the clear thinking for the three of us. We ditched all the unnecessary gear, like her chest armor, webbing, but she refused to part with her Mandalorian sidearm. I threw Haurn across my shoulders, in the casualty lift position, and carried her out of that glade. I'd carry her all the way back to Camp Forward if I had to.

The company was now in the swamps, the Mimbos in close pursuit. Many took their chances and jumped into the swamp water, thinking they could wade through it –avoid being a clearer target traversing the exposed and elevated foot path. It was slow going with Haurn on my back and I struggled to keep up with the others, who were unwilling to wait. I chose the path because I had better footing and it kept Haurn out of the water. Haurn was pissed, angered at being wounded and the undignified manner of being carried. I learned later it is improper for Mandalorians to be carried off when wounded. She showed her anger by drawing her WESTAR and firing it in the direction of the bugs.

Without realizing it, we stumbled upon a Mimbo artillery battery, comprised of four DF-90 mortars, part of the force that encircled the outpost. The bugs were focused on the bombardment, no personnel were allocated to protect their mortars. The Mimbos chasing us failed to notify their forces of our presence or of their own pursuit action. Easily, our company overwhelmed the artillery crew, killing most and dispersing the rest. The battery was situated on a small rise above the swamp, and we took a moment to hunker down and regroup. Brimmo ordered the guns spiked, which was accomplished by shoving our last thermal detonators down their tubes.

We were exhausted, with perhaps 40 of us left. Everyone was dead tired, felt like we could not go on. There was still about a kilometer of swamp to reach the outpost, with an unknown number of Mimbos between. Drinking water was critically short before we started the day's action, but the fighting forced us to consume what little remained in our canteens. Thirst drove a few to stick their faces into the water of the swamp, despite the protestations and warning of others, to lap a few sips before being wrenched away by comrades. Those who took in too much, devolved into a choking fit, vomiting, instantly sickened by the spore polluted water. The microbes, native to this hell, lived comfortably in the water and nothing we had could filter them out, sanitize them –the purification tablets issued were useless and all potable water needed to be imported.

Darkness was upon the swamp, the sun long since dipped below the horizon. As the night settled, a blinding white light erupted against the blackened sky. The Troopers at the outpost fired off illumination flares. The flares' brilliance cast shadows against the formation of Mimbos, spreading out to envelop our band of survivors. To our astonishment, perhaps our deliverance, the comms unit crackled, voices heard speaking on the channel in a great cacophony of shouts and cries. Brimmo snatched away the handset, spoke rapidly, relayed our position, our situation. With a nod, the captain ordered a nearby Trooper to fire off a flare. The flare's green glow contrasted against the slowly descending white. The voice on the other end of the comm acknowledged, visual confirmation. Immediately, a barrage of mortars fell upon the pursuing bugs. They shrieked, as the ordinance tore them apart. The fire mission Brimmo called was uncomfortably close, but the bugs were coming in force, and we didn't have a choice. With the barrage as cover, the captain told us to withdraw. The Mimbos were concentrating their forces on the western defenses and there would be limited hostiles between us and friendly lines.

With some blaster rounds loosed to deceive the enemy, we slipped from the embankment into the murky swamp waters. Slowly, we trudged, attempted to maintain silence as best we could. As I lifted Haurn back over my shoulders, I heard a loud whirl. It was a mortar round, off target and coming in close. To save us both, I dropped Haurn and threw myself over her body. She screeched from landing on the wounded leg. Friendly mortar rounds impacted among our numbers. A blast nearby showered my back with mud and dirt. Another blast, then another, fell in quick succession. The remnants of the company screamed, cursed, cried. Someone was shouting for a medic, but there were none. We were so damn close to the finish to endure this. I rolled over, dragged Haurn down the side of the berm and we laid against it, half in the mud, half in the water.

Brimmo shouted in the comms unit for the mortars to cease fire, but I don't know if they received the message. More rounds fell. Pommavaz was caught in the open, looked, saw where Haurn and I were braced. Pommy got up, took one step. A shell landed right in front of him and in that instant, Tak Pommavaz was gone. A darkened crater served as the only remainder. I was incensed, thrown into a rage. I've had enough of these Mimbos, these bugs, all the suffering and hardships they've inflicted. Their existence is why I suffer. Out of my mind, I leapt to my feet, pulled my E-11 up and just started firing bolts in the direction of the bugs.

"Kriffing die!" I shouted at them. "I'll kill every one of you fragging bugs! I'll wipe your miserable shit species from existence!"

There were more shouts, expletives and blaster bolts hurled at the Mimbanese. The mortar bombardment receded, but I was oblivious. I didn't care about my life so much as I cared about killing bugs. Brimmo had to grab me by the belt, hauled me back down the embrasure, and toss me into the swamp. My gear weighed me down for a moment under the water and the sensation of drowning snapped me back to a more lucid state. A hard pull brought me to the surface, the captain slapped me across the face.

"Dammit Maider!" Brimmo hollered. "Get yourself together. We're making a run for it, grab Haurn and move Trooper."

The captain released his grasp and I fell into the water again, but not so that I went under. There was no opportunity to mourn Pommy, there wasn't anything left to mourn. But I had to get that out of my head, there was still the matter of reaching the outpost and I still had Haurn to carry. Above, the roar of twin-ion engines reverberated, as a flight of TIE bombers swept low on an attack run against Mimbanese targets. A surface-to-air missile streaked by one of the TIEs, narrowly missing the craft. Around, the debris of war collected. Discarded equipment, broken weapons, empty ammunition cases, and, of course, the bodies littered the way we had to traverse. The flotsam bobbed in the waters, some burned, as we arrived at the edge of the swamp, on the dry land that bordered the outpost. Hauling myself from of the muck, a hand outstretched to greet me, pulled me the rest of the way out.

The battalion sent a recon platoon and stretcher bearers to meet us, guide us in and they were the most beautiful bunch of Troopers I'd ever laid my eyes upon. The TIE bombing run drove the Mimbos back, forced their artillery to slacken. Capitalizing on the abeyance, the major sent the recon to get us. Initially, I did not want to hand Haurn over to the stretcher bearers, who tried to pry her from my shoulders. She was my responsibility and I managed her this far, thought I'd see her to safety. I relinquished my grasp when she reassured me it was alright, and we placed her on the stretcher. My legs collapsed and I felt weak, my energy completely drained. An arm caught me before I landed completely in the mud.

"Come on son," the captain's voice spoke, words intertwined with a sense of pride. "We've done our work. Let's get back."

Brimmo nearly dragged me up the slope to the outpost, he was off quickly to make his report to the battalion's commander. The rain did not fall in its usual torrents, it was calm enough to permit flights and a line of IPTs and AT-Haulers lined up for a position to land. The outpost no longer resembled the one I left only a few days prior. The tents we pitched in orderly rows were gone –replaced with shell craters. Figures emerged from holes in the ground, the bunkers and dugouts we constructed. Wounded hobbled or were carried to the designated landing pad, those on stretchers were placed in rows and the walking wounded made to stand in line. Medics combed through the wounded Troopers, assessing the severity, and determining priority cases to merit a casevac –root out the shirkers. Transports landed to offload supplies, reinforcements, and, to our astonishment, platoons of Stormtroopers. The forest burned in every direction, as low passing TIE bombers dropped payloads of conflagrine bombs.

The stretcher bearers with Haurn placed her with the other rows of wounded. Order appeared dammed, so I followed her over and sat by her side. We didn't exchange a word, rested in silence. The exhaustion visible in our eyes told anyone passing of our ordeal beyond the outpost boundary. I stopped a passing medic, convinced them to look at Haurn's leg. He sprayed a new application of bacta on the wound and shrugged his shoulder when I asked about getting her on a casevac flight. I stopped another medic, who looked senior, now demanded Haurn be placed aboard a ship. The senior medic did not appreciate my tone and refused. The walking wounded grew desperate and tried to storm each gunship, as it came in to land. The Troopers onboard had to hold them back at blaster point just to be able to climb off. There was an AT-Hauler, which slowly unloaded ammunition crates –so far unnoticed by Troopers crowding around the IPTs taking on casualties to fly out. I nudged Haurn, pointed out the hauler and got her on her feet. We hobbled over together. Some load coordinator assigned to manage the shuttle traffic tried to redirect us, but we walked right by her and there was too much happening to make a deal on our behalf. Haurn did not want to climb aboard, at first, but she knew it was the only option. She put out a hand, told me to come with her, told me it was time to leave. I couldn't, I could not bring myself to climb aboard that AT-Hauler. I wanted to, I should have, looking back. But at the casualty processing center at Camp Forward, military police were screening the wounded, then shooting any shirkers who stowed aboard.

"You're a moron, Paulus Maider," Haurn said. "Try to be less of an idiot and come out of this. I'll be waiting for you."

Then, Haurn leaned forward from the gantry and kissed me. I held onto her for a moment, kissing her back. It was a glorious moment of peace I wish could've lasted forever but interrupted when the hauler's pilot shouted it was time to takeoff. Her hand slipped from my grasp, as the AT-Hauler lifted upwards into the blackened sky. I stood for several moments, stared into the nothingness above, the craft long disappeared into the night. Heavier rain fell upon the landing zone. Activity increased, as the weather intensified, and further flights would be impossible. Last efforts were made to land supplies, evacuate the wounded. One could not predict when there would be another opportunity. I figured I should go to the sapper's dugout, see if it was still intact, if Dashnik was still there.

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