1Stormtrooper
Part Three: SNAFU on the Pride
A Rebel fleet has been detected with some very sensitive Imperial Cargo. With the help of Imperial Marines, 116 and his squad must board and retake Imperial tech. But things get complicated with Jedi...
Captain Synal of the Victory-class Star Destroyer Crimson Dawn silently re-read the orders she had just been given. They had just arrived, and unlike the usual lengthy Imperial mission orders, this was short and to the point.
From: Imperial HighCom
To: Melissa Synal, Captain, Crimson Dawn
Report with all possible haste to Dathomir. Rebel Fleet gathering. Rendezvous with Iron Fist and Heart of Empire. Be on look out for Rebel cruiser Pride of Chandrila. Have Marines stand ready to board and search ship. Specific mission details to be briefed upon arrival.
–Melissa, I know this is gonna be a tough job. You better get the KIA forms ready on this one.
–Torm
"Lt. Page," Synal ordered. "Get Marines from Echo and Fox Companies suited up and ready for boarding operations. And ready a Black Storm team. Lt. Pommel, lay in a heading for the Dathomir system. Lt. Ramsey, prepare the Dawn for ship-to-ship. Have the batteries shakedown and get the maintenance boys to check the Tubes for any problems. I want this ship ready to fight an MC-80 to a standstill."
"The Rebels have a fleet?" PG-158 exclaimed when HI-289 arrived at Bunks 5A-8K with their orders. "How in the hell did they get a fleet? They can't even afford adequate armor for their troops."
"The Rebels are more concerned with space battles than actual engagements groundside. For some unknown reason they think that they can actually take the Empire in space and that that will somehow provide a victory in this travesty of war. All this space fighting is gonna phase out hard-working grunts like you and me, ol buddy," came MC-705 from behind them.
"Boarding parties ain't my thing," 158 said. "Just sitting in a metal deathtrap waiting for that one missile that will blow your ass to kingdom come. Nossir, you can leave that happy bullshit to the Marines."
"Relax. 3rd squad is going, with a Marine raiding team. You boys have been hit pretty hard in the last few weeks, so you'll stay here until replacements arrive from Cardia."
"Lovely," 158 said sourly. RD-093, his friend, had been killed by a sniper during a medal ceremony. SE-14R
TX-116, Dev Astar, was sitting on his bunk, a disassembled E-ll in front of him. He quickly re-assembled the rifle, taking twelve minutes. Not fast, not by a longshot, but he wasn't in combat, and a hastily put together rifle that failed was worthless in a combat sit. No, instead the stormtrooper carefully checked to make sure the Galvin circuitry was properly alined and that the X-Citer was getting the correct amount of energy. He made sure the power pack well was clean and the gas chamber clear of any obtrusions. Satisfied that the rifle would not blow up in his face, Dev began to snap the pieces of the weapon back together. Just as he finished putting his rifle back together, the Hyperspace alert sounded throughout the ship. Dev looked up, confused. There wasn't a jump scheduled for today. Or all week. The Dawn was supposed to be patrolling the Perlemian trade route. It wasn't unheard of to have unscheduled jumps, but it was slightly irregular in the strict, disciplined Imperial Navy. Dev strapped in and waited for the jump.
The Crimson Dawn shifted out of Hyperspace easily enough. Faster than most Imperial capital ships in Hyperspace, the Dawn reached Dathomir in just a few hours. When it reached the system, Capt. Synal ordered to drop out at the edge, rather than closer to the planet, where the Rebels might be waiting. The Captain of the Iron Fist, Capt. Reiter greeted Synal and promptly sent a coded data squirt to her ships comm terminal. Melissa's eyes widened as she read the briefing on her screen.
"Lt. Page, have the Marines report to Landing Bay One. And the Black Storm troops. Lt. Ramsey, warm up all batteries. Get the gun crews to their stations."
"All hands, this is the Captain. Battle stations. All hands to battle stations.
MF-565 of the Imperial Marine Corps' Company F, 9th Marine Division, inspected his men. One Sentinel-class HLC and two Theta-class dropships waited to bring 94 men of Fox onto a waiting Rebel cruiser. Later, reenforcements from Echo would arrive, blasting their way onto the bridge to capture a rouge Jedi. 565 shook his head. Jedi. He heard they'd been wiped out during the purge, but this very mission blew that all to shit.
He thought that maybe he'd try to rouse up his men to fight, but shot down the thought soon as it reared it's head. Every single man in Fox had BRED FOR WAR! laser stenciled on their helmets, and they were lean, mean, killing machines. They needed no inspiration, unlike lesser troops. But this was different. Jedi were involved.
"Captain Synal to Captain 565. Board the transports."
"565 to Captain, copy that," the man responded. "Fox, mount them fuckin' beasts!"
With a war cry, 94 blood-frenzied and battle hardened stampeded onto the transports. Strapping themselves in, they waited to be checked by the ship's coxswain. With a grunt, he nodded in approval. Fox Company anxiously awaited the green light to depart.
"Captain, the Iron Fist has just issued a signal to get into an attack formation and ready fighters," Lt. Byron Haddel, the Dawn's Comm man said from his station.
"Make it so!" She barked.
The three Star Destroyers tightened to an Imperial battle formation as scanners picked up the first of the Rebel ships. A number of Corellian Corvettes, Nebulon-B's, GR-75s, and a variety of smaller, older ships from the Clone Wars and earlier gathered over the overlooked Dathomir. Preliminary reports IDed at least a fifteen ships. 3 to 1 odds, but the two Imperial–class ISDs as well as the old powerhouse Victory, were a formidable adversary.
"Captain, two of the Corvettes are branching off to intercept us. A Neb just launched three squadrons of X- and Y-wings. Wait one. Four squadrons, one comprised of Z-95s. Capt. Reiter says fire at will. Orders?" Synal's weapons officer asked.
"Have fore tubes one through thirty-five concentrate on the port-most Corvett. Thirty-six through seventy on the starboard one. Ready the quads for a salvo at the Neb-B."
"Transmitting firing solution to other ships. Awaiting your command."
"Fire."
Streaks of light shot towards the accelerating Corvettes, just as they trained their forward batteries on the Heart of Empire. They saw the concussion missiles, but in their zeal to attack the Imperials, they had accelerated to maximum speed, allowing no room for maneuvering. All the missiles hit their targets, save one, which collided with an X-wing. The Corvettes' shields flickered and died, and the ships followed suit.
"Launch TIE wings," Synal ordered. "Tell them to stick close to the ship. I want three TIEs to every X-wing, so the shields may be brought down and the fighter destroyed in a single volley."
"Aye aye, ma'am," Lt. Page said as she signaled the pilots.
Heart of Empire went on unimpeded, and destroyed four ships on her own. The Dawn and the Fist each claimed another three ships. With more than half the Rebels destroyed in roughly 20 minutes, the Heart of Empire went on to pursue the fleeing survivors.
"Ma'am!" Lt. Haddle reported. "Heart of Empire has encountered strange readings and...oh God."
"What is it, Lieutenant?" Synal demanded.
"It's the Pride of Chandrila," Haddle said, going white. "It's attacking the Heart of Empire."
"Why didn't we pick it up earlier!" Synal barked.
"It was hiding in Dathomir's gravity well ma'am. Wait one," Haddle paused to listen to his headset. "The Heart of Empire has been destroyed ma'am. The Rebel ships are turning around."
The Pride of Chandrila was a powerful MC-80 Mon Calimari cruiser, capable of dukeing it out with a Star Destroyer. With a small fleet of ships behind it, the MC-80 was capable of taking out the Imperial battle group. Not only that, but it was in the hands of three rouge Jedi. Knights Inget Jules and Vos Moutarri, and Padawan Tessa Rey. With their mystical Force, it was never in doubt that they would win in space. But had they been more attuned, they might have foreseen the 196 man surprise that the Crimson Dawn had in store for them.
"Captain to MF-565. You are green."
"Launch this bucket," the Marine captain bellowed to the HLC's pilot.
"Ten to one VI-009 is the buys it first," One Marine, LC-374, joked to his buddy as the Marines' ships roared out of the hangar."
"Yeah, I saw him put on a red shirt under his armor," another Marine snickered. They both nodded at 009, sitting next to the Storm boys, and made an 'off-with-his-head" motion. 009 flipped them off."Can the chit-chat, Jarheads," 565 ordered. "LISTEN UP! The scum-sucking Rebel asslicks on that Mon Cal cruiser have been hiding an unknown number of traitorous Jedi. Ya'll know Intel."
He paused to let them laugh, then continued.
"The Rebs also have the nasty habit of blowing up Star Destroyers and stealing classified Imp tech. Needless to say, this is a goddamned high-pri mission. I mean, sake-of-your-grandkids, so fuckin' important that to keep us silent after we complete it, we gonna get shifted to some nowhere, dead-end sector no one's ever heard of or cares about."
"They say the Jedi can influence minds, predict things before they happen, hell, even pick you up or crush your windpipe with a single thought. Shit, these little cocksuckers have been brought up since they was four to be peacekeepers. But they ain't the only ones. What has Fox Company been, ladies?"
"Bred for war!"
"I'm sorry. I can't hear YOU!"
"BRED FOR WAR!" the Marines roared. "ROCK AND ROLL! PENATRATE AND ANNIALATE!"
"Since Day One. Ooh-rah," 565 said just before an X-wing slammed into the Sentinel's cockpit.
Jordi Hannas tore through space, a pissed off Eyeball right on his tail. Green lasers streaked past his canopy bubble, leaving long gashes in his ship's nose. Today, he had boarded his snub, confident that he would be painting six or seven tallies on his fuselage when he docked.
The overconfident Imps had only sent three Destroyers to eliminate the Rebel ships. Maybe they weren't overconfident, just misinformed, Hannas thought as a piece of Nebulon-B whizzed past. Still, the MC-80 cruiser and the rest of the 2nd Liberation Fleet would take care of the Imps in short order. The Rebels may have only had a few hundred ships, but they were armed and they stuck together. And the X-wings were superior in many ways to the 'agile and fragile' Imp TIEs, with not the least reason being the proton torpedo tubes.
He had taken down six TIEs, but this last one was good. He didn't over-accelerate or perform tricky stunts that only worked in holovids, and he took his time. It seemed that this particular pilot had Hannas' scent and was hell bent on taking the young Reb out.
"Blue-3 to Blue Group, is anyone out their?" Hannas asked with a little more fear than he'd hoped. But only static answered him.
"Blue-3 to any Alliance fighters, I have an Eyeball on my six, cannot shake. I need help!"
"Blue-3, this is Gold Leader. We have you on scanners. ETA, forty seconds."
Another streak of green flashed off Hannas' port engines. He looked back, trying to see the TIE for himself rather than trust his scanners. As he rubbernecked, he failed to notice the Imperial HLC and MBCs. He never even felt the collision, but the 54 Marines did, and the two pilots sure as hell did.
The first thing that Captain 565 of the Imperial Marines noticed, oddly enough, was the pristine beauty of the stars. Then the Leatherneck realized that he should not be seeing stars from the inside of a sealed troop compartment. In only moments, he was bellowing orders to unstrap.
"Get out! Get them fuckin' straps off, 832! 354, you help him. We gotta get clear of this tub."
This proved to be unwise. The inertia that the spinning Sentinel had from its collision threw the three un-strapped Marines against the bulkheads, and sent 354, who was closest to the gapping hole that was previously a cockpit, out into space. 565 isolated 354's freq on the command net and eliminated it
"Getcher Mags on ladies!",the Captian barked telling the Marines to activate the magnets in their boots. "Once this bucket slows down enough, we gotta jump for the nearest open hanger bay.
Risky though this was, impossibly risky, the defenses of the Pride or other Rebel ship would shred the pilotless, defenseless, HLC. And the internal oxygen supply of regular stormtrooper suits was only 15 minutes. The turrets might catch some of the Marines, and some might miscalculate and end up pulling a 354.
565 wasn't inclined to send his Marines hurdling to their deaths without a fight, but even if they didn't board a ship, at least the two Thetas would get the job done. As he moved towards the slowly rotating vacuum, 565 suddenly noticed that the eight Black Storm men were gone. His gaze drifted down to settle upon a man split roughly in half vertically. Black shards of armor drifted around the man.
His men finally finished unstrapping. "First four forward."
565 figured that about five men could fit through the hole. He peeked out and couldn't believe his luck. The Pride. Not 400 meters away. Right in the Marines' sights.
"Go!" he said. "Act like you're just a useless damn floating corpse. Next five jump in four seconds."
"Running high on the Fifteen," Cpl. IE-362 warned.
"Noted," 565 said nauseously. The sudden vastness of space made even Marines queasy.
"Sir! Incoming fire!" one of the Marines yelled.
Red bolts from the MC-80's turbolasers, as well as a number of particle cannon rounds flew at the drifting Marines. One, YR-941, was hit and vaporized. The rest impacted on the HLC's wreckage, obliterating it and the Marines still onboard as well as a Marine still jumping.
565 would have told his men to maintain comm silence, because that must have been how the Rebels located them. Too many human-sized pieces of metal and organic material dotted the proximity of the ship for it to detect moving Marines. But he didn't so that the Rebels thought he had drifted out and the transmissions were coming from inside the destroyed Sentinel. He hoped his men had the same presence of mind.
They were approaching the shield of one of the Pride's hangars. 565 spread his arms and legs to look like a corpse, and his 8 remaining men followed suite.
"Hey, look at that, Wes," Jens Hanotar said.
Wes Ossik peered through the forcefield at the outside.
"'Ell I'll be damned," Wes said. "Stormtroopers."
"Dead Stormtroopers, old buddy," Jens laughed, adjusting his cursed blast helmet. Why'd he even need a damn helmet on a cruiser, Jens would never know. "Why the hell we need helmets anyfor Wes?"
"I dunno. Case we get boarded or sumthin'."
Wes paused as he turned to stride back to his post. "Hey, are they supposed to be coming towards us like that?"
"They're dead, Wes. They're not supposed to do anything."
"Yeah, I guess. But that one right there. In front, you see? He's got his rifle right at us.
"I don't care how much they look like droids, or even if they are still holding weapons. You can't survive in a vacuum in armor, you dolt." Jens eyes lit up. "Say, if they drift in here, you think the Captain'd let us keep their armor?"
The barrel of the E-11 pushed through the forcefield as Jens finished his thought. Without warning, it discharged into Jens' surprised face.
565 let himself align with the Rebel's stupid, ignorant face. Only a few seconds to live, scum, the Marine captain thought with smug satisfaction. Once the barrel was in, he fired point-blank at the Rebel's face. He switched and blasted the other Rebel before he could even raise his pistol. They dropped to the ground, blasters clattering beside them.
"We're Red-lining, sir!" 362 said. The Marines were almost out of air.
"Everybody, in!"
The nine surviving Marines hit the deck as they were suddenly re-introduced to gravity. 565 made sure that the empty bay was devoid of any more Rebel troopers, then tried to contact the rest of the strike team. Establishing a link to the Dawn and the other Marines would be critical for their survival, and without the signal relay of the HLC, there was no way to contact the ship.
But they could still talk to Marines within 500 meters. "565 to boarding party, does anyone receive?"
There was a surprised voice on the other end of the line. "Sir? Sgt. 322, here. We've bogged down in the landing bay. What happened to the other half of the company?"
"Not your concern Sergeant. Can you link me up to the Dawn?"
"I'll have the CommTech get ri….fuck!" 565 could hear blasterfire in the background. It was answered by the throaty roar of the E-11s. "Yes sir, I'll get right on it. We have 13 casualties, eight KIA, five WIA."
"Carry on trooper."
Sons of a bitch, this was not good. He'd just lost 57 men in a matter of minutes, over 50 casualties. Totally unacceptable. He had to get his men home in one piece.
"Sir. I have Capt. Synal," 322 huffed. He sounded out of breath.
"Put her through trooper." It took only seconds.
"Captain 565? What in the hell is going on over there? We lost contact with the HLC, and one of the Theta pilots radioed you'd been struck by incoming fire."
"Collision, ma'am. Took out the pilots and the Black Storm boys. I had planned to jump out and board an enemy ship, and we lost another man, 354, into space. Enemy noticed us, took out the HLC before we were all out. We managed to board the Pride, but we're on the wrong side of the ship. Our hangar bay is secure, for the time being.
"How many men do you have with you, Captain?" Synal asked, voice low.
"Eight, ma'am."
Captain Melissa Synal was in a fret. Over forty men from her ships compliment, as well as 19 pilots, plus 6 men from the gunnery unit were dead. As well as eight of the highly trained Black Storm commandoes, though that was hardly their fault.
She could send in another Black Storm squad, seeing as the Jedi were an extremely delicate situation, wanted alive and all. The Marines had a tendency to leave very little standing when they were through with a job. But sixteen dead commandoes was a very expensive price for the Empire, and she knew heads would roll already for this shit-brained op.
Synal made her decision. It was hard, but it had to be done.
"Lt. Page? Inform HI-289's squad that they are to report to Hanger bay 3 for immediate departure."
Dev had barely had time to fall asleep when PG-158 burst into their bunk.
"116! Get up! 3rd squad's been killed! We're going in!"
Dev jerked upright. An entire squad, killed by a motley group of ship-board Rebels? Like bloody hell. Dev could only manage a weak "What?"
"Suit up! Seal your suit, and bring along maneuvering jets! 289 wants us in Hangar Bay 3 ten minutes ago."
Dev was already strapping his armor onto his bodysuit. He placed his rifle into its holster and tried to put his shoulder plates on and run at the same time. He was right on 158's heels, trailing the other trooper as the rest of the squad started to accumulate behind Dev. By the time they got there, all six of the squad was behind 158. The reached their Theta flushed. Commander Turke was waiting for them.
"I just want you troopers to know that I personally was with 3rd squad since their Indoctrination Day. Get some." With that, their CO turned heel and retreated to the elevators.
"I love his pep talks," 158 quipped, nudging Dev. "Really gets me psyched."
"Belay the micky mouse," 289 said. "We got Marines to save. But when we get back, you can share that comment with Commander Turke."
158 gulped.
It went against everything in MF-565's book to leave the landing bay. He only had eight Marines. Enough to take a frigate, sure, but this was a cruiser. He'd need another five.
But something was drawing him towards the double pressure doors of the bay. Something…odd. He was wary of Jedi mind tricks, and was concerned this could be one. He hadn't heard from the rest of the boarding party in half an hour, and had tried to contact them with no avail. He feared they were dead, that the Rebels had bleed off their air. Or, if that happened, they might have just left. Unbeknownst to MF-565, the 27 surviving Marines of the party had been captured.
He motioned BD-491 to cover him. Hand signals were much safer at this point. He had to find out what lay beyond those doors, Rebels or not. Jedi or not. The other Marines crouched down behind crates, ready to lay deadly fire into any enemy counter-boarding teams. Just as 565 and 491 reached the doors, a single command echoed through the crouched Marines' heads. Sleep….
The clatter of armor and rifles turned 491 around. 565 heard it too, and they both snapped their rifles up. Something very wrong was going on, and if it was gas, then their NBC filters would have kicked in. 565 suspected filthy Jedi mind tricks.
The door wooshed open as the Marines were turned. A golden shaft of light swung out, slicing 491 in half. In a split second, 565 turned and fired into the owner's hand. The lightsaber dropped to the ground, and a young man in his mid-20s was on his knees, clutching his smoking limb.
565 kicked the lightsaber away, and leveled the E-11 at the traitor. The Jedi threw his hand up.
"Stop!" he said weakly.
A faint voice echoed the same thing in his head. Damnable Jedi. Still, 565 held his fire.
"Put your weapon down."
"I'm going to put my weapon down," 565 echoed. Suddenly, he felt very blissful. The voice seemed to grow stronger, like a gruff old uncle.
"You feel quite tired. You could use a nap"
"I'm feeling pretty beat. I want to take a nap."
"You want to join your comrades. They are also taking a nap."
"How comes they get all the fun? I want a nap to."
"You don't want to hurt me or anyone on this ship. All you want to do is sleep."
"Wrong." 565 put three quick shots into the Jedi before he could react. He keeled over, burnt flesh tainting the air with its foul odor. The day any scum like that thought he was weak-minded and still a Marine captain was the day that said scum was sent home in a body bag. "That was one of my Marines, asshole."
Much as he'd like to set out and find to rest of the Jedi, 565 knew his obligation lay with his men. Leaving knocked out Marines on a Rebel ship was murder, and MF-565 would defend his men till death.
"You sure this is a good idea?" Dev managed. The bouncing and jouncing from the MBC's fire evasion was making his teeth rattle.
"Of course. The Army always has to pull the Marines' asses out of the fire. Think of how much they'll owe us."
"No, 158, I mean the Jedi. They're real hardcore."
"It's time to put them in their place then. I don't see how waving an energy blade around and spouting mystical nonsense compares with a blaster at your side and a vibro in your hand," BV-263 said.
"Okay then. Time o' the month, I reckon. Second question. What sort of 'classified Imp tech' are we looking for?"
"Don't matter," US-426 snorted. "It's probably in a box marked "Galactic Empire Secret Weapon. Do not fuckin' disturb."
"Aptly put, 426," MC-705 said. "But I think the mission is to find the Marines and capture the Jedi, if there's any left onboard that floating hulk."
Another turbolaser flashed by. The MBC's scorched armor was beginning to heat the troop bay uncomfortably.
"Pilot to 289. We've almost cleared their grid of fire. Hangar ETA four seconds."
"GET SOME!" 705 yelled with gusto.
"We're in the bay! Gogogo!"
With a mighty battle cry, the commandoes ran down the ramp, firing their rifles. Red bolts flashed, gorging huge gashes in the deck and bulkheads.
"Cease fire, cease fire!" 289 yelled after a while. The deck was deserted. No Marines. No Rebels. No Jedi. Only a few Reb snubs.
"HI-289 to any allied Imperial forces, come in over." Only static.
"HI-289 of Black Storm Squadron to any Imperial forces, come back. Over."
"Try cycling the frequencies sir," 426 suggested.
On the fourth freq they finally received a reply. "HI-289, this is MF-565 of the Imperial Marines. Sitrep, el-tee.
"We're in a deserted hangar bay, from the looks of it, sir. Where are your Marines?"
"Other side of the ship, 289. I am under heavy attack by Rebel counter-boarding teams. I have them pinned, but am running low on ammunition. Send a reinforcement squad to my location."
"Sir? We're the only ones here."
"What'd you say, trooper? Download it."
"There's no sign of the other Marines, sir. Captain Synal is refusing to send more Marines until she knows what the situation is."
"Damn. Last power pack. HI-289, these are your orders. While the Rebels are busy with my team, you are to proceed with the mission. Do not come looking for us, and do not jeopardize the mission for us. Find the Jedi and the Imp tech. Get back to the Theta and get the hell back to the Dawn. The window is closing, and the Dawn will happily blow the hell out of this ship."
"Yes sir," 289 said reluctantly. He switched to the Team Freq. "705, 116, and 158, find and secure the tech. 426 and 263, with me. We're going Jedi hunting."
"Yes sir!"
Dev, 705, and 158 moved down an eerie corridor. Well lighted, but lacking a human (Or alien) presence. There was no telling where the Rebels might be, but Dev had a strong feeling that they were on the bridge or somewhere close. It was a big ship, and there were many places to hide. And many unseen eyes.
"Three of the Imps are heading towards the cargo hold. The other three are looking for you two," said a Rebel technician at his security station.
"I sense a great deal of hostilities from them, Master,"Tessa Rey said.
"Patience, Padawan. We will be victorious,"Inget Jules said. "Their blasters and training are no match for the Force."
"Of course, Master. It was definitely a good idea to have the crew relocate to the bridge area."
"Indeed. I am, however, concerned about this stormtrooper unit in Bay One. He alone has held off our troops, and the rest of his men are starting to awake. I think that it would be wise if you were to go down and disarm him."
"It will be done, Master,"Tessa vowed.
MF-565 was in some serious shit now. His armor had pretty near been blown apart. He only had one shoulder plate and most of the stuff below his waist. The chest plate had cracked off, and the black body suit now shone through. And now he was down to his pistol and vibro.
A Rebel poked his head through the door and 565 snapped off a shot. The Rebel flew back, face burned off. The charge on the SC-14 read 10. Ten shots and another couple of power packs before going hand to hand with the scum. A flurry of bolts kept the Marines head down. They must have known he was running low on ammo. Well. While they dump power packs into nothing, I believe I'll liberate 284 of his rifle. 565 grabbed his fallen comrade's rifle and waited for the bolts to stop.
"Attention stormtrooper!" a feminine voice boomed. Sounded young. "Drop your weapon and surrender! We will do you or your troops no harm."
Surrender? A Marine? His blue balls. His men began to stir. They were waking. He needed to buy them enough time to regain full consciousness.
"Attention Rebel scum! This is Captain MF-565 of the Imperial Marines! I have you surrounded and outgunned. If you surrender now, I promise you a quick death!" He punctuated his declaration with a concussion grenade.
284 began to rise. 565 restrained him, and a Rebel blaster bolt grazed 284's helmet.
"What's going on sir," the confused Marine asked.
"We're still in the docking bay. Another Storm team has boarded the ship, and Rebel CBs have us pinned. I've had to use most of our power packs. You and 973 have rifle rounds, every else down to side arms. All we need to do is hold on for the rescue team."
"Sounds good sir," KN-973 murmured. He grabbed his rifle without turning from his captain.
Then the unexpected. Their weapons flew from their hands as if by magic. They landed behind the Rebels. The nine Marines were now defenseless, just as the last one awoke.
"Sons of a bitch sir! What do we do now? Fix bayonets?"
"Not a bad idea, son," 565 said rising. He withdrew his fighting knife from its sheath. The wicked 13 inch blade gleamed in the hangars lights. "FOR THE EMPIRE!" 565 screamed as he charged the Rebels.
Three bolts hit him almost simultaneously. He felt his side flame up in the armor's absence. The Marine captain fell, watching the white boots of his men as they rushed past, yelling and screaming battle cries. They were all gunned down except for KN-973. He reached the Rebels and began to stab and slash viciously. Two Rebs collapsed, clutching their necks before 973 was beaten into submission.
565 registered a female voice above him. He groped for his knife, hoping that she didn't wasn't paying attention.
"We've captured the stormtroopers, Master,"Tessa said. The bold one who shot so many Alliance soldiers and killed a Jedi stirred pitifully at Tessa's boots. His helmet was cracked, and it looked up at her. His shaking arm clutched a nasty-looking blade. A soldier leveled his blaster at the man.
"Want me to take him out too, ma'am?" the soldier asked. He couldn't hide the eagerness in his voice.
"No. We'll take him to Master Jules for interrogation,"Tessa said.
"Jackpot!" Dev said. They were in the cargo bay. It was massive, but the stormtroopers quickly enough found a large crate bearing the Imperial crest. "Looks important."
"Whaddya think it is?" 705 asked.
"Who cares. Let's grab it and go," 158 said. "You guys can carry it, being so intrigued about it and all."
Dev holstered his rifle and picked up one end of the crate. 705 grumbled, put grabbed the other end and hoisted it up. Whatever it was, it was very heavy and probably very fragile.
A staccato of bolts launched from the catwalks above the commandos, two striking 158 in the back. A concussion grenade was primed and dropped.
"Cover!" Dev yelled. He grabbed 158 by the arm and dragged him to safety. The grenade exploded behind him, knocking Dev flat on his back. The crate tipped, nearly crushing 705. 705's hastily returned shot missed the Rebel and scorched the bulkhead behind her.
Dev propped 158 so he was sitting up, and checked the trooper to make sure he was still alive.
"Man, you alright?" Dev asked. He didn't want to remove 158's helmet in a firefight, and Dev didn't have a tally scanner to check 158's vitals.
"Yeah," 158 groaned. "Don't waste time with me, get the Rebels."
Dev hobbled over to 705, half crouched. Red blaster bolts, from Rebel DH-17s struck the immediate area around the stormtroopers. A hasty return shot from Dev scorched the arm of one of the Rebels, but so far, no one had been killed.
Something from the tipped Imperial crate caught Dev's eye. It looked like a sub-machine gun, but it had a long, slender stock, and a short bulky barrel. Dev could see solid projectile ammunition inside. He managed to grab the weapon without blowing his arm off, and began to study it.
After a few seconds, he found the safety and toggled to automatic. Dev shouldered the carbine/SMG. It was big, too big for a normal human. Probably had a bitch of a recoil too. Dev swung out, and squeezed the trigger.
He was right. There as a tremendous kick-back from the weapon. Dev fought to control it, trying to keep it straight. Dozens of rounds streaked towards the Rebels. The first Reb's head was blasted apart, painting a nightmarish painting on the ceiling. Within seconds, they were all dead. Dev and 705 were silent for a moment, still absorbing the raw power of the SMG/carbine.
"Well, I've gotta get me one of those," 705 said, whistling. He began to pick up 158 as Dev flipped the crate back over. He made sure it was sealed, and they threw 158 on top of it. 705 hoped they'd be able to make it back to the landing bay without being shot.
MF-565's head was swimming. He couldn't see to well, dark figures obscuring his vision. Finally, after roughly eight minutes, the shapes began to blur together, forming a hazy image of his location.
He appeared to be on a bridge of some kind. Then there was an acute sense of probing, as if his brain was being picked. 565 steeled his mind and focused on irrelevant tid-bits of information to defeat the brain scanner.
You're not being scanned. You want to tell me Imperial shield frequencies.
"I bloody well do not," 565 said outloud.
Of course you do. You've been left for dead. Betrayed by the Empire.
"Never!" 565 whispered fiercely.
They sent your men on a suicide mission. They're all dead. Because of the Empire.
"We knew what we were getting into," 565 said matter-of-factly.
Deep down you knew that no one was coming back. Except for you. You always come back, don't you? Always alone.
"I admit I have a remarkable survival record. I also think we've established your silly tricks don't work, so drop the facade."
This is no trick. This is your conscience telling you what you already know.
"HA! I shot that sumbitch in the face a long time ago."
Think what you will...
"I think that you should QUIT EYEBALLIN' ME!"
The voice didn't answer. Seeing he had momentarily confused the Jedi, 565 went on a murderous mind-rampage, sending out violent, twisted thoughts and memories. The first time he stabbed someone. The first women he killed. The first child. The first maiming, then the next, then the one after that. His Drill Instructor's 'demonstration' of a disrupter.
"He is resilient, Master," Tessa said. She held a cool cloth to her Master's head. The Pride rocked with missile and turbolaser fire. Return fire and counterbattery made dull thumps on the bridge.
"Ma'am! Incoming missiles!" The Ops officer shrieked. His fish-like eyes swivelled rapidly as the Mon Cal tried to vaporize the incoming missiles.
"The fleet is almost completely destroyed, ma'am! We're sounding a general retreat into hyperspace," the Comm officer announced. His face was torn by shrapnel from exploding instrument panels.
"Slave us to the rest of the Fleet," Jules said faintly.
"Aye aye. Making compu–," the helmsman was cut off as a blue rings enveloped him. Stun shots. More rings discharged before Tessa could bring her lightsaber up. Within mere seconds, two stormtroopers had disabled two Jedi and the bridge crew of an MC-80.
"423 to 289, we found the last Marine. Bridge incapacitated, as are the Jedi. Should we bring any prisoners?"
"That's a negative, 423. We've only got so much space. Grab the Jedi and the Marine and head back to ship. You have 90 seconds."
423 traded looks (to a limited extent. When everyone around you wears the same, identical helmet, trading looks is tough) with 263 but they began to awkwardly haul the three people to the hanger bay. The didn't need to worry about crew interference anymore.
HI-289 let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. The were out of time, and just as they were about to dust off, two crazy troopers in death black armor dragging three people with them hobbled their way onto the MBC.
The packed in and roared out of the hangar. The pilots barely managed to avoid friendly Imperial fire that battered the MC-80. Long gashes began to appear in the Pride's hull. The other ships were allowed to leave, as the cruiser currently held more priority.
MF-565 rolled his bruised head over to look to see which of his Marines lined the narrow floor space and was pleased to see that KN-973 and Sgt. SM-322 were beaten but alive. The captain was saddened and angered that he only had 21 of his 94 man company left, however.
"Captain Synal, the rescue party reports that all mission objectives have been satisfied. All the surviving Marines have been recovered, and the dead have been detonated."
"Is the Captain alright?" Synal asked, injecting more concern than she meant to into her question. She tried to cover it up. "I need to see his mission de-briefing and any armor tallies that they managed to recover."
"Yes ma'am," Lt. Page responded. "Captain MF-565 is alive, but in need of medical attention."
"Excellent. Send a transmission to the Fist, and tell them that we have recovered the 'Sensitive Imperial Cargo.'"
"Right away, Captain," Lt. Page whistled happily.
Colonial Blott raced through the Imperial High Command in a 'manner unbefitting of a commissioned officer of the Imperial Army', but the piece of flimsi he had in his hand contained a very important message. Col. Blott reached his destination and buzzed the quarters.
"Come," a deep, commanding voice said.
"General Mohc, sir," Blott huffed. "I have a report from the Iron Fist. Project 'Dark Trooper' materials have been recovered from a Rebel fleet at Dathomir."
"Excellent. I had complete faith in the 354th Commando."
"Sir, one of the troopers assigned to the 354th also used one of the prototypes in combat."
"And?" Mohc asked. His interest was peaked.
"Successful sir. Said trooper, TX-116/4593, used a prototype to take out an entire Rebel squad in seconds."
"Really? The weapons preform even better than expected then?"
"Yes, General," Blott said.
"You are dismissed, Col. Blott."
"Yes, General."
"So, Pvt. 116," Captain said. They were in her ready room, Dev in his service uniform, with HI-289 and a Marine guard looking on. "I understand that you rescued your comrade PG-158, and used an experimental weapon to take down the Rebel force that pinned your team down, then managed to get him and all the Imperial equipment off the ship?
"Yes ma'am. What any trooper would have done."
"Excellent. El-tee, I believe your trooper has shone leadership qualities. Make him a corporal. I'll have the paperwork ready in the morning."
"Aye, Captain," 289 said. "I think he fits the bill just fine."
Dev nearly burst out of his seems. He was being promoted! And he would be able to order 705 and 158 around! The boys would flip when they found out about this.
"Splendid. Take a break, men. I have a feeling the next mission is going to be a lot tougher. Dismissed. You too, 541."
When the troopers had left, Melissa Synal let her smile drop off and die. She had a lot of KIA forms to go through, too many. Synal picked up her stylus and began filling out those, and the forms that Vader would see detailing the two captured Jedi. The Dark Lord always liked new targets for lightsaber practice.