1Stormtrooper
Part two: Pinpricks
Sweat dripped from Dev Astar's, designation TX-116, face. His head slapped on the training mat. Dev was dressed in grey P.T. and leather padding on his head, hands, and knees. He tasted blood in his mouth and spit it out. His whole body ached from blows sustained while training. He'd been less battered on Chandrila.
"Come on, 116, hit me," his sparring partner, US-426 said. 426 was a short man with brown hair and thick Sullast accent. But he was lean with muscle and salted by years of combat. He was trying to teach Dev an old Jedi hand-to-hand technique, which resulted in him regularly beating the piss out of the poor trooper.
Dev wheeled in a spinning kick. The move was as fast as greased lightning, but somehow 426 caught his foot and once again Dev crashed onto the mat. Weary he drew himself up. 426 danced on his feet, waiting for the next assault. Dev swung his foot under the sergeant's feet, but 426 jumped over the sweep and planted his foot squarely into Dev's bruised face. Dev, beaten and battered, went and stayed down on the mat.
"Goddamn it! You get off your lazy ass, or I will firmly plant my boot in your face."
"Again?" Dev whined through his broken teeth. He'd just about had enough.
"That's enough, 426,", HI-289 said. Dev's C.O. was in his dress uniform, with enough metals to make an AT-AT. Impressive, to say the least.
"Sir? What's with the Class A?" Dev asked, jaw quickly forgotten.
"Remember that Moff we saved last time out? Throwin' a celebration for us, medal ceremony and all that. Wear your Class As, both of you." 289 turned to leave and added, as in retrospect, "And try to fit all your tin on this time, 426."
Dev waited until 289 left, then asked, "You really got too much tin you can't fit it on your Class A?"
"Yeah," 426 said, wiping his face of with a dirty towel. 426 changed the subject, being somewhat modest about his medals. "You're improving. I think you could maybe take my grandmother. A tie, perhaps."
"But in any case, 116, you are now as up-to-date on hand-to-hand as any man in our platoon," 426's eyes flashed dangerously, as they often did when he was drunk, having fun, or getting into a fight. "Any man, except me."
"Yeah, but I can out-shoot you eight days of seven," Dev retorted. "You choose which hand. Hell, your aim is so bad you couldn't hit Tarkin's ego."
"Real man of you to kill with weapons from afar. Oh! I'm a gonna shoot you from 800 meters with rifle! There's no honor in it."
"Okay, next time out, leave your rifle and sidearm with me. You can fight the Rebs hand-to-hand if you want. I'm sure they'll see honor in the same way."
426 snorted, but commented no further.
Dev and 426 reached their rooms in about ten minutes. The door whooshed open, revealing BV-263 adjusting her dress hat. She had been Dev's partner on his first mission, and rumor was the officer they rescued, Moff Finnus Bailey, from rebel insurgents was going to present her with the Imperial Cross of Valor, and the Red Moon for wounds sustained in combat. No wonder she wanted to look good.
"Hey baby. Getting dressed up for me?" 426 said, grinning so wide it nearly touched his ears.
"You are an absolute Wookie when it comes to manners," she snarled.
"And you are so hot when you're angry. The red in your face really brings out the best in you Sergeant Major."
263's complection turned to a darker, dangerous hue before she stormed out of the small troop area. Dev watched her for a moment before speaking.
"You really push her buttons man."
"Eh. Doesn't bother me. She knows she wants me."
Dev snickered, but offered nothing else. He stripped to his skivvies and put his hand against a palm-plate to open his locker. Three crisp uniforms, regulation dull grey, with three special dress boots, regulation black, polished till they shone, with three hats, again regulation grey, accompanying. The black lightning unit patch of Black Storm was stitched on the sleeves, as were the single chevron of a private.
"Hey, dumbshit," 426 said as Dev began to tug some clean skivvies on. "You might want to take a shower first? Yeah? Show up at a medal ceremony stinking like bantha shit. Real professional. Yeah."
Dev smacked his forehead and left 426 to his bidding. The nearest showers were on Deck Seven, three full decks below him.
"Fuck," Dev said to no one in particular.
It took him a full ten minutes to get to Deck Seven, fifteen to get to the showers and take one, three to apologize to a TIE pilot of the opposite sex he had inadvertently flashed, eighteen to get back to Bunks 5A-K, four to get dressed and do a quick shave, then another ten to get down to Docking Bay 3.
"You're late," HI-289 said, checking his wrist chrono.
"Sorry sir. Navy pilot distracted me. Would have been here sooner."
"Make sure it doesn't happen again, 116. It's not a good practice to keep a Moff waiting. Especially if you're just a soldier."
"Not just a soldier sir!" Dev responded automatically.
"Green bean," 426 snorted when 289 turned for the shuttle. "You could have used our shower. It's about 30 seconds and ten steps from your locker."
8?
Dev, 289,246, and the other surviving members of the squad boarded a luxury Lambda-class shuttle. Sent up planetside just for them, it had padding, and first-class leather seats. No drop harnesses or rough metal seats like the military shuttles Dev was accustomed to. No weapons rack for E-11s. And no salty coxswain barking orders. Instead, a set of lovely flight attendants, one human and one Twi'lek. It was...disconcerting.
The planet-fall was uneventful. MC-705 was constantly squirming in his seat, unable to cope with the leather seating on the shuttle, until 289 told him to either stop or stand up. 705 stopped, but began gnawing on a tooth-pick he had produced from the pocket of his dress jacket.
The luxury shuttle glided into Brentaal Spaceport without incident. The inertial compensator and air-cushioned landing gear made the landing less bumpy, less of a 'high speed on a bad road' type of landing that stormtroopers are so accustomed.
Two of Moff Bailey's personal guard were there to meet the troops. Judging from the high sheen of their armor, and rifles held at neat, crisp port arms, it was deduced by Dev that the men had probably seen about as much action as he had. A choice assignment for soldiers with a few wars tucked under their belts and more medals than 289, but a hot-blooded young trooper like Dev would probably desert given this detail.
"Welcome to Brentaal," the two stormtroopers monotoned.
"Ah, Lieutenant, welcome to my humble planet," Moff Bailey said loudly, gliding past his guards nimbly despite his weight. He had actually decided to meet the troopers at the spaceport, Dev was shocked to discover, and his opinion of the Moff went up a few notches. Three groundcoaches waited to transport them to their party.
"So, Lieutenant, how did you find the flight down? Enjoyable I hope."
"Well, sir, a bit too much luxury and class. My men are soldiers, and I a career line officer. We enjoy simpler points in life. A warm shower and a mug of coffee, for starters."
The Moff laughed merrily. "An excellent point m'boy! Here's to ground pounders everywhere!"
At some point the Moff Bailey produced a glass of Alderaanian wine and gulped it down in one breath.
"Nothing like Alderannian vintage," Bailey exclaimed.
"No sir," 426 said.
"Well, to the coaches then. We must proceed to the ceremony."
8?
"Sweet baby Palpatine's left nut! This place is huge!" Dev burst out bluntly when he saw the Imperial palace. The palace, though nowhere near as elaborate or expensive as Palatines on Corusant, was an elegant structure made of some unknown but impossibly expensive material.
"Was that you, 116?" 263 asked.
"Yeah. Why?"
263 leaned over and smacked Dev in the back of the head.
"Do not ever take the Emperor's name in vain."
8?
The ceremony was too "pretty" in Dev's opinion, meaning that there were too many officers and loyal families strutting about, showing off medals and money. A prime opportunity for Rebel assassins, but 289 told him that in the unlikely event of an attack, Bailey's personal stormtroopers would take care of it. None the more reassured by this thought, Dev drifted around and sampled tidbits of various foodstuffs that he as a soldier would never be able to afford if he saved his money for a year.
Eventually, Dev wound up in the company of a young woman who looked about his age. She was dressed in a blue shimmer silk body sheathe which did wonders for her figure. Having no prior experience with non-trooper females, he was nervous to say the least. She was patient, though, and didn't seem to mind if Dev constantly drifted off to military topics.
"Have you killed many men?" she asked.
"No. A helluva lot scum though!" Dev said and roared with laughter. He saw out of the corner of his eye 426 wander over.
"Leave the cursing to the professionals son. Can't you see that you're upsetting this lovely young lady?"
"Shove off, el-tee. We're off duty," Dev said, a little hotly.
"Don't make me rip your nose off and glue it to your asshole, boy."
"I'd like to see ya try."
"You are becoming insubordinate, Private 116. I'll forgo a court marshal and merely ask you to leave me and this young woman be."
"No, it's okay," the young woman put in, stepping between the two men. "I rather like to hear something other than pompous bantha shit. Both myself and the private are enjoying ourselves immensely."
426 and 116 doubled over at that, and with a "See you on the mat", the el-tee left to pursue another woman.
"We've been talking all this time, and I don't even know you're name," Dev mumbled through a mouthful of 'Nerf Tenderloin Tidbits'.
"Jan Bailey. What's your name soldier?"
Dev's jaw dropped. He'd just been fraternizing with a moff's daughter. That was strictly and explicitly forbidden by Imperial protocol, and Dev's own personal code. Getting involved with politicians in any way shape or form was akin to going toe-to-toe with a pissed off Wookie. There would be consequences galore if he didn't disengage right the hell now.
"Actually, I think I'll be going then..." Dev began as he started to meander off.
"Why?" Jan inquired. Her eye's were smiling, but a hurt tone slightly overlapped her voice.
"Uh..it's...well...um...it's against regulations to fraternize with an officer or their family."
Jan looked amused by his nervous behavior, and was relieved slightly that it was some silly rule that was causing his discomfort. "We're not fraternizing, as you say. I'm merely getting acquainted with my father's rescuer. Is that against regulations?"
"I guess not..."
"Well then. Problem solved. Now trooper, I, as the Moff's daughter, order you to tell me you're name." She said it with a commanding voice, but detectable humor was imbedded in her words.
"You have a great commander's voice," Dev said offhandedly. "Have you considered enlisting?"
"Are you gonna recruit me or something?"
"Oh! Um, no. My name is...my name? Do you mean my designation?"
"Your...?"
"My number."
"You don't have a name?"
"I did. When I was given the honor of joining the Emperor's forces, I was given the designator TX-116."
"None of you have names?" Jan asked, somewhat shocked by this.
"No ma'am. Except for commissioned officers."
"Well, what's your real name?" Jan demanded.
"That's not really allowed by protocol, ma'am..."
"Oh! This damned protocol of yours! Please tell me. Don't make me beg!" She near shouted, causing some of those closest to turn their heads.
"Dev. Dev Astar." he said with some embarrassment. It was obvious that this woman was the sort that would sneak out of the palace at night for a trip down to the local bar.
"Dev. That's an interesting name. Is it short for something?"
"No, I don't think..." Dev was interrupted by Moff Bailey stepping up to a microphone on a podium in the middle of the room."
"As you all know," Bailey began. "As you all know, a few weeks ago, I was on the supposedly loyal planet of Chandrila with other Imperial officers when a large Rebel force moved in and took control of the city we were staying at."
"Several of my comrades were killed in this atrocious attack. I myself was beaten and interrogated, before these brave young commandoes rescued we survivors and killed over 100 of the Rebel troops."
"We are now gathered here to celebrate and award these men, but first, a toast to those fallen." Everyone bowed their heads in silence. Dev remembered IE-005. He had barely gotten to know the man's name before a cannon bolt struck his turret and killed him.
"Now, we shall celebrate those still among us. Will those members of 2nd squad, Company K please step forward to the podium?"
289, flanked by RD-093 and MC-705 walked onto the platform among a round of applause. They were followed by Dev, 426, and 263. Dev swore that 263's chest almost swelled to double it's size when she got into formation.
"For wounds sustained in Combat with an enemy force, the Imperial High Command wishes to present the Red Moon to Sergeant Major BV-263. In addition, for heroism under fire above and beyond the call of duty, I am proud to present the Imperial Cross of Valor."
Baily took two metals from a case and pinned them on next to her other medals. Beaming with pride, 263 accepted Baily's extended hand and shook it. But there were a few more medals to present and Baily moved on.
"To aide our escape, Specialist RD-093 hot-wired a number of Rebel combat speeders under fire. With great pleasure, may I present the medal of Conspicuous Gallantry."
"You may indeed sir," 093 said, his unremitting humor continuing even during an elaborate ceremony.
As Baily reached to pin the medal on trooper, a sniper round blasted through 093's forehead. 093's eyes bugged as the projectile passed through his brain and hit a stormtrooper behind him in the throat. They both died instantly.
In that moment it took for 093 to hit the ground, 289 was barking orders to the civilians and local stormtrooper garrison. His men already knew what to do.
"EVERYONE DOWN ON THE GROUND!" the trooper bellowed. "703, SPOT THAT SNIPER! 116, TAKE HIM OUT!"
"Jan, stay low to the ground!" Dev yelled. He saw the young woman hug the floor, and was impressed for a second with her ability to stay calm in a crisis.
Another round screamed through the hall and hit a civilian woman in the head. She dropped, as did her husband, an officer, when a third round quickly followed. Dev dove backwards off the platform. He relieved the dead stormtrooper of his rifle and extended the stock. A round boomed by and hit another trooper in the gut. He clutched his mid-section and stumbled towards Dev.
"Geddown dammit!" Dev said, grabbing the wounded man down. "703, where's my target!"
"I need another shot to get an exact position!"
"WE NEED THAT SNIPER NOW!" 289 roared.
Another shot, and another civilian hit the floor.
"Got him! Left 20, Up 50, building to the left, red, moving fast. Looks like a Rodian."
"Sighted. Target's mine," Dev said coldly, looking through the scope.
Dev squeezed the trigger and a bolt flew into the Rodian's side. He stumbled, then fell face-first off the building. Even so, it did not change the fact that five loyal Imperials had been shot and killed.
8?
"That was really amazing what you did," Jan said to Dev as they sit outside on a balcony. A dozen or so synth-skin and bacta patches adorned her face, lacerations from exploding glass.
"Yeah. But that doesn't change the fact that another member of my squad died. I mean, what the bloody hell? We weren't even on deployment. I hardly got to know the guy," he added in a smaller voice.
Jan put her hand on Dev's arm. "You're still alive. Doesn't that count for something?"
"6,500 credits," Dev joked. It fell flat and the both looked down.
"What?"
"Service joke, Jan."
"Oohhh..."
"Well, I had fun tonight."
"Oh! Oh, yeah, me too. Loads of fun," Jan said with a weak laugh. She switched gears. "Look, I'm sorry you lost you're friend. He didn't deserve to die."
"..."
"When are you going?" she asked after a moment.
"We ship out in about 20 minutes, I guess."
"Will it be alright if I write you?"
"No. If ImpCOM doesn't stop the letters, the captain of the Dawn will," Dev said sullenly.
"I'll keep you in mind, Dev Astar."
"You won't see me for at least a year Standard," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
"116! Quit fuckin' around with that civilian and let's go! Turke wants to hold a funeral on board the Dawn. You're holding up the band wagon!" PG-158 shouted from the groundcoach.
"I'll wait. I think I can do that," Jan said. They locked eyes for a moment. He bent in close...but 426 grabbed him by his uniform collar.
"Turribly sorry, ma'am, turribly. But we really have to go, say 116? Bye now, little miss."
426 pulled Dev close to whisper in his ear. "Don't mess with a Moff's daughter, trooper."
That was all he said. He clambered into the groundcoach. With one last look at Jan's roughened face, Dev boarded the coach and headed for the spaceport.
8?
Later that week, Galactic News reported the sniper incident. Dev and 153 were in their bunks watching it. They were all waiting for the Captain to finish preparations for the funeral, and 153, whom Dev was unfamiliar with but knew he joked a lot, stared at the TV with the same dull, blank look he'd had since the shooting. He and 093 had been best friends.
"Moff Finus Bailey had this to say when our reporter questioned him: "This minor pinprick into the Empire's will not go unpunished. Know that any Rebelling planets and any further acts of violence and protest will be met with swiftly and efficiently. We will not—"
153 turned off the holo. He hadn't shaved in several days and his eyes were sunken in.
"You know, 116, pinpricks still draw blood."
"Yeah brother. I know. I know."