Chapter 2: Terror & Mercy
Vergil opened his door, and joined the sea of Stormtroopers heading down the corridor to the Mess Hall. Although you couldn't tell the difference between him and the newer Stormtroopers, the Imperial version had been genetically modified to become vicious and heartless killing machines. The clones remaining from the Clone Wars, which were few and far between, were called "leftovers" by the newer clones, and were looked down upon for their merciful treatment of the common people. They did not, however, underestimate their skills in battle.
Vergil had been reassigned upon returning to Headquarters. He had been separated from his mates in 5th platoon, even been transferred to a whole different company. He was now Unit 633 of Radeon Company, and he'd even been stripped of his status as a lieutenant. The only time Vergil ever caught a glimpse of one of his former team members was when their platoons happened to pass in the halls. Somehow, they always seemed to recognize each other. Vergil guessed after being that close to someone, after depending on someone for so long, you just had some sort of telepathic link.
Today happened to be one of those days. On his way to the Mess Hall, Vergil caught sight of Guillotine, the old 5th platoon's sniper. He threaded his way through the ranks, and tapped his friend on the shoulder. Guillotine turned around, and his face lit up when he caught sight of his old buddy. He did not greet him ecstatically though, as would normal friends during a long-time-no-see moment. He merely saluted, and shook Vergil's hand. Vergil saluted back, and rejoined the ranks of his team.
In the Mess Hall, Vergil sat alone. Leftovers were not popular among the newer Stormtroopers, and he was the only one in his platoon. He leaned over his stew and pressed a button on the tiny comlink Guillotine had slipped him when they shook hands. He had entered the secure channel his team had created so they could stay in contact when they learned they were going to be separated.
"Morning everyone," Vergil whispered into the device.
"Vergil? Is that you?" It was the voice of Rayce, the team's old engineer and pilot. "Boy, it's been a long time since you've been on!"
"Bad luck, I guess," Replied Vergil. "Since I got moved to Radeon, it's been hard to find any of you." You see, not everyone always got to chat. The tiny communicators only had a few hours worth of power in them, and then they were useless. Rayce made the things in his workshop, then gave a few to anyone he saw. If you didn't find any of your friends, you didn't get to talk that day.
"Can't believe the bastards reassigned you," Came the gruff voice of Saber, 5th platoon's heavy weapons and melee expert. A Geonosian spear across the neck was the cause of his gravely tones. "It doesn't make sense."
"It makes perfect sense, Saber," Said Rayce, "They split us up because they fear rebellion. With good reason, too, I'm getting really tired of this whole setup."
"I'll drink to that," Whispered Guillotine.
"So who's being shipped out today?" Asked Vergil, "I'm booked to go to Tatooine, some business about a family smuggling arms to the rebels." Vergil sighed, "But we're probably just going to be killing innocent civilians once again."
"Most likely," Said Rayce, "I hate this job. Vergil, please don't do anything stupid and get yourself killed trying to help these people."
"Don't worry," Vergil said soberly, "We've already lost one great man that way." At this point, the channel fell silent. Vergil closed his eyes, and called up an image of Boss, the platoon's leader and a great man. He had lead them to so many victories, finding a scrap of hope where there shouldn't be, always finding a reason to keep fighting. Vergil remembered the incident where Saber got cut, the Geonosian lashing out with his dying breath. Saber lay there with his lifeblood spilling out, his team helplessly pinned down by a turret. All of a sudden, Boss had jumped up and ran full tilt towards Saber, dodging the heavy lasers being fired at him. He lifted Saber, and ran back to the rest of the men, completely unharmed. Then, just a few months back, the evil men in his squad had mowed him down for trying to save a child from the vicious Troopers.
"Well," Said Saber after a while, "I'm not going to the surface, but I'm supposed to be on security detail on General Garrim's cruiser. They are fearing a rebel attack on him and are bulking up security."
"Nothing for me today," Said Rayce.
"Ditto," Came Guillotine's answer.
"Luckies," Said Saber, "I seriously hope the rebels do attack. If it happens I'm joining them."
"Bad idea," Said Vergil.
"I know."
They continued chatting about various things until an alarm sounded, ending the eating hour. It was time to get down to business. Vergil stood up, and put on his helmet, sealing it with a pneumatic hiss. He heard his platoon leader calling over his troops, and reluctantly joined the men. They moved out to the hangar, and piled into a space-to-surface transport. The pilot took his seat and fired up the engines. The pilot maneuvered out of the hangar, entered the hyperspace coordinates, and they started the short hop to Tatooine.
The craft came out of the hyperspace rift, and Vergil looked out the window. The immense brown orb that was Tatooine loomed before him. The pilot aimed the nose of the ship down, and opened up the throttle. Filaments in his armor dissipated the heat of re-entry, and once they were in the atmosphere, the platoon began to check their weapons. Vergil did likewise, pulling the blaster from its sheath and examining it. The weapon still felt strange to him, it was so much smaller than the Clone Trooper rifle. He admitted it was superior, able to be carried and fired with one hand if need be, but still packed the same punch. But he missed the size and weight of his old rifle, and longed for it. Next he checked his pistol. HQ had let him keep his lieutenant's pistol, which shot faster and was more accurate than the standard issue. He grasped its handle, taking comfort in its familiar grip. He re-holstered both of his weapons, and checked all his ammo. He counted his grenades and made sure his Optics were working properly. Everything checked out.
A pistol clattered to the floor by his feet. The trooper across from him pointed at it. "Pick it up," The troop ordered. He held no love for leftovers and their feelings. He knew if the man tried anything, he would be full of holes before he got a shot off. Vergil knew this too, and decided to let this man's folly slide while there were so many other troops around. He slowly bent over and picked up the weapon, offering the handle to its owner. The rude soldier snatched it from him, and jammed it into its holster. Vergil eyed him dangerously. The foolish trooper made a mental note to watch his back.
The transport landed smoothly, and the platoon hopped out. The only ones who stayed with the ship were the pilot and three troopers. The rest set off across the Dune Sea at a brisk pace. After about a half hour of running, the group's leader held up a closed fist, and the men halted. Vergil brought his Optics to his face and zoomed in on a small structure in the distance. A lone house was there, and close by were many rotating spires. It was a common moisture farm.
"This is what we traveled all this way for?" Vergil scoffed, "These are the dangerous rebel smugglers? Or was that a story made up to give us a reason to slaughter innocent people?" His answer came in the form of a pistol butt to the head. Vergil fell to his knees, dazed, and looked up at his attacker; it was the Commander, the most ruthless and violent individual in the platoon.
"Learn your place, leftover," Came the threatening reply, "Yours is not to question orders. Only to follow them."
"Yes, sir," Came the obedient response, but in the privacy of his helmet, a snarl was forming on Vergil's face. The leader walked away and signaled for two snipers to look for perimeter guards. They ran out in front, the rest of the platoon following cautiously. With nothing to report, the snipers rejoined the group, and the Dark Trooper sent out a Shock Troop to put a round into the small dwelling. The soldier steadied his rocket launcher on his shoulder and took aim briefly. He then squeezed the trigger, and a projectile flew from the barrel of his weapon. The man's aim was true; the missile flew into the side of the structure, blowing a large portion of it into dust. The troops charged forward, ready for a fight, but found no resistance.
They began a sweep of the building. Their search did not yield any hidden caches of blasters, or rebel fighters, no. The vicious men found two things: An old woman, and an older man. They were found cowering in a corner in the garage of the home, and were brought outside at gunpoint. The Commander began a rough interrogation.
"So where are they?" He asked, pacing in front of the couple. The couple gave the Commander a confused look. He struck the old woman across the face, making the old man cringe. "Do not play around with me, I want to know where the weapons are."
"W-we swear," Stammered the old man, "We don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a simple moisture farmer." The woman started to sob and shake, and the old man embraced her. The Commander swiftly tore them apart, kneed the man in the stomach, and threw him to the ground. Vergil looked away at this point, not being able to take it. The woman began to cry even harder.
"Please!" She wailed, clutching at the Commander's legs, "Have mercy! We are not hiding any we-AAHHH!" The old woman screamed as the Commander kicked her in the face, and Vergil heard her nose break.
"Kill the woman," The Commander ordered, "Make the man watch." A trooper roughly grabbed the woman by the hair to hold her steady and another slowly drew his pistol. He waved the gun in front of her face, and took aim. The Commander grabbed the poor man's head and slowly turned it towards the grim scene. The man pleaded with the heartless soldier one last time.
"Please, sir, I swear we are hiding no weapons. I beg you, please, have mercy! No, please no, let her go, I beg you…" The Commander nodded to the soldier with the pistol. Vergil turned his head, and his pity turned to anger. His hands balled into fists, and the trooper pulled the trigger. The blast went clean through the woman's heart, and she was dead before she hit the dirt. The man cried out in agony, but was cut short by a beam of energy going into his own chest. It was at this point Vergil vowed to escape this macabre Army with his old platoon, and join the resistance. He also made a more specific vow, and that was to exact revenge upon this vile Commander. Once he got out he would fight the Empire with all his strength, and not rest until he was dead, or he had eradicated this infection.
"Form up!" The Commander barked, letting the man drop to the ground, "We're heading back to the cruiser." The whole way back, a plan was forming in Vergil's head. It was risky, but if him and his platoon, along with any other leftovers, pulled this off, there was going to be hell to pay for the Empire.