Meant to post this one first, the latest chapter came first. My bad :(
Thanks for reading! :)
"C'mon brothers! POUR! IT! ON!" Asher yelled.
The Weequay mercenaries charged in waves, sending sporadic blaster fire their way as they advanced.
His men cut them down in droves, cooling flushes being executed as needed. His men had carried the tripods for the Z-6 rotary cannons, the weapon hooked up to a power pack.
While the weapon was man portable, making it an emplacement gun served all the more valuable, the gunner would carry the weapon while his assistant carried the tripod and power pack.
The barrels whirred to life as they lay down effective fields of fire. Tripods ensured stable bursts, a modification that Cutter had viewed as essential to their efforts.
Asher smiled despite the chaos, he missed his brother but in a way he was present.
The DC-15W shore up the flanks, covering the Z-6's with excellent suppression. Clone riflemen armed with their DC-15 rifles or carbines picked off the individuals not cut down by the heavy arms.
The bodies piled up, the road up to the village littered with them. Before long it was quiet again, nothing but the sickly sound of swamp life and the distant muzzle report of blaster fire.
"Mudjumper-five this is Archangel-five over."
Nothing but static.
"Mudjumper-five this is Archangel how me? Over."
Nothing.
Kriff.
"Any station on this net, any station on this net, this is Archangel-five. How Me? Over."
"Roger Archangel-five this is Hard Rain-main I read you Lima-Charlie over."
Artillery support, excellent.
"Roger Hard rain I read you same, Archangel out."
So Hoyt was either dead or busy, or the droids had jammed their comms on that specific frequency.
"What was that?" Jace shook his head, "They just kept coming."
Asher sighed as he scanned the pile of corpses.
"Just probing I wager." The Captain murmured.
"Hmm." Jace grunted, eying the fallen Weequay.
"Stars and galaxies…" Walker muttered from his spot, a pair of binoculars in hand.
"Whatcha got vod?" Asher asked.
Walker pinged what he saw to his HUD and Asher's blood ran cold.
Tanks, AAT's, a solid column of them lumbered forward slowly. The crew weren't the usual droids but Weequays. They'd mounted turrets at the commander's hatch and had deviated from the usual paint job with their own garish color schemes.
"Mudjumper-five this is Archangel-five radio check over."
Silence.
"Hoyt for kriff's sake answer the karking comm." Asher barked.
"Archangel be advised we are under heavy contact, it's like they were waiting for us! We've got organic opposition over!"
"Tracking all, we have hard contact from Weequay mercenaries lead by Mandalorians, I repeat, organic opposition lead by Mandalorians. I have arty support but I need more men here now, over."
"They turned this all into a trap vod, the five-oh-first and my men are facing heavy fire, we haven't advanced more than twenty meters, you're on your own. Over."
Asher stared as the column of tanks was bolstered by infantry.
"Roger Mudjumper, Archangel-five out."
Asher grit his teeth as his men loaded their rocket launchers. It felt like Geonosis again, they were outnumbered.
But not outgunned.
"Valkyrie-main this is Archangel-five, how me? Over."
"Archangel this is Valkyrie, I read you Lima-Charlie over." Capt. Atomus' voice blared.
"Valkyrie be advised, heavy contact I repeat heavy contact, requesting immediate CAS on my position over."
"Acknowledged Archangel, CAS on standby. Callsign for fighters Flatline-one, Bomber callsign Thunder-one, over."
"Roger that Valkyrie, Archangel out."
A lead tank, the most outlandish of them all broke formation, likely seeking an easy victory. Asher was grateful for an undisciplined force.
"Sir they're in range! We got the missiles locked!"
"Light them up! Rockets out rockets out!"
"Hooah!" Drake hollered sending a rocket careening into the hull of the first tank, bursting it open. The tank's hover propulsion failed and it slid to a stop in the mud.
Flames sprung out from the hole created by the rocket and a Weequay crawled out the top hatch on fire, his screaming gave the infantry pause.
"Let him burn!" Dice barked.
The tanks kept coming and his rocket jockeys sent more at them. The turret blown straight off of the hull of one, the crew bailing, trying to roll in the mud to douse the flames that covered them.
In the end, that was four ATT's downed but the infantry kept coming.
As long as they smoked the tanks via guided missiles before they got in range they could keep this up. Weequay religion demanded blood sometimes, an individual Weequay's life meant nothing to their clans.
So they just kept coming and the bodies piled higher.
"Stovepipe boys get it up! Two hundred meters and closing! I want those rounds hitting harder than the Coruscant express!" Dice commanded.
"Hanging!" A mortar man shouted, round held over the muzzle of the mortar tube.
"Fire!" His Sergeant brought his arm down.
He dropped the round into the tube and it shot up, over and down onto their charging enemy.
"Keep it up!" Asher commanded as he fired his weapon.
"Hanging!"
"Fire!"
"Well well my dears… perhaps we misjudged the mettle of these Clones." Rikke smiled, behind her helmet, eying the battle through their range finder.
"We'll overwhelm them soon enough." Dade grunted, watching the flaming wrecks of the AAT tanks. Mortar shells came down onto their forces in blossoms of shrapnel.
"And hey, the less of these Weequay left standing the more we get paid." Tora shrugged.
Less profits to share in the end, the Weequay clan they'd been hired to lead were religious zealots who licked up war like sugar, to them, dying in battle was a very high honor.
Which seemed to be something the Clones would happily oblige them in.
"Our probing forces have been withheld very efficiently… send in double in a few hours. Let's let them think they've won." Rikke chuckled, "They'll run out of ammo eventually."
Tora turned to speak to the Weequay leaders to relay her orders.
Rikke pushed her rangefinder up and scanned the battlefield from her hillside spot.
The dead piled high, the tanks burned and charred the crew inside before they could even get their guns up.
"Not bad clone, not bad at all." Rikke mused.
"Get me a LACE report." Asher ordered as they mopped up the last of the Weequay opposition.
Walker and Dice moved to complete their orders.
Asher scanned the field, one way into the village, but also one way out. Resupply was not likely but he had plenty of support to fall back on.
"Sir, Hammer company is green on water, and ammo but amber on rockets, zero casualties and all equipment accounted for." Dice said simply, taking a knee next to Asher.
"Same here from Sword company."
"They're gonna bleed our rockets dry." Asher muttered.
So far, it was calm, just the same distant sounds of the 501st and the 224th making their own push. While Asher and his men were stranded here.
The Captain took a sip from his canteen, lowering his macros to scan the horizon.
Left to right, nothing.
Wait.
He stopped at a rock formation, perched atop it was the younger of the Mandalorians, the female named Tora.
Asher's eyes narrowed in confusion, and his heart stopped when she waved at him.
'She can see me.' He thought.
There was a set of rules about combat, one of them is if you can see the enemy, they can see you too. They had a perfect view of him and his men, everything they did would be reported and analyzed for weaknesses.
He'd have to counter that, like a game of sabaac.
"When night falls I want trip flares and swarm mines right behind them." Asher said to Dice who nodded.
Swarm mines were a lovely piece of hardware, a cluster of ball bearings in an explosive resin detonated by hand or sensor. Trip flares would signal them when someone was right in front of the mines.
They were decent enough against droids, but against wets? It would turn them into paint.
The sun began to dip lower through the overcast. Asher hated Mimban, the sun never shone and from what the air was telling him it would rain again soon.
A horn in the distance blared, the hill beyond the village was crested by a single Weequay.
He was then joined by dozens.
Then hundreds.
Tanks joined them, and small skiffs made into gun platforms. The Weequays chanted like they had before, insulting the Clones in any way they could with their whooping and hollering.
His troopers prepped their gear, one of them tossing a half eaten ration bar before sliding his helmet back on.
Asher checked the power pack on his weapon, he'd have to replace it soon.
He felt his palms sweat through his gloves, his mouth felt dry and his stomach was in tumbles as he eyed their opposition.
At first they'd been outnumbered three to one, now it was at least five to one.
"Hard Rain this is Archangel five, standby for fire mission, over."
"Roger Archangel, standing by for fire mission." Droned the Artilleryman.
The Weequay mercenaries crossed an almost open field in their unorganized cluster.
The tanks moved forward first, their infantry flanking the sides. Their running advance slowed by puddles and the bog, but still they advanced quickly.
Asher grit his teeth and clenched his jaw, opening his map and linking it to his HUD. A crosshair at the center of his visor would give him the exact grid coordinates he'd need. He opened the comm to Hard Rain and called it in.
"Hard Rain this is Archangel, adjust fire HE on grid Lima Mike zero-seven-one-niner, zero-two-seven-seven over."
"Roger Archangel, adjust fire on grid Lima Mike zero-seven-one-niner, zero-two-seven-seven over."
"Arty on the way! Fire on my command only! Get ready boys!" Asher roared.
Distance muzzle report from the cannons echoed in the distance. Asher heard the shells scream and whistle on their way down and the Weequays scattered when they realized it.
The shells came down right on top of them, mud mushrooming up with fire as a few of their opposition was vaporized. A tank was struck by a shell and was burst wide open from hatch to base in fire.
But still they kept up advance.
Asher sent his ping to the artillery emplacement, Hard Rain sending him an acknowledgement when they received it.
"Hard Rain, adjust fire, creep it back one hundred meters from my pos' over."
"Roger Archangel, sending it, over."
The Weequay kept it up, but the artillery formed a solid wall they couldn't breach as they were turned into mincemeat. The shells kept screaming down, cratering the field they crossed.
"Open fire open fire weapons free!" Asher barked letting loose with his weapon.
Drake let loose a rocket that hit the hull of one tank, the rocket glanced off the armor at a bad angle and flew wide, causing a curse from the clone.
"Reloading! Cover!" Drake called withdrawing another rocket.
"Covering!" His brother affirmed, firing his rifle.
"I need artillery on previously established coordinates! Ten round fire mission, I repeat ten round fire mission!" Asher yelled into the comm.
"Roger Archangel, ten rounds of HE on the way."
The arty came down hard, like a god snapping it's fingers. The tanks were hit, destroying armor like tinfoil, ammunition storage within exploding in a brilliant white hot flame. Some of the skiffs were hit, one breaking in half at the middle, gore from it's occupants misting into the air.
But it still didn't deter the infantry who charged undeterred by their lost armor.
They were being overwhelmed, the Weequay were gaining ground in feet.
Harper sniped a driver on one of the skiffs, the alien's corpse slumping over the controls and sending the craft careening into the ground. The passengers flew off and slammed down into the mud, easy pickings for his men.
Asher primed a grenade and tossed it.
"Grenade out!" He shouted.
The explosive bounced and detonated, shrapnel bursting outward and cleaving a Weequay's leg at the joint while killing three others. The alien fell to the ground, screaming at the stump as his brethren left him for their objective.
"Get me grenades on them now! Grenadiers bring those guns up!" Dice commanded with a thunderous roar, "Aim for the skiffs!"
The grenadiers pumped the action and sent rounds whistling towards their targets. The smaller explosives making short work of the current wave.
But they just kept coming.
They crossed the threshold into their defenses, Asher hefted his rifle like a club and clocked the lead mercenary across the head with it, cracking his skull. Other Weequay began to return fire, using the burnt tanks as cover to finally get on target and do their own shooting.
Before long another enemy tackled him, pinning him to the ground with a knife in his hand.
Asher's hands gripped the forearm that inched a blade toward his throat, he growled and fought but the Weequay was strong.
Not stronger than the bolt of blue plasma Jace sent into his back however.
"Just like old times eh brother?!?" Jace cackled.
Asher got up and drew his pistol, he couldn't afford to stop shooting for the few seconds it would take to grab his fallen rifle.
"I'm hit!" Echoed up the line.
It came like a chorus now.
"We've got a brother down!"
"-kriff he's dead!"
"Sarge is hit!"
They kept fighting, and Asher raised his comm as he sent another set of rounds into another foolish enemy.
"Hard Rain! I need fifteen rounds of Willie Pete danger close to my current pos' grid Lima zero-niner- two-five, zero-three seven-seven over!"
The comm chirped in acknowledgement.
"Roger Archangel, fifteen rounds, Willie Pete on the way."
Willie Pete, Droid cooker, it's nickname didn't matter it was good ol' white phosphorous.
"Shake and bake baby! Send that Willie Pete!" Jace whooped as he laid suppressing fire.
The shells came down and billowed out in sickly white smoke that sent fragments that glowed like stars outward. The fragments fell down onto the Weequay like snowflakes, almost gently.
Until it began to burn them.
Just a little breathing room to halt their advance.
"Flatline-one! Request for CAS, gun run on hostiles outside perimeter over!"
There was a moment of pause as his order rang out on their frequency. The comm filled with the sound of high altitude air.
"Roger Archangel, starfighters inbound and ready to engage."
They fought harder now, the Weequay were in their perimeter. The shooting had almost ceased as the battle devolved into hands, fists, rifle stocks and knives.
A vibroaxe was swung at Asher who stepped back just enough to dodge the blade, the hum of the vibration ghosting under his chin. He closed the distance quickly, sending his armored fist right into the nose of the Weequay merc, stunning him.
He held his pistol low, shooting his enemy until he lay on the ground pacified.
Asher drew his knife and jumped into the fray, the blade entering the neck of one while he turned and shot the other.
Jace muzzle thumped his foe and stitched him from gullet to head with blaster fire. Harper drew his pistol and killed two before taking a bolt to the chest, sending him to the ground.
"Harper's down!" One clone yelled.
Asher could not help him, not now, not as another enemy brought up a blaster rifle and shot him, the bolt slamming into his abdomen like a wrecking ball.
He was down, the Weequay charged, a bayonet attached to his weapon, the alien keen on jamming it into his unarmored neck.
The blade was thrust and Asher rolled out of it's path, he kicked at the Weequay's leg and brought him to a knee.
His arm encircled it's neck and he squeezed, falling onto his back as the mercenary choked and sputtered, kicking his legs and pawing at his visor. It tried to elbow Asher, it's blows impacting on the fresh wound.
The Clone roared, anger and adrenaline coursing through him.
He squeezed.
And squeezed.
Until the Weequay's gasps faded to a gurgle and Asher twisted, breaking his neck.
Shakily he stood, grabbing fallen blaster, his knife was gone and his sidearm holster was empty.
They'd barely fought off this wave and another came charging up.
But their salvation came in a sound from the sky.
The steady hum of aircraft engines became louder and louder as ARC-77 starfighters came by to strafe their opposition. The Clones cheered as the flyboys did their pass, peppering the meager ground the Weequays had taken with laser fire.
The bolts from the ARC-77 wing's guns tore the ground in deep. Bloody mist blossoming as the Weequay opposition was torn to pieces or vaporized.
That sent them running.
Asher hefted his rifle, taking aim at the fleeing Weequay mercs and dropping as many as he could before they could escape.
"That's right you better run!" Dice roared, sending a few shots in anger of his own.
On the hillside overlooking the field, the Mandalorians observed.
"The clone actually thinks he can win…" Dade muttered as the smoke from the combined strafing and artillery dissipated.
"Well, so far him and his men have turned back more than a third of our forces." Rikke mused.
"Remember how I said I like him? He's good, he's very good." Tora laughed.
"Can you see him Tora?" Rikke asked.
The younger Mandalorian raised a pair of binoculars and whistled when she saw him.
Earlier, while she was watching them, he finally keyed onto her. She'd enjoyed the telltale sign of his horror in his body language.
Now the tables had turned, Asher had seen her before she saw him.
"That… wow." Tora muttered when she saw what the clone was doing.
"What is it?" Rikke asked.
Tora handed her the binoculars, the look in her visor said, 'Just look.'
Rikke did and her temper flared, but it was amusing in a way.
The Clone Captain stood tall on his emplacement, completely exposed.
Held his arm up high and flipped them the bird. Tora burst into laughter while Dade's grunt of disgust was audible.
"Oh this means war." Rikke hissed but her anger dissipated into pride.
Perhaps these Clones weren't false in their heritage.