TALLUS CITY, NABOO - 2 DAYS LATER, 0600 HOURS
Kat woke up with a pounding headache. "Ughh…"
She slowly opened her eyes, only to be assaulted by a bright light. She closed her eyes back shut. Her body ached. All she could remember was her and Xand going to various cantinas, clubs, restaurants and even a couple of casinos… and puking once in a bush beside the road. She wasn't sure if they even got back to base.
Great… Just great...Where am I?
She tried again, this time blocking the light with her hand. She looked around her. The two are in a cheap hotel room, with faded holo-displays, damaged walls and muted colours. The room smelled rank.
She looked to her left. Xand was also asleep, face down. She went into the fresher and let the water run over her head to get rid of the hangover. It barely worked, but she pretended to think it did. She checked the chrono after she got herself dressed.
0650 hours.
She widened her eyes. Formation was only slightly more than an hour away. Not good. She hurriedly woke up Xand. "Xand! Xand! Wake up! We'll be late for formation if we don't get moving!" Xand groggily opened her eyes and rose before falling back onto the bed.
"XAANNDD!" she proceeded to lift Xand by her armpits and into the fresher. As soon as Kat turned the spray of warm water on, Xand proceeded to give a sharp yelp. "Okay, okay, I'm up...Ughhh!" Kat didn't care at that point "Let's go!"
They stumbled to check out, and rushed back to base. The shuttle speeder back to base is the longest forty minutes they felt. Hangovers still pounding their heads, they checked in with the gate guard, who slightly recoiled when he smelled the alcohol on Kat's breath.
She went in and changed into her grey PT uniform. She is not looking forward to possibly hurling the weekend's alcohol during the morning's 8-mile run - it was hard enough without alcohol impairing her. She had seen her senior Marines throw up while running and continued, but as someone who rarely drank, she knew she wouldn't be one of those Marines.
She downed a chug of water to reduce her hangover, then rushed over to Xand's barracks room. She buzzed the door before banging on it. "Xaaanddd! XAAANNNDD! You done? They'll call us AWOL if we don't get to formation in time!" She continued to bang on the barracks door.
"STOP BANGING ON THE DOORS, YOU IMBECILE!" yelled a distant voice from somewhere in the barracks. Kat stepped away from the door, now exasperated. She had seen Marines get smoked to hell by both the platoon sergeant and company gunny when they were late, and she didn't intend to be one of them. Not with her less than perfect record, and especially not when she is still a fresh Marine.
She thought of leaving her there. But as she turned her heel to an about face, a long repressed memory jumped to the forefront of her mind.
"No. I can't do it. Not this time."
She stopped and continued to wait for her. Thankfully, she came out soon after, and they started to jog towards the platoon formation. They barely got there in time. As they started running, she could feel her insides rolling. By the point it was the half-mile mark, the pounding headache turned into thunder. At two miles, she felt a lump in throat.
At the third mile, she threw up all the food, drink and alcohol she consumed over the weekend. It ruined her favorite PT shoes.
FOX COMPANY ENLISTED BARRACKS, 0845 HOURS
After morning chow, she went back to her room to change into her cammies. They had been ordered to stand by with their commlinks on until the got the go ahead for the rest of the day's work, which for that particular day meant maintaining their weapons, gear, and allocated vehicles.
As a "light" fighting force, most Marine infantry units had light armored vehicles and speeders at their disposal. Despite not being trained for such duties, they were pushed into it with the help of astromech and maintenance droids, although the aging vehicles meant that their work could be undone within weeks, days, or even hours.
Kat expected to shoot guns and explosives and train for combat daily when she joined the Marines. When she got to the 605th, she found that she had greatly misplaced her expectations. Actual shooting and combat-related training made up, she approximately estimated, only a quarter of the time.
Another half was spent by menial tasks such as armory time, where sometimes the whole battalion would draw weapons from the armory and clean them to the armorers' satisfaction - and they were hard to satisfy - inspections of all sorts, vehicle cleaning and maintenance, filling out forms, sitting in a classroom for boring presentations on boring topics such as operational and personal security, how to conduct one's selves while off duty, and safety briefings… which are the only things which had some good in them. She was always amused by the amount of ways Marines could get into trouble and hurt themselves, both on and off work.
Another quarter was what the military termed "stand by to stand by" - exactly what they were ordered to do now - wait for further orders. On days unlike this, it meant waiting in the barracks, reading or playing games or chatting with the commlink on, hoping that the "free" day wasn't ruined by some staff NCO or officer wanting bodies for a working party.
She opened the door to see the bunk opposite of her empty. Clean. It was as if no one had been there. The bunk was empty, no sheets or pillows, the lockers all opened and empty, the desk cleaned out, except for one thing… She walked closer and found a note scribed on flimsiplast.
"I'm off to the Civvy Divy now. Thanks for being a good boot."
There was no name signed. She realised she never interacted with him, saved for her saying "Aye, Corporal," whenever he gave an order to clean his stuff up, or turn off the lights.
She never even knew his name.
MARINE CORPS NABOO ORBITAL STATION 5, DAY 380, 0510 HOURS
WEEK 10 OF THE PRE-DEPLOYMENT CYCLE
Half of their sister regiment was being held up from entering, and Kat didn't know why.
The entirety of the 605th,824th and 970th Marine Regiments, along with a few attached units, were waiting to board an assault ship for a regiment-wide exercise, the first they had since Kat joined the unit - mostly she had only trained with platoon or company-sized elements, with two battalion sized field exercises so far. At this size of maneuvers, hold-ups were expected, but they usually lasted an hour at most.
They had been stuck there for three hours. Thankfully, Fox Company was allowed to sit and lie down in formation. Kat lied down and put her helmet above her to shield her eyes. She didn't know how long she napped, but she was glad when they could move again.
Every Marine that went in was blasted with cold air as soon as they entered the assault troopship.
The "Lediir-class" assault ship, to Kat's knowledge, was the newest class of troopship fielded by the Galactic Republic Navy. 700 standard meters in length, it had a crew of 3,500 (including AI and droids) and could carry 20,000 fully loaded troops.
The ship's bulkheads were lined with rectangular compartments along regular noticed what the compartments were for : it held seats with restraining belts for the body, head and neck for hyperspace entrance and exits. As inertia dampeners were less effective on large ships such as most naval vessels, everyone was required to strap down during such times to reduce injuries. Death from sudden hyperspace jumps in both directions were already unheard of in this era, but no one wanted to be violently thrown across the bulkhead.
It had a ceiling height of two and half meters, large enough for humans, but some larger species, such as Wookiees may have to scoot down while moving along the doorways.
Sailors moved along designated lines to the sides as the occasional droids and other sailors moved up along the middle, carrying important provisions and supplies. "All non-essential personnel, keep the walkways clear and stay in the designated walking lanes," squawked the intercom at regular intervals.
There were also occasional Security Force sailors outside of key rooms. They were trained for one thing - defense, for both shipboard and planetside. Kat thought that they couldn't even run a mile to save their lives.
Kat and her team moved towards their designated room. She checked the deck and section numbers regularly, as it was easy to get lost on a ship this size. Typically, units were berthed on the same deck or floor of the ship, but never crammed into the same section or side, as to avoid catastrophic losses in the event of a torpedo or munition breach.
So Kat had started walking on the starboard side from the forecastle, looking for their room. She had passed through the fore mess hall, a fire control center, a communications room, a few supply rooms, an ammunition storage, an armory and numerous other rooms, but they were all filled with unfamiliar faces. As soon as they entered the aft third of the ship, Kat noticed some Fox Company faces.
"Well, looks like we're home," remarked LCPL Tuinordkt Aireasknapt sarcastically.
They had to walk for a little more before they found their berthing. They entered to the sight of a cramped room that could barely fit a human through. The room could fit sixteen beings in, so each squad got their own with an empty bunk, which the NCOs typically used to store their extra gear on. The lower ranks and boots had to shove their packs at the feet of their bunks.
Kat opened her reader and started reading her years old-copy of the "The Red Lightning," a memoir of Hamerr Melitt, a Republic Army soldier during the Great Republic Wars of 5400-5388 BBY. His accounts of military life, along with so many others, was what inspired Kat to join the military. She had marked many sections in the text, and she skipped to one of them. It was one she had read many times over.
Day 1984 of Service, Ord Ortag.
We had marched in the miserable mud of this forsaken planet for a month. It seems like the army, the Republic and all our gods and deities had forgotten us. Supplies were coming in weekly instead of daily due to the blockade, and even then most of them were destroyed on the way down. We only ate once every other day and fired when we knew we would hit them.
There is no sleep. There is only lying down and pretending that you weren't sleeping in a hole that smelled of ozone, burnt trees, plants and burnt flesh of all kinds as blaster bolts and explosions went over and beside you. Ocassionally, you'd hear the scream of someone who was hit. After more than five years in, you learn to make friends, but never be attached… You never knew when someone is going to die.
The only ones I cared about were two of my best buddies SFCs Illo and Kuarliocris. Both got hit in the first week of the campaign. That seemed to be a blessing in comparison to what we're going through.
I managed to scrounge around and got some rations and water off of dead Conns. If you were lucky, you would get some before others do - it's every being for themselves out here. All the technology and advancement is no match for nature - the mud turns everything wet and rotten. Corpses and opened rations were overcome by insects and maggots. Some of us even ate the maggot-ridden rations. We didn't simply care anymore.
With every enemy position we found, we simply called in an airstrike whenever possible, even when there's possible civilians nearby. Better them than us. I'm not proud of it, but that is the way things are.
By the time we reached the city of Plarta, we were whittled down to 127 soldiers, from 310. A third were dead, the rest were wounded or missing. We weren't even the worst hit. Thankfully, we received supplies, though most went to the damned rear echelon units, then the officers, then us. We also got some replacements. I never remembered a single one of their names.
We cleared out the city, house by house, room by room, sewer by sewer. Too many times I've had a bolt fly past me as a pointman. All I did was shoot back, again and again and again and again. I never knew how many times that happened.
Then one day, we went into a room. As I entered, I saw three green bolts fly towards me. This time, it hit. I went down. It felt like my torso was being roasted. The pain was unbearable. Time slowed to a crawl. A flurry of bolts followed above me, and I blacked out.
I woke up in a planetside hospital in Bothawui 250 days later. After three minor wounds and a major one, my combat service was over. I was to never return to the front unless I wanted to. My torso and left shoulder had healed significantly, but my mind wasn't. Not waking up to death and destruction was a shock to me.
They transferred me to the hospital staff as an administrative helper. Transitioning from shooting everything that moved for 2 months to being yelled at by a fresh lieutenant for mistyping almost drove me insane. One day, I snapped and punched the LT in the face. I was demoted from Sergeant First Class to Staff Sergeant and sent to behavioral health.
They moved me towards a more physical job as I had healed more then. Walking and waiting hours upon hours for supplies that moved at a bantha's pace seemed to be more bearable in comparison.
The Twi'lek at behavioral health, CPT Elorv, was helpful in helping me heal. He assured me while going through such experiences and emotions is expected in the military, they were not "normal" for most beings. That frame of thought was a good start for me.
After about a year and a half working in the hospital, they finally announced the surrender of the Conngurians. Almost the entire hospital was stunned silent, only for it to be broken with, "Our work's not done yet!" from a bitter old Colonel.
Leave it to the Army to ruin good things.
She skipped towards the ending.
EPILOGUE
I bet people ask me at this point - "were you proud of your service?" I am. I might not like the Republic Army as an institution, so I wished for it to be better and do better. I'm not proud of all the actions that we took. We were attacked, and we responded accordingly. I write this with the hope that any being reading this eons in the future will know what happened then, and know what will be better in the future.
I do like most of the soldiers I served with. We were all different in every way possible, and we celebrated that. We used our differences to our advantage. No matter who my soldiers were, they tried their best to survive and succeed. And I'm proud of them for that.
The text hit different for Kat now that she's in. It was one of the more somber memoirs she read, and now she wonders if she did the right thing joining up. She loved the good parts of military life and hated the bad ones. But one thought raced through her mind as she set down the reader :
"Are the good parts worth it enough to put up with the bad ones?"
She had more than four years to figure that out.
"Hey, Marines! Chow hall is open!" Yelled a sailor from their doorway.
She put away her reader and headed straight to the mess hall. She lined behind a long line of Marines and off-shift sailors. When she reached the front, she was handed a tray of ground slop, dry and hard bread, and wilted vegetables. A diluted drink rounded out the meal.
It looks worse than our meals…
She took the tray with a sigh and tried to find a table with anyone from Fox Company. She spotted 'Opru with her squad, and moved towards them. She took a seat, and stared at her meal. She spooned out some slop and ate it. The flavorings clashed and conflicted. She puffed her face and bulged her eyes. She wanted to heave.
"You know what they put in that, boot? Last voyage's seasonings with thawed meat and month-old frozen vegetables," said LCPL Frann Flach.
She hesitated, but eventually swallowed it and tried to wash it down. The artificial flavoring of the drink didn't help.
She ate the rest of her meal in silence.
LEDIIR-CLASS ASSAULT SHIP "CORUSCANT FIST", IN ORBIT ABOVE KARLINUS - 20 HOURS LATER
Kat struggled to get on the dropship with the 40 kilos of ammo and equipment on her back - the most she'd carried... so far.
The dropship was to take them to Karlinus, a mining planet with trees that crew crystals on them. Its mostly rocky terrain also made it an interesting choice for the military to have a minor training base planetside. As soon as they all boarded, the door hissed shut.
"Okay! Let's go over this again!" said 2LT Cavell. "I think you all now know the briefing details, let's make this simple - we drop down, wait for the engineers and armor to clear our path, then move and cover the tanks as we advance. We clear out our sector and establish supply lines - clear?"
"Aye, sir!"
"Watch the terrain! It's rocky as hells- it'll hurt a lot if you do...! And most of all, watch your weapons -This is live-fire! The training droids might be on stun but you don't want to flag your buddies!"
Kat held back from audibly groaning. They all treated every exercise as if it's life fire - so why would this be any different?
The dropship flew through the light anti-aircraft fire. Her heart raced every time she heard a long beep - it meant a missile had locked on, but then she felt the countermeasures being released. She just hoped they would get on the ground before they ran out.
The doors opened and the ramps lowered. 3rd Platoon hurriedly exited the dropship. They took light fire. Fighters whooshed up ahead and fired missiles and bolts into the ridge above. Phalto-blue bolts fired from the Marines' weapons as they moved low, from cover to cover the engineer battalion clearing the way across the minefield all over the front. Sky blue bolts shot back at them. Tanks gave extra suppressive fire behind the engineers. Training shells of compressed air exploded amongst the Marines, designating them as "casualties" for corpsmen and medical personnel to treat or evacuate.
Kat found it to be almost overwhelming, but she had one job - fire on the enemy, and not at her friendlies. It took an hour of clearing for them to move towards the enemy positions. They moved cautiously amongst the designated clear lanes. The tank to her left suddenly had a very light glow. Smoke began emanating from its right side.
"2-Fox Lambda, this is Fox 3-3, we have a Tau Alpha-1, how copy, over?" radioed in SGT Lovell. "1st Team, check the vec for casualties. If its positive we'll casevac 'em out. Go!" 3SQ immediately ran to the vehicle. "Ferhal, knock it," CPL Ferhal knocked on the hatch. "Not responding, Sergeant!" "Open it!" She opened the hatch, and was immediately assaulted by smoke.
"Merrick, Cahall, Rhyss! Get them out! Quick!" They struggled to lift the three crewmembers, all injured in the blast. The first one was burned throughout her entire body along with shrapnel. The second was burned on his right torso, arm and leg, and with shrapnel. The third had his right arm peppered with shrapnel, but not burned.
They set the casualties a safe distance from the tank. "Ferhal, call in the 9-lines."
A nine-line procedure is for requesting and informing of a medical or casualty evacuation. The caller is supposed to provide the number of casualties, the type of injuries, severities, medicine given, location, enemy presence, species and required medical equipment. 3SQ called for dedicated medical personnel. When they arrived, Ferhal, the squad's combat lifesaver, relayed the information to them before the squad rejoined.
"Squad, we've fallen behind. Let's pick it up!"
3SQ doggedly moves to link up with the rest of the company. They have moved into the rocky hills, now bare with splintered trees and shattered crystals of different colours glimmering on the ground. Enemy fire flew past them, but Kat absent-mindedly bent down and picked up a pair of small red and blue crystals while they moved. She placed them in one of her plate carrier pouches.
This would be great to give for my mother and father. Finally could give something of value to them.
Fox Company found it difficult to traverse the rocks - a couple have slipped and needed to be evacuated. Every time passed by an enemy position in the caves, it almost never struck them from the front, like they expected from training, but instead from the sides and the rear. Too many times they had to withdraw cover such as a gully or a ditch, and proceed to call in danger close artillery and airstrikes, as no tanks could in the narrow passages between the rocks.
They only stopped for a few hours each night. Half of Fox Company spent those times sleeping in rocky ditches, with the sharp points of the rocks poking them as they shifted and turned in their slumber. The other half had the lest enviable job - standing guard. Each time they settled to rest, everyone must take note of each other's positions and patrol times, lest they shot a friendly in the dark. Even with night vision, one couldn't take any chances.
And in the morning, they only had time to wake up, take a couple of bites and swigs, readied their weapons and had their go again. And again. This cycle of chaos went for on another 12 days.
They finally reached the enemy city. They conducted an accountability check 3SQ had 9 Marines left. 6 others were casualties. 3rd Platoon had 25. Fox Company had 80. It was a grim reminder of what could happen, despite the stun rounds and training grenades and bombs.
"Check your fire modes - set to stun. Grenades too," said Cavell. The city was almost deserted as they approached, but as they entered, Kat noticed little by little, the "residents" of the town slowly appeared, looking at the Marines from beyond half-closed doors and tinted windows - Humans, Wookiees, Twi'leks, Zabraks, Mirialans, Rodians and more - Marines who were "voluntold" to play as civillians during exercise.
Some began to retreat back into their buildings. Fox Company flanked the tanks as they moved along the city streets. Suddenly, a shrill woosh came over them - and hit a building near them. Small arms fire started to erupt. The tank started rotating its turrets towards known enemy positions. The Marines of FCo and 3rd Platoon shot back.
They methodically cleaned out their sector, with no air support or artillery, just tanks and Marines, making sure that there are no civillians where they're firing - they all were using live fire after all. They slogged through for two days until they were relieved by another battalion and ordered to the rear.
The bedraggled and tired Marines of FCo rested. The rear was a city of makeshift tents, filled with wounded men, supplies, vehicles and more equipment. Transportation and mechanical Marines fixed vehicles in their one-piece suits. Doctors and medics performed mock procedures and surgeries on realistic, re-usable medical dummies. Barb wire, trenches and turret emplacement encircled the improvised base. Slightly further out, any ground that isn't used by the Marines as roads were mined. Guards stood sentinel at every entryway.
After 2 days of being on standby and doing nothing, the command ordered the exercise over. The Marines were excited to go back to Naboo.
2nd Battalion was gathered on deck in the morning. MAJ Idaad Cole, the 2BN XO, stood in front of them. Kat could hear some mumbling from within the ranks.
"Alright, now I know you all are excited to RTB (return to base) and get back to your Nabooian partners and friends. But we have to police call the exercise area. We also have at least three blue-on-blue incidents. Those who are nearby will be called by the Investigation Command." The grumbling became slightly louder. "We'll have to be here for another week," ended MAJ Cole.
Kat groaned and whined loudly.
