Breaking And Entering:
If there was any response from his comrades, 3-8 couldn't hear it over the shriek of blaster carbines. His arrival had further muddled the chaos on the platform, and the battle droids were struggling to decide on which targets they should attack – the one on the platform, or the ones coming up the stanchion lines. The super battle droids were a bit faster, and more than one confused battle droid was dropped by shots that were meant for Delta Squad's leader.
3-8 knew that only the confusion was keeping him from being burned away by a hail of fire, and the chaos was only going to last a few more seconds. The rumble of destroyer droids was drawing closer, and more and more droids were turning around to realized he was practically right next to them. Moving fast, he rolled a pair of EM grenades across the platform even while scrambling toward the trunk rising to his right. The grenades exploded just before rolling off the platform, and half a dozen of the foes jerked wildly before dropping. A super battle droid started tracking him as it stood in the partial cover of the corridor entrance, its wrist blasters blazing, and he tossed a thermal detonator in its direction as he dove to the platform surface. A pair of bolts scythed over his head, and then the explosive device blew up, taking out the super battle droid and several more battle droids.
Now only a single super battle droid and seven battle droids remained. 3-8 rose to one knee, drew a bead on the SBD, and squeezed the trigger. His carbine spat one bolt, then clicked. As the enemy raised its wrist blasters toward him, he belatedly realized that his power pack was dry. There was no way he'd be able to change it in time.
That was when 6-2 slipped up onto the platform directly behind the SBD, and his vibroblade glittered with deadly light as it extended from his wrist guard. He rammed it into the base of the droid's skull, then twisted. It jerked for a moment and fired blindly into the air, then dropped as blue-green hydraulic fluid sprayed from the severed lines in its neck. The commando didn't pause to bring his carbine to bear, but instead slashed his way through the remaining battle droids, striking at their vulnerable spots with the ease of experience. One by one they dropped, and by the time he reached the last one, 3-8 had burned it from existence.
3-8 nodded to Scorch, who threw a mock salute and then trained his carbine on the corridor leading into the heart of the fortress.
"Fixer, where are you?" 3-8 commed. "Get up here! Those destroyer droids will be here any moment!"
"Uh, Boss?" came the sheepish reply. "I'm uh… kinda stuck down here."
3-8 glanced over the edge of the platform and saw 4-0 struggling with his stanchion line, directly below where he'd just come up himself. He muttered a vehement curse. Of all the times for an equipment failure, this was without doubt the worst.
The shriek of heavy blasters made him whirl back around, bringing his carbine up. 6-2 was still standing in front of the corridor, weapon ready. "Scorch, what's going on?"
"They're trying to blast their way through the rubble from your last detonator," the other commando reported. "I count at least three. Better hurry; it's not going to take them long!"
"See if you can hold them off! I'm doing down to help Fixer!"
"Copy!"
3-8 looked back down to 4-0. "Hold on tight. I'm coming down!" 4-0 nodded, as his leader made a short leap off the platform and grabbed hold of his line. Using his boots to control his speed, he slid down to wear the other commando was stuck. "I see the problem," he said almost immediately. "There's a cut in your line; one of the snipers almost got lucky. We're going to have to go up by hand."
Suddenly, the whole fortress seemed to shake, and the thunderous roar of an explosion temporarily deafened them. Smoke and fire blossomed from the corridor as 6-2 scrambled back to his feet and opened up with his carbine.
"They're coming through, Boss! We're out of –"
Whatever else he said was drowned out by the cacophony of multiple heavy blasters switching over to rapid fire mode. 6-2 quickly fell back to his right, toward the line where 4-0 was stranded. He lobbed another grenade down the corridor, but the destroyers already had their shields up, and it barely slowed them.
3-8 couldn't tell exactly what was going on, but he could see literally dozens of crimson bolts flying over the edge of the platform and streaking off into the forest, setting branches and leaved on fire. He took a quick look around, and his hopes rose as he spotted another platform, below and to the right of the one they were currently trying to reach. He hadn't seen it before, as it was cleverly disguised with camouflage nets that had to be of Wookie design. He looked down at 4-0. "Hold on!"
"What?"
"Hold on! We'll be leaving in a few moments."
Fixer just shook his head in confusion, but he gripped his stanchion gun tightly with both hands.
3-8 glanced up toward where his own stanchion gun was still dangling, its hooks embedded in the solid trunk. He could get it out again… if someone was actually holding onto it.
"Boss?" came Scorch's voice through his helmet com. "It's getting kind of hot up here! I could use a hand!"
"Negative!" 3-8 said back. "It's time for a change of plan. I want you to use my stanchion gun to get back down here. And make sure to leave a parting gift for those droids."
"Copy that." Scorch reached for one of the detonators on his belt even as he started running toward the edge of the platform where 3-8's stanchion gun dangled. He thumbed the timer to 20 seconds, then tapped the activation switch and tossed the explosive toward the corridor. Then he broke into an all out run, slinging his carbine over his shoulder, before taking a quick jump off the edge of the platform to grab onto the stanchion gun. He hadn't even stopped swinging before he tapped the descent controls and switched it to its fastest speed.
3-8 reached out with one hand and pulled him in by his ammo belt. "All right, hold onto me tightly." He took hold of the gun as Scorch got a good grip on him, even as Fixer did the same. He hit the release button, and the stanchion ejected itself from the tree trunk and fell as the gun quickly started to reel the cable back in.
"Uh, eight seconds, Boss," Scorch informed him.
3-8 muttered another curse as the cable reeled in. Above them, the clatter of metal on wood announced that the destroyer droids had figured out where the clones had gone. Five seconds.
The stanchion gun beeped as the cable was pulled all the way in, ready for another shot. 3-8 aimed for a branch that jutted out above the platform below, and even as he fired the stanchion again, he realized he hadn't reset the distance. Three seconds. No time to readjust now.
The stanchion hit the branch with a thunk. Above the commandos, a trio of destroyer droids leaned over the edge and took aim.
"Cut Fixer's line, Scorch!" 3-8 commanded.
6-2's vibroblade flashed out…
And the detonator exploded. Fire filled the corridor and blossomed into the open. The shockwave took out a massive portion of the tree, including the entire platform, and turned it into splinters of wood. The destroyer droids were pulverized into metal fragments and flung over the side. Ten meters below, the commandos were caught in the shower of debris, smoke and fire, dropping quickly as the line the Fixer had been attached to snapped. They held on desperately as 3-8's cable carried them down and over toward the lower platform with alarming speed.
"Hold on!" 3-8 managed to get out before they slammed down with the clatter of protesting armor and loose weapons.
They rolled for a few meters before sliding to a stop, laying still for a moment as they tried to regain their sense of balance and direction. Then they slowly got to their feet, bringing their carbines up as the swept the platform for enemies. There didn't appear to be any yet.
"One of your special toys, Scorch?" 3-8 asked as he pulled a foot long splinter from where it had embedded itself in Fixer's backplate.
"Class C thermal detonator," Scorch replied proudly. "Not as visually appealing as a Class A, but amusing nonetheless."
"Thanks for the warning," Fixer muttered sourly.
"Right, let's get moving," 3-8 interjected. "It's only a matter of time before the droids figure out where we're at. I want to be well on our way out of this place before they catch up." He brought his carbine up as he started toward the small opening that led into the fortress' interior corridors. "And then we'll get to see how visually appealing your Class A is."