Stormtrooper Part IV- ISO: In Search Of (the Death Star plans)
Okay, I know that this, like the other chapters, has a sucky title. To be honest with you all, I really didn't want to do this chapter. I hate it almost as much as I hated writing Ch.2. But I needed to move the plot along, yadda yadda yadda.
Dedicated to Frank J. Hanszeck, 19 March 1924-----19 July 2006
Seven months have passed since the Dathomir Raid. Corporal TX-116 has been reassigned with his squad from Black Storm to the IMPERIAL SABOTAGE/ESPIONAGE CORPS (ISEC). Following the decimation of the Imperial base at Danuta, and the theft of plans detailing the Empire's latest superweapon, the DEATH STAR, the ISEC is sending out teams of agents to sniff out and destroy Rebel bases, both local and Outer Rim outposts, but their primary objective is the recovery of the plans before the Rebel Fleet can obtain them. The plans have been traced to Imperial deserter KYLE KATARN. With time running out, Katarn must be found before he can reach the Rebel outpost on Polis Massa. Unbeknownst to the men and women of 1st Squad, Company K, 354th Commando, the fate of the galaxy is in their hands...
Dear Dev
I suppose this is kind of a surprise, me writing to you and all. I had a hell of a time finding out where you were, but I had daddy pull some strings. Things have carried on, and everyone's forgotten about the sniper. Everyone except me. It got me thinking: What have I done so far with my life? I mean, I'm basically a pampered princess. I've always had everything handed to me. I need to do something important with my life before I die. So guess what? I enlisted! That's right. You're looking at the Imperial Navy's next ace. You'll never believe this, but I somehow managed to pass all the entrance exams and reaction tests for flight school. I'm gonna be a fighter pilot! As you're reading this, I'm already at Cardia, working to be the best I can be. I know, sounds like typical government crap, but I think I've actually come along way, as far as maturing and taking care of myself. I can't wait to get assigned, and if I play my cards right, we might just 'happen' to end up serving on the same ship. Feel free to write or vid me anytime, unless I'm busy with these gorgeous hunks of cadets. Just kidding!
--Jan
PS: They told me what the joke was behind 6,500 credits. That wasn't funny.
116 rubbed his temples. So much for secrecy. If a 20-something civilian could find out where a Priority One Black-Ops mission was, then they might as well pack up and shove off. This incoming transmission could have already jeopardized the mission. Oh, was 289 going to give him an earful. 116 saved the letter to a memstick and deleted the message. He could respond when they finished the mission.
MC-705 stuck his head in the door of the civilian quarters that had been used as a staging area up until now. "Briefing in four, Corporal. 289 wants to make sure we all know the op-ord for this job. And he wants to know why you've been getting love letters from your girlfriend when we are in the middle of launching the most important raid in the history of the Empire."
"She's not my girlfriend, 705. For that, smart-ass, extra duty, one week. I want those 'freshers so clean that Lord Vader would eat off them. Got it? Garrison duty's gonna be fun, neh?"
"You lousy little prick! After all we've been through!"
116 just tapped his arm where the chevrons would have been and smiled.
"Of course. As ordered, Corporal," 705 said sarcastically.
"Any day now," Sgt. Maj. BV-263 said from the other room. She had looked most...unpleasant at the thought of mixing in with the Rebels, even if it was only for a few days.
116, 705, and 263 joined the other members of their shortened squad. PG-158, who had gradually come to accept 116 into the squad, had become bitter again when 093's replacement turned out to be a short, stocky kid fresh out of the academy. 116 tried to remind himself that a mere eight months ago he'd been in 719's boots, but he did have four missions under his belt.
The rest of the commando squad consisted of US-426, a jack-of-all-trades kind of man who was an expert in hand to hand combat, and HI-289, their CO. Their ranks were inconsistent with their positions, i.e. a lieutenant leading a squad, and a sergeant major in said squad, but being a commando had it's privileges.
"Okay, first off, no more love letters, or any other transmissions to be sent during the course of this op. 116." 116 grinned sheepishly, but didn't bother correcting the el-tee. It didn't make a difference.
"As you all know, ex-lieutenant Kyle Katarn raided the top-secret Imperial outpost on Danuta. We're not sure how, but he infiltrated the base via the elevator shaft, and proceeded to slaughter the entire base. Over 60 Imperials were killed. He then stole the plans for the Emperor's latest superweapon. The Death Star."
"Sir, I've never heard of any...death star," FH-719 called from the back.
"Who said you would, New Guy?" 426 snorted. "It's common knowledge to those of us who actually earned the Black Bolt (the Black Storm unit patch)."
"Can it, 426. He obviously earned it if Turke put him with us. And we're not Bravo-Sierra's anymore. As I was saying...right then. Katarn fled Danuta with the technical readouts of the Death Star, before stopping off here, at Eriadu, right under the Empire's nose."
"It is of the upmost importance that this succeeds. If the Rebels have themselves these readouts, they will undoubtably find a way to exploit it. You've seen what those clever little bastards can do when given even half a chance. Our mission is to infiltrate their base, gain their trust, locate Katarn and his ship and recapture the plans, 'deal' with Katarn, signal the ISD Fallen for extraction, which will then bombard the planet from orbit."
"This operation will be executed five-fold. First, two of you will accompany me to a pre-determined rendezvous point, where we will meet with elements of the Rebel underground. If all goes well, one of my accomplices will return and get the rest of you. We will then proceed to the Rebel base, and attempt to discreetly discover the location of Katarn's ship, the Moldy Crow. Afterwards, we will exfil with all precautions...705...and leave the planet via a loyalist Imperial freighter crew."
"What guise will we be operating under, suh?" 719 queried from the back of the room.
"So glad that someone is paying attention. We will be arms smugglers, looking to sell a shipment of stolen Imperial weaponry," 289 punctuated his point by lifting a crate of Imperial T-21 LRBs (Light Repeating Blasters). "Don't worry, they're fitted with tracers. I don't care how ingenious the little buggers can seem, they're always in a hurry to distribute any acquired weaponry."
"This brings me to my next point. Imp HighCom had decided that we will no longer give the Rebellion 'half a chance.' Effective immediately, the Tarkin Doctrine will become the Empire's official Rebel protocols. That means no prisoners unless ordered. That also means that we have to plant a beacon inside the Rebels' base. Which, in turn, means that our life expectancy has dropped to nigh-zero. Look, this needs to be by the numbers, strictly business, or no one goes home. We have only have a window of...41 Standard hours and 47 minutes. Questions?"
705 raised his hand. 289 sighed, but called on him anyway.
"How the good bloody hell do I get out of this outfit? Is there a form I need to sign?"
"Any questions about the briefing?" 289 asked, shaking his head.
"Sir, won't the Tarkin Doctrine incite a more anti-Empire sentiment among the protesting civilian populace? Especially if we execute prisoners?" 116 asked.
"Any questions relating to the damn mission?"
"Yeah. Why is did HighCom send us this chickenshit recruit if we have Priority One situation?" 426 asked.
"That 'chickenshit recruit' was the top of his class in Infiltration and Sabotage, Sergeant."
"Oh, well excuse me. If I'm not mistaken, wasn't 116 top of his Marksmen class? Took him...what 705, four, five rounds to put down that Togorian on Ambria?"
"Five. Five rounds to ice an overgrown cat," 705 nodded.
"Oh, give me a break. That bastard had a personal shield and you know it."
"I'll tell you what I know, Cpl. 116. You should definitely notleave a picture of such a beautiful young woman lying around when you share a bunk with me," 426 laughed, procuring a picture of Jan from somewhere in his civilian tunic.
"Where did you get that?" 116 asked angrily, making a lunge at 426. "Keep away from the Rookie!" he shouted, zinging the picture towards 158.
"Aw, dammit! Looking good, 116. She got any sisters?" 158 asked before tossing it at 705.
"It came with the letter, mate. You should really watch your mail," 705 said, just before 116 tackled him and wrestled the picture away from his him.
"NEK PILE!" 158 and 426 called, and dived onto the two struggling commandoes. The four of them wrestled and fought each other, acting more like a pack of rabid six-year-olds than a team of highly trained, lethal killing machines.
"You see? You see? You see what I have to put up with EVERY DAY, sir? This is why I requested a transfer. Those four." She shook her head. "Come on, New Guy. It would appear that you and I are the only ones left sane enough in this room to accompany the el-tee. Hopefully, they won't screw anything up and get us all horribly maimed/killed. But I doubt that. Actually, wait. 116!"
The trooper jumped up and mock saluted. "YES MA'AM!"
"You're coming with us."
"I am?" 116 asked. He'd been hoping to spend the day taking 158's money at sabacc.
"He is?" 289 echoed. 116 was a sharpshooter, a soldier. Someone that killed for a living. In other words, he wasn't cut out for sneaking around.
"Just a precaution sir."
"Fine," 289 said. He dug into a suitcase, pulling out three wigs and distributing them to the team. "They have a 30-hour adhesive. Make sure they get on strait. We've only got one shot at this."
A Rebel agent informed Brett Spinner the moment the three arms smugglers had reached the meeting point. He eyed them as he approached, feeling slightly secure that their were over a dozen Rebels armed with blasters and clubs in case the three turned out to be Imperial spies. They looked normal enough, three humans, one female, two males. The female had long black hair, while both the males wore theirs short, but not short enough to be mistaken for troops on leave.
Brett closed with them, and almost nonchalantly said "I hear Kashyyk is lovely this time of year."
"That it is stranger. But you should watch out for the web-weavers."
Then these three were the contacts after all. If Brett played the cards right, a large number of military-grade Imperial weaponry would fall into his hands. This little transaction would be all the Eriadu Rebels would need to start their overthrow of the Imperial garrison.
The man who had spoken extended his hand. Brett found it a little unnerving that the man didn't seem to blink. At all. Nor did his two buddies.
"Do you mind if we take this somewhere a little more private?"
"Sure. Where did you have in mind?"
"Follow me," Brett said, gesturing towards a pub at the end of the street. The three strange smugglers unquestioningly followed Brett. They walked for about 15 minutes, not talking, moving anything but their legs and eyes, and not blinking. That's what drove Brett crazy.
"So," he said when the odd little posse had a table. "What are you selling Mr., uh...?"
"Fuller. Haden Fuller. And this is Jack Raek and Danni Leth. What are you interested in?"
"Weapons."
"What kind of weapons is the good sir looking for?" Fuller pressed.
"The Imperial kind. Heavy duty."
"Ah. And there it is. I can get Imp firepower. My only concern is, to be frank, what you intend to do with this."
"What the customer does with his merchandise is hardly the concern of the seller," Brett countered.
"When innocent people could get hurt the seller makes it his business," 'Haden' said. There was some truth in that; he didn't want to be responsible for supplying Rebels with weapons so they could kill Loyalist Imperials.
Brett nodded, thinking 289 was talking about civilians. He motioned for 289 to lean in close. "Okay, I guess you're on the level. We're going to stage an uprising. And we almost have enough supplies to do it. We just need some heavy infantry weapons to support the ground troops."
289 was stunned. There were no reports of a large enough Rebel cell to attack the garrison. He would have to play this just the right way.
"Uprising?"
"Yeah. Why, you support the Empire, or something?" At this, several disgruntled non-humans began to draw in to the table."
"I don't owe the Empire any favors, no. I'm just worried about collateral damage."
"We're going to attack the garrison itself. Just the barracks and the HQ."
289 laughed. Even Outer Rim outposts had at least two A-5V Juggernauts. That, coupled with whatever air defenses and ground emplacements, would make quick work of a group of half-assed rioting civilians.
"You're a bold one, Reb. But no one can be crazy enough to take on an entire stormtrooper division and live to tell the tale. Not with untrained troops and a few repeaters."
"You'd be surprised," Brett said mysteriously. 263's eyes narrowed at that.
"Would I now? We'll see. On to business. I have four crates of T-21 repeating blasters, with about 1500 shots apiece, for starters."
"You're joking," Brett said as his jaw dropped. "We're also in the need for some anti-material weapons and long-range guns."
"We have you covered. 10 PLX-2M missile tubes, a case of E-11S sniper rifles, and since I like you, I'll even throw in a dozen flame projectors, free of charge."
"By the Force, where did you get 10 Plex's?" Brett whispered. "Never mind that. What's this going to cost us?"
"Well, let's see. 5,000 credits for each T-21, so that's 10,000, and I'll include the backpack generators, but you'll get no more ammunition for them. The rocket tubes'll cost ya 4,600 per tube, and 25 per rocket. 12,000 for the rifles, and I'll give you a starter set of 48 rounds per rifle. How many tubes will you be purchasing?"
"Um, hold on." Brett spoke briefly into a wrist comm-link, probably to figure out his fund situation.
"We'll take four tubes and ten rockets, Mr. Fuller."
"Please, call me Haden. Okay, four tubes. All in all, this will run you...what will it run him, Danni?"
"41,400 credits, Haden," 263 said. She was glaring at a Amanin, and 289 could tell she was resisting the urge to fight with it.
"A bargain, I say!" 289 exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Pretty cheap for the kind of ordinance we're giving you."
"Why so cheap?" asked a female Twi'lek standing behind Brett.
289 looked from Brett to the Twi'lek and back, brainstorming reasonable excuses.
"They're hot. An Imp hunter/killer team is on our tail, and if we don't dump these weapons and get out of here in 20 hours, they'll find us and we'll rot in Kessel."
"Uh-huh," the Twi'lek said skeptically. She reached in her pocket for something. FH-719 jumped out of his chair and shoved 289 behind him, drawing a small palmgun from his tunic.
"Drop your weapon!" he commanded.
The Twi'lek's eyes widened as the tiny blaster leveled with her head. She threw her hands up, dropping a small data pad, no doubt what they were going to use to make the transaction.
"SIT DOWN, DAMMIT!" 289 roared. 719 looked at the pad, then realized that he had almost blown their cover and the mission. He apologized quickly, than sat down.
"I am sorry about that," 289 said to Brett. "Jack is my bodyguard."
"Really? This is mine, Lor Rebo," Brett said, gesturing towards the Twi'lek. "And this, is the rest of my small guard."
The entire rest of the bar turned towards the three stormtroopers, drawing various weapons. 289 smiled, strange for a man about to face over 20 sentients with a hold-out pistol, and snapped his fingers. Instantly, Brett's mug shattered.
"What the Force?" he gaped.
"Xerrol Nightstinger. Silent. Invisible. Lethal," 289 grinned. "So. Have the groupies take it easy. Do we have a deal?"
"E-everyone, chill out. Yea. Yea. Sure. Deal. Be in Industrial Zone A3-I6, warehouse 24 in six hours Standard. We'll have the money," Brett said, and got up to leave. Lor and two more Rebels followed him.
"Find everything you can on Haden Fuller, Danni Leth, and Jack Raek," he whispered to Lor. She nodded and began tapping away on her tiny pad.
Back in the bar, 289 made a mental note to check into 719's espionage grade, and to berret the private for rash behavior when the got back to the apartment.
"Go back, and get the rest of the team," 289 tapped out in Imperial Tap Code.
719 nodded, and left the bar.
"Danni, take Dev and see if you can't find this place. Radio me when you do. Then set him up in the clouds," he whispered, meaning for her to find him a good vantage point to snipe.
"Aye, as ordered."
"Okay Commander Spinner, I finally found some information on those three arms dealers. There wasn't much. First off, Fuller was telling the truth. The exact list of armaments, as well as a few others, were stolen off of an Imperial base on Kile II."
"Okay, proceed," Brett said.
"This is interesting, sir. Haden Fuller and Danni Leth were stormtroopers with the 90th Imperial Legion. They were apparently dishonorably discharged when they were discovered being involved in a Ryll smuggling ring. That was two years ago."
"Stormtroopers? Are you kidding me?"
"No sir. I couldn't find anything on a 'Jack Raek', though it's possible that he's a relative of one of those two. Fuller was nominated for Royal Guard training, but the smuggling blew his chances. Both are known xenophobes, and in my opinion sir, Leth is a homicidal sociopath."
"Hmm. Sounds like typical Imperial brainwashing. Might explain their odd behavior. Anything else?"
"No, Commander. Nothing else."
"Alright. Beef up security forces in the warehouse, and especially on Katarn's ship. I don't want to take any chances."
"Excuse me, Sergeant, but Lt. 289 has sent me to retrieve you and the weaponry to be delivered to Industrial Zone A3-I6," 719 said.
"HUA, Private. Start up the truck," 426 responded, reverting back into his role as senior NCO. "158, 705 start loading. I want the Mike Tangos in the back, followed by the T-21's and the rifles. Flame projectors first, but make sure they are well protected." He looked 705 straight in the eyes.
"WELL. Protected. Got it?"
"Yes sir, right away sir, I'm on it sir, is that all sir?" 705 said at pseudo-attention.
"Good. Now, quit foolin' around and act like a goddamn soldier!"
"Right away, Sergeant."
705 and 158 began to heft the crates and carry them out to the repulsor truck. They had a difficult time, as the apartment the ISEC team was staying in was 20 stories off the ground.
"You know something, 158?" 705 asked.
"No. What's that, oh-five?" 158 grunted as he strained to back down the stairs.
"I think that every non-com in this army has it out for us."
"Huh," 158 said. He'd been listening to 705's crackpot theories since he'd made the mistake to go infantry. "And why is that?"
"Well, my good mate in eternal delinquency, just look at this. We are carrying these very heavy crates down 200 feet, to be loaded into a truck, which we will have to ride in the back of, with explosives. Said heavy crates will just be delivered–" he paused as they turned around, and he began to go backwards.
"–to a Rebel cell, to be used in various anti-Empire protests and attacks. By order of 426, albeit indirectly."
"Uh-huh."
"Not only that, my forlorn and downcast friend. Ever since 426 got a hard on for the Sergeant Major, she's been like a hormone-enhanced, PMS suffering, agitated rancor, trying to repulse him. And hell hath no fury like an angry Sgt. Maj."
"True that," 158 agreed.
"I wonder if our intrepid Sergeant will sweep the good lass of her feet and into the sunset?"
"I can't imagine what that would be like. It's almost scary to think about."
"Yeah. Might do him good though. He seems to have mellowed some from being in her proximity. Anyway, now that 116 has his two stripes, the little shit's ego has swollen ten-fold."
"I reckon."
"And do you remember Staff Sergeant 172?"
"Who? The drill instructor?"
"The very same, compadre."
"Well, that's his job."
"I guess," 705 said, trying shaking some sweat off. "Hey, we're almost there!"
"So what were you two happy assholes talking about, drill instructors?" 426 said when they finally reached the bottom. His arms were folded over his chest, and he looked angry.
"How did you get down here so fast?" 705 demanded as he shoved the crate in the back of the truck.
"You mean, how did I beat two idiots who were carrying a heavy box chock-full of repeating blasters to the bottom of a 20-story building? I used the turbolift, you half-witted retard. You know they have a cargo tubolift in the back, right?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I meant," 705 said. 158 slapped him in the back of the head.
"WE HAVE A SCHEDULE TO KEEP, PRIVATE! NOW HOP TO IT, BEFORE I RIP YOUR NOSE OFF, AND GLUE IT TO YOUR ASSHOLE!" 426 roared.
705 hung his head, while 158 patted him on the shoulder. "You knew it was too good to last."
"Aye. Here's the 426 we all know and despise," he pouted as they walked to the turbolift to get more heavy crates. "It's the separation that's done it," he added.
Even with the four of them working, it took over 40 minutes to load the truck with their contraband weapons. When the last crate of flame projectors was placed in the back of the truck, the soldiers took a moment to respite.
"Well, if 719 has given us the correct information, and plotted us a correct course, we would arrive at the RV in two hours. I reckon we've got about three hours and some 15 minutes to get there. So what are we going to do for the next hour or so?"
"We could desert," 705 opted hopefully.
"Belay that stupidity, seven-oh-five."
"Anyone up for a game odds and evens? Winner buys drinks next time we're on leave," 158 suggested.
"These some messed up terms," 705 said, and then in his best holo-star impersonation he slapped 719 on the chest and said, "Whaddya say, Slim Johnny? You in? Or ya sleepin' with the aiwahs tonight?"
"I'm all in, boss," he said, also in a pretty good gangster voice.
426 laughed. "Boy's got a sense of humor. Alright, we'll do best four outta five, me and 705, 158 and Slim here."
"Alright, bring it on!"
Three hours and seventeen minutes later, outside Warehouse 24
263 tapped her foot impatiently, arms crossed, with her trademark scowl plastered on her face.
"It's been two damn minutes already? Where the hell is he? Can't Rebels read a damn chrono?" she snarled
"Chill out, 'Danni', he said they'd show, they'll show," 289 said.
"Yea, 'Danni'," 705 teased, feeling safe in the cab of the truck. Rarely did a stormtrooper tell another their real name. It was almost a mark of shame, as it meant you had turned in your armor and service number, and retired, or were dishonorably discharged.
"Shut up. You know as well as I do that you can't trust...those people," she finished somewhat awkwardly.
"Don't start this with me, 263, not now."
"S'that an order, sir?"
"Don't push it."
The warehouse's shutter lifted open, reveling Brett and his Twi'lek lacky, Lor.
"Ah, Haden! Welcome to our humble storage. You're just in time, as the attack is about to be launched.
289's brow betrayed a moment of anger, before his training took over.
"Yes, good then. We have the goods. You got the green?"
"Uh-huh. Come inside. Lor, please direct the men in the truck where to park."
"Sir. Follow me, please."
Inside the cab, 158 traded looks with 705.
"Twi'leks. Sweet."
"Riiiiiight," agreed 705 already lost in fantasy.
"Follow me, Haden," Brett said. The shutter ominously closed behind them.
"Dammit! Sir, I've got no shot," 116 reported over the tiny flesh colored comm-link in 289's ear. 289 clicked his comm-link twice, signaling 116 to do whatever he thought necessary should the mission spiral out of control.
"It's a bit dark in here, if you don't mind me saying so, Mr. Spinner," 426 said. His body was tensed, ready to lash out with a crippling blow.
"Oh, how silly of me. Lights!" Brett snapped. Florescent lighting slowly flickered on.
"Mon Mothma biting Vader's hairy ballsack," 426 said in awe.
"How aptly put."
Forming ranks and rows were dozens of vehicles, ranging from speeder bikes, to surplus AT-RTs, a few AT-PTs, and even four AT-TEs, towering over everything else. Rebels of every size, gender, and species scrambled about, rushing into and out of a tunnel that most likely led deep under ground. Technicians preformed last minute checks and maintenance, and Rebel troops loaded weapons and boarded the AT-TEs. With over eighty troops participating in the assault, and the AT-TEs, the garrison wouldn't stand a chance.
"Where in the...how the...just how the hell did you come by all of this equipment? Especially the AT-TEs?" 289 demanded after he keyed open his mike.
"The Empire is none to popular with most of the worlds it oppresses. We get scraps, here and there. Some, bigger than others.
"Let me guess. You have a star ship hidden in here to, somewhere?"
"It's refueling for the attack. Should be done in about half an hour."
Every stormtrooper present gulped. Intel had been wrong. Katarn was set to leave in 30 or 40 minutes, and they hadn't even finished offloading the truck.
"That's...that's impressive," 289 said.
"The Imps won't know what hit them. Others will see our example, and soon the entire galaxy will revolt, one, two planets at a time. Then more. Dozens!. The Empire will fall, and everyone will know the name of Brett Spinner!"
"We have offloaded the shipment of arms and are distributing them sir," Lor said to Brett on a private comm-link channel.
"Good. You may leave when ready, Mr. Fuller," Brett said, addressing the team of 'smugglers'.
289 didn't have time to respond. A volley of cannon fire from a TIE fighter blew gaping holes in the roof of the behemoth warehouse. This was followed up by another volley, this time some penetrating the interior of the Rebel's staging area, killing six.
"What the hell is going on? How did they find out!" Brett yelled. Then it hit. Arms dealers appearing when they needed them. Ex-stormtroopers. ISEC units striking Rebel outposts. 'Danni's' behavior.
"You..." Brett said maliciously, turning.
"Me," 289 admitted, firing his hold-out into Brett's face. The delusional Rebel dropped like a sack of perma-crete.
"705, get the Twi'lek! We need to find Katarn's ship now!" 289 yelled. His men had also drawn tiny pistols, and where firing at the confused Rebels. The garrison's A-5 Juggernaut rolled up and smashed through one of the warehouse's walls. Stormtroopers poured out, and a massive firefight began. Blaster bolts indiscriminately hit troopers and Rebels alike.
"She won't talk sir," 158 came back over the comm-link.
"Kill her! And start up the truck, we need to get out of here!"
"Sir! A hangar door is opening, three blocks down! It's gotta be Katarn!
426 looked at 289 and said, "I'm on it, el-tee."
"Go. The rest of you! Fall back to the struck," 289 ordered, scooping up a fallen rifle. A-280. Old rifle, but reliable. Fired from a 50-shot detachable power pack. 719 did the same, but took a blaster round in the chest.
"Shit! Man down," 263 hissed, grabbing 719, and hoisting him over her shoulders. "His breathing's ragged sir, might not make it."
"Just. Keep. Running," 289 huffed as they bolted for the truck, firing every so often at the Rebels.
They reached the truck and clambered in the back. 705 heard them get in and floored it in reverse.
One of the Rebels got lucky, and made it into one of the AT-TEs' 240mm projectile cannons. He swivelled the turret and fired. The round struck the Juggernaut dead on, destroying it and killing a squad of stormtroopers who were using it for cover. He turned to blow up the infiltrators truck, but they shot out of the warehouse and made for Katarn's hangar.
Meanwhile (after spotting the opening hangar doors.)
116 wasted no time. He pulled from his belt a small grappling hook, and repelled down the building he was on top of. A repulsor-taxi screeched to a halt as he landed right in front of it.
"SIR! IMPERIAL STORMTROOPER! I AM COMMANDEERING YOUR VEHICLE!" 116 ordered in a commanding tone. He drew his sidearm, a standard SC-14.
The driver moved to the passenger seat, hands up and sweating. His fare, an elderly Umbaran couple, were shaking and wailing in the back. Once inside, 116 gunned the little transport as fast as it would go, racing for the hangar.
"A-a-a-are you really a stormtrooper?" the driver asked.
"Yes."
The cab raced across the streets, finally reaching the front of the hangar. 426 was there to meet him.
"How'd you get here so fast?" 116 asked, tossing 426 his pistol.
"Stole a swoop bike off some kid. IMPERIAL STORMTROOPERS! OPEN THE DOOR!"
No one answered. "Blast it," 426 ordered
116 discharged the rifle directly into the door's lock panel, overloading it. They charged in the door, 116 going high, 426 low.
They arrived just in time. To see Katarn's ship, the Moldy Crow, begin to rise to take off. 116 snapped off a futile shot at the cockpit, but the durasteel window only bubbled and blackened. Katarn's co-pilot, a human woman, looked out the cockpit at the two troopers, but diverted her attention to the control panel. A repeating blaster underslung on the Crow turned to fire at the troopers, forcing them to dive for cover while the ship roared off into night sky.
"We're dead," 116 said, dropping the rifle.
426 could only nod. They, out of all the commando squads in the Imperial Army, had been chosen to capture Katarn. And they failed.
"One-one-six, we are coming up on your position fast. Get ready to board the truck on the fly," 263's voice crackled on the comm-link.
"Roger," they said in unison. True enough, the truck came barreling down the street, with 158 leaning out the passenger side, and 289 in the back, firing single rifle shots. Six Rebels on speeder bikes were pursing the truck. They didn't overtake the truck, instead choosing to fire their cannons periodically. 116 made a running dive for the rear, grabbing a handhold and pulling himself onto the bed of the truck. 263 pulled 426 in right after, narrowly avoiding a bolt. 116 and 426 collapsed, defeated.
"Where's the plans?" 263 asked. Neither of them answered.
"You got the plans and killed Katarn, right? Tell me you got the plans!"
"He...he...you know? He got away," 116 said, unmoving. Until a blaster bolt whizzed past his head.
"He did WHAT!" 263 screamed. She grabbed 116 by the neck and started shaking him violently, oblivious to the pursing Rebels.
"Ha! Got one!" 158 said. The man-less bike swerved and crashed into a jogger.
"You didn't get the plans? What the fuck happened, Sergeant? What the FUCK happened?" 289 asked in uncharacteristic anger.
"The Rebels must have tipped them off, el-tee. He was already set to go."
"Oh! Oh! Oh, I'm sure the jury will see it that way. If we aren't executed on sight, we'll spend the rest of our lives rotting on Kessel, or Dathomir."
"Jury, sir?" 719 wheezed.
"At the court martial, you fools!"
"Sir, we'll be at the launch pad in 36 minutes if all goes well," 705 bellowed over the whine of blasterfire.
"You two," 289 pointed at 116 and 426. "You just sit over there in the back." He took careful aim, and blasted another Rebel. "Just. Sit there."
"Man, can't this tub go any faster," 158 said to 705.
"Shut up. I'm going as fast as I can."
"That's not fast en—Ah!" he hissed. A blaster bolt had grazed his arm, and he dropped the rifle. "Not again, dammit," he whined.
"What?" 705 asked, not taking his eyes from the road.
"I got shot."
"Again?"
"Yeah."
"How are you still alive? You've been shot five times, all non-lethal. And there was that grenade on Dantooine."
"Not sure. Hey, watch out for that kid!" 158 said in alarm.
Up ahead, a human male, about eight years old, froze in the street like a deer in the headlights. There was no room and no time.
"Aw shit! Sorry, kid," 705 winced.
The truck bounced on it's repulsors and blood splattered on the windshield.
"Oh God in Heaven, you ran over a child," 158 exclaimed.
"Shit man, what was I supposed to do? These streets ain't build for maneuvering, and if I stopped, well, we ain't wearing armor, are we?" 705 looked in the rear view mirror. "Hey, look. The Rebels are peeling off."
"Don't change the subject, 705," 158 warned.
"No, they are, for real."
"Well, at least we caught one break."
"Fifty-eight, you know there was nothing–," 705 began, but 158 cut him off.
"Yeah. I guess there wasn't."
One day later, Imperial Star Destroyer Fallen
"2nd Lieutenant HI-289, Imperial Sabotage and Espionage, you were in command of this raid, yes?" Capt. Blackwell inquired.
"Yes sir." All the former Black Storm troopers stood at attention, with the exception of FN-719 who was allowed to be in a hover-chair.
"Your report states that you were on schedule, when you came about information leading you to believe Katarn was ready to leave sooner than expected."
"Correct, sir. I believe that it was the presence of the garrison that spooked the Rebels into lifting off early."
"Let's go to that. You say that neither you nor anyone in your party contacted the 69th Division?"
"No sir."
"Untrue, sir," 116 said, stepping forward. "I contacted the garrison via my comm-link when I learned that the Rebel cell had enough men and matérial to overthrow the Imperial forces. I did not inform anyone of my actions prior to this hearing."
"So Corporal, you take full responsibility for the loss of an A-5 Juggernaut and crew, 203 stormtroopers, and the destruction of an Eriadu building?"
"I do sir, knowing full well the implications of my actions."
"And what are those actions, trooper?" growled Blackwell.
"That had I not informed the garrison, there is a very real possibility that they would have been overrun, in which case we would be looking at the loss of 10 A-5s, three TIE wings, and over 10,000 men, eventually. This might have started a slow domino effect, which would have resulted in a massive civil war."
"Has it occurred to you Corporal, that the destruction of a multi-billion credit battlestation would do the same? HAS IT?"
"With all due respect to Capt. Blackwell, I think that the right now is more important than the maybe later. It is this trooper's belief that the Rebels could not possibly find a way to destroy such a heavily armed and armored weapon from the exterior. Nor could they destroy it from the inside."
Captain Blackwell glared at 116 for a moment, then resigned to his desk. "If this had been up to me, I'd have the lot of you sent off Kessel. Unfortunately, Grand Moff Tarkin feels precisely as you do, General Mohc has taken a shining to you, Corporal, and Lt. Colonel JM-391 is under the impression that you saved his legion from taking serious casualties. Gen. Mohc requested that you be reassigned to a regular infantry unit. As of this moment, you are all assigned to the 385th Imperial Legion, Sublegion D, 3nd Battalion, India Company. Unfortunately, the Battalion's billet for a Sergeant Major is filled, so you are hereby demoted to Staff Sergeant. Dismissed. Except you, Lieutenant. I'd like to have a word with you in private."
The squad shuffled out the door with the exception of 289. From there, a squad of Marines escorted them to their bunks, guarded by more Marines. 719 was taken back to sickbay. As soon as the door shut and locked, 263 went into a vicious cycle of cursing and kicking.
"All in all, I think we got off light," 116 said sullenly.
426 snorted, eyeing the locked door. "Are you kidding? Do you even know where the 385th is currently stationed? Ralltir, you jackasses. They've been rioting for months. Practically the whole damn planet."
"And you know what pisses me off?"
"What would that be, 705?" 116 asked.
"That Ralltir is only a few parsecs away from Chandrila. That's where this whole bloody mess began. Now ain't that a kick in the ass?"
Before anyone could question 705's logic, 289 was escorted in by two Marines. When the let him go, he managed to make it to his bunk before collapsing. His squad rushed to his side, even the enraged 263.
"What's wrong, sir?" she asked in a gentle tone. It caught everyone totally off-guard.
"They've reassigned me. To Cardia. Indefinitely."
Cardia, an entire planet devoted to making the Imperial fighting force, was the most feared and unwanted post for line officers. Usually, only the best went there, but then only if they volunteered. If a higher-up had you 'reassigned' to Cardia, it was punishment for some unspeakable act of insubordination, failure of duty, etc. And 289 was stuck there. For the rest of his career.
"What!"
"They don't have any need for a platoon commander with the 385th, nowhere in 37,000 men. And HighCom doesn't want such a 'promising officer's field experience' to be wasted."
"They can't do that! Commander Turke wouldn't let them," 158 exclaimed, but he knew otherwise.
"Can't they?"
"We'll get you out of this, sir," 263 vowed.
289 regained his composure and dismissed her claim. "Don't throw your career away over me, boys. Instead, is anyone up for a game of sabacc?"
- -tbc- -
A/N: So to recap the last 13 pages; squad gets mission, squad goes undercover, squad finds rebel assault force, squad tips off Imperial forces, squad is reassigned.