Chapter Three - Landfall
Jakku
The Goazan Badlands
As they rose from the darkness with the creaking of the elevator ringing in his ears, Poe could feel the coming storm biting deep into his bones. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as the night above came into view. He didn't need to hear the clamour of movement and panic to know it was there, waiting for him.
"'Oh boy,'" BB-8 chirped nervously.
"I know, buddy," Poe nodded, "I know."
His sixth sense was screaming at him. Danger was coming, and he needed to get out. Panic bit into his gut, and urged him to get a move on. It was the same feeling, the same screaming voice that had bellowed into his ears on his first deployment. When the subtle changes in the air told the young Lieutenant Poe Dameron that decommissioned TIE/In-Fighters were on his tail long before the warning signals blared out the lock-on sequence.
He, however, fought back the growing fear with a shot of pure confidence some might've mistaken for cockiness. Experience had taught him that things were often going to play out one way or another. The best thing for him to do was to play those odds the best he could and pray for the best. Fortunately for him, his luck was enduring.
"I am sorry for this," Poe said in the gloom, "I have the feeling you guys would be down there for months, digging through the dirt and such."
Lor San Tekka merely nodded. "It is no fault of yours, my young friend. Better the knowledge here be buried forever rather than fall into the hands of those who would abuse its power."
The ground suddenly shook, and the two men fought to maintain their footing on the rickety platform. Sand fell in from the top in droves. Poe grimaced at the sight. That had been from a Proton Bomb, and as the ground shook with further tribulation, he knew that the two Headhunters up top wouldn't last long against a concentrated attack.
The moment the skies were clear, they would be landing ground troops.
"BB-8, have you compiled the information into an accessible file?"
"'I have, the droid chirped at him, "'but the shots I got are still fragmented. I ain't a cartographer, somebody else will have to put it together. I ain't paid enough for that!'"
"You aren't even paid!"
"'Get R2-KT transferred over to our squadron and I'll call it even.'"
"After the stunt you pulled? You're lucky they didn't scrap you!"
"'They can't scrap me! I'm irresistible!'"
"Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that. Have you encoded the message?"
"'Working on it. Should be done by the time we get back to the ship.'"
"That's if we get back," Poe grumbled softly. A moment later, the elevator hit the top locking latch with a snap, and Poe ducked to the ground as another bomb went off close by and showered them in sand. Lor San, however, stood tall in defiance in the ever present storm.
"You are too late!" he shouted to the sky with a raised fist, "The Jedi shall rise again! You shall fall as your predecessors fell before you!"
Poe was about to shout for him to get down, but he didn't bother. Lor San had been among the billions who had suffered under the rule of the Empire, and he was not going to cower before its malignant shadow again. Poe rose to his feet, and saw before him a world on fire.
"By the Force," he cursed softly as it stared at it dumbfounded. The air was cast black as pitch from the smoke and fire radiating from the village as unforeseen shadows wailed like banshees; casting emerald bolts from high above that ripped apart the ground and shook it with a ferocious fervor. Then out of the pitch, the batlike form of an enemy fighter screamed overhead. It was close enough for Poe to almost touch it, and he took in the design at a glance. It was clearly a TIE design, probably from the traitorous Sienar-Jaemus splinter group that had left their mother company almost a decade before.
However, it wasn't like the old generation TIE/In models he'd fought over Antiga Primar almost five years ago. It was sleeker and almost flat in its profile with contrasting black and white paint patterns. What troubled him more, though, was that the cockpit looked too… small.
"What, they got an Ewok in there?"
Suddenly, one of the Headhunters zoomed over them in pursuit, chasing the fighter over the width of the valley. But the TIE was performing maneuvers he could hardly believe! It was banking sharply from left to right with speeds that should've been physically impossible. Poe could almost feel the pilots frustration as he had to come about on long arcs to get the fighter back in his sight. As the fighter pulled yet another physically impossible dive and turn, he then realized it: the fighter was a drone!
Another blast shook him from his stupor, and he quickly made his way to cover. He knew to run out now to his X-Wing was a sure fire way to get him and BB-8 killed. He would have to wait until they cleared the skies and started their landing before he'd make a run for it.
"Wait, where's Lor San?"
He whipped around to see him approaching a panel over the digsite. A scurry of workers ascended from the lifts and hurried past him; making a beeline for the village. Lor San grabbed the arm of one of the men, and asked him something he couldn't understand. Then he nodded, and lifted a control box. A moment later, an explosion far exceeding the ones peppering the land for the past minute thundered through the ground like an earthquake.
The dig site went up in flames and sand reaching hundreds of feet up into the air, massive boulders and chunks of rock coming down like artillery shells. A squadron of Drones were struck down like the casted thunderbolt of a deity upon a monster; sending them hurtling into the ground below in a blaze of fire. The Headhunter zoomed past Poe's head and went after another squadron; scoring a kill that made him smile. But then more of the Drones were upon him, and Poe's mind flashed back to Instructor Antilles' lessons on the Battle of Coruscant. Images of brave but vastly outnumbered ARC-170 pilots being cut to pieces by swarms of Droid-Fighters echoed in his head as the Headhunter was struck several times in the wings.
It doggedly fought on despite the thick trail of smoke billowing from its engines, and Poe silently prayed despite the hopelessness of it. The Headhunter swung around, firing madly into the Drones chasing him. One went down. Then another. Then one of the Drones drastically changed its flight pattern, arching straight up and crashing right into the underbelly of the Headhunter; tearing it in half in an arching fireball that rocketed high up into the air before coming down in a billowing crash.
BB-8 cursed obscenities so foul that Poe dare not repeat them, or even comment on them. It was unnerving to him the utter futility of it. The pilots had displayed skill and gallantry rivaling any fighter pilot in the New Republic Navy, and yet they had been brought down by sheer weight of unending numbers. Like crows at a graveyard, the Drones circled the battlefield as the stars themselves seemed to burn in the night sky. Then, in less than a blink, the Drone squadrons disappeared upward like they'd never been there in the first place. Poe knew what was coming next, and he took his chance.
He took off at a run, the precious few seconds he had ticking down loudly in his ears.
Aboard the Heavy Armored Aerial Transport, Eighty-Seven felt a cold sweat run down his spine despite the thermal suit lining his body keeping a regulated temperature. It wasn't fear that he was feeling. It was anticipation. Though this wasn't his first taste of combat, this felt far more… real. All those years of fighting primitive savages didn't really stock up to going into battle against an enemy slinging blaster bolts at you rather than under-powered slugs.
The dropship buckled upon entering atmo. He felt a steely resolution come to mind as the ship tossed and turned from turbulence. He had his men. His squad, his brothers. The men he had grown up with since he'd been born in First Order space.
They would be enough.
"We will be going in with the first wave," the platoon leader, Lieutenant Junior-Grade FN-2145 or L-Tee as his men called him, cut across his thoughts through the intercom next to his ear, "the domeheads should have softened them up plenty enough for us by the time we hit the ground."
"I hope not," Nines boomed across the squads channel, "more Rebs for us to kill!"
Suddenly, an image popped up in Eighty-Seven's visor. The old man.
"Remember your orders, boys. Mr. Tekka, and any of his research team are to be taken alive. Anybody else are considered to be hostile, and are to be dealt with as such. Lethal force is authorized."
Eighty-Seven could feel the man smile as he roared out, "In other words, you will smash the entire area! You kill anything not wearing white, you get me!?"
"WE GET YOU, SIR!" The Troopers barked as one. Now the turbulence kicked up into high gear, the troopers shaking violently in their seats. Nines howled with mad pleasure while Zeros chanted some regulation verses. Eighty-Seven could only make out some of it before the channel grew static from the landfall:
"The Stormtrooper shall master all weapons, and all battlefields. The Stormtrooper shall stand as an example of purity and order in the chaotic void, and shall stand firm in the face of all opposition. The Stormtrooper shall know no fear, and they shall know no defeat."
Slip was silent. Utterly silent. Not a breath was heard on his comm. channel as he inspected his weapon again and again. Adjusting sights, powerpack, the magnetic connection in his glove to the grip. It was like he was working through a mental manual. It was rather… meditative.
"Hey," Eighty-Seven gestured to him, and he looked up. Though he couldn't see Slip's eyes, he could still feel the tension practically radiating from him. Oddly enough, his heart monitor was steady. He was the most calm out of the dropship. Eighty-Seven shook his head, It's a good disguise… but it's still just that.
Eighty-Seven took him by the shoulder comfortingly.
"You're gonna do fine, Slip. You just stay close to me."
Slip nodded, his BPM going up sharply before being regulated to normalcy.
"Thank you, Eighty-Seven," he whispered, and then shouldered his weapon, "I won't let you down."
"I know you won't."
The intercom suddenly barked out in the silent confinements, the pilots tone sharp and quick.
"ETA 30 Seconds. Get ready to clear the ship, Troopers!"
The shuffle of weapons and slings rang loud in the air as turbulence took a nosedive. But it wasn't turbulence, they quickly realized. It was weapons fire.
"Sigma deployment, Troopers!" L-Tee barked, "Keep your squads spread out, and storm their positions! Do not let them pin you down!"
Suddenly, there was rough jolt and the craft stopped moving. The lights turned from red to green.
"HIT THE RAMP, TROOPERS!"
The side doors of the dropship struck the ground with loud crash, kicking up red soil as the Troopers were out of their seats and moving. Crimson and sapphire bolts rocked through the air as the Troopers took fire from the village ahead. Quickly, they moved out in sections and took up fighting positions behind the dunes surrounding the area. Moving and shooting, the Troopers engaged targets at will, their Heads-Up Displays signifying heavy enemy activity ahead. More fire raged out, the sand around them turning to molten glass upon impact.
In seconds, the Troopers brought up their heavy repeater blasters; reigning fire almost unimpeded at a startling rate. The bolts ripped apart the terrain ahead, adobe splintering to pieces all around the attackers. Eighty-Sevens squad took up position on the right flank, farthest away from the main body of the attackers. He, Slip and Zeroes were already shooting as they hit the deck; Nines quickly set up The Mega's bipod, and joined in the carnage.
"Get some, Rebs!" Nines bellowed over the comm.'s, "Get some!"
The defenders had long since taken cover, and their fire was far more sporadic. Eighty-Seven shot at whatever came into view, but for the most part he was shooting for suppression rather than for accuracy sake. Typically, Nines would lead the fire; ripping apart cover and moving onto the next while his comrades would mop up anything exposed. The only one not shooting was Slip.
"Fire your weapon, Slip!" Zeroes barked, but Slip shook his head and retorted:
"Don't tell me how to do my job, Zeroes."
He then took aim and fired, the single bolt travel across the field and striking down a passing defender in the chest. The first confirmed kill of the engagement.
"Nice shooting, Slip!" Eighty-Seven complemented proudly as he ducked his head under the dunes from retaliating fire. The beginning engagement only lasted for about thirty seconds, but in the minds of the Troopers they'd been there for hours; trading shots as their gunners reduced the enemy's forward positions to rubble. Then, the second stage of the ground assault began as ominous Reaper Dropships appeared overhead.
"Here come the clankers!" Slip reported.
"Well, they're not gonna steal my glory!" Nines cursed, "Damn chromedomes!"
"I'll take the chromedomes and victory over your lust for glory," Zeroes chuckled, "they're the perfect distraction."
As he said this, the dropships drew closer until they hovered a scant thirty feet from the ground. Blaster fire poured from the village into them, but they had little effect against the armored automated hulks. Then the bellies of the ships opened, and blackened forms descended from them; crashing into the ground with an explosion of soil. The fire suddenly paused for a moment as the dust settled.
A piercing mechanical voice rang out from the midst of the field; barretoned and devoid of any humanity, "Surrender your arms, or you shall be destroyed."
From the smoke and dust, a dozen figures rose from bended knee in perfect synchronization. Tall and imposing with slender black forms, they almost looked like scarecrows in a field.
"Go to Hell!" and the defenders opened fire. Sapphire bolts struck the static figures, and to their horror were still standing. Smoke billowed from the dozens of holes they put into them, but the forms were unfazed, unmoving.
"Prepare to die."
The Reaper Droids raised their arms and opened fire. Cover exploded, and loud piercing screams rang out over the din of the shooting.
"POP SMOKE!"
Canisters were thrown out and in seconds a thick wall of white blanketed the area, only interrupted by ceaseless, blistering fire coming from the Reapers. As the Troopers moved into the smoke, the Droids advanced straight into the village.
Poe stared in horror, but also amazement as the Battle Droids advanced under the withering fire, returning as much as they were given.
"Tell me you're getting this."
BB-8 beeped in confirmation. He'd been recording since they'd gotten topside. This had been the first time in almost twenty years that anybody from the New Republic had seen the enemy's latest hardware, or battlefield strategy. As much as he needed to get off planet, Poe couldn't throw away the perfect chance to get some intel that would come in handy later. And thus far, he was equally parts impressed, and terrified.
In typical fashion, the New Republic had long touted the message of the unified Imperial Remnant being a poverty stricken backwater surely to collapse in due time. Backwards in technological achievement or prowess. Poe almost wanted to imagine the faces of those idiot Senators seeing this, but had to duck and retreat as the Droids marched through the first line of smoldering buildings; shooting in all directions as they went. The Stormtroopers were coming up behind them, letting the Droids soak up the damage as they mopped up stragglers. Over fire and smoke, the Droids kept coming.
Poe ducked and rolled past a building as he bumbled into a band of villagers retreating… except they weren't retreating in a panic. They were orderly, disciplined. They had the look of men who had a plan and were executing it. But that didn't matter to Poe at the moment. He needed to get to his ship before it was too late.
Despite Nines protests, Eighty-Seven was glad for having the Reapers in front of their column; taking fire meant for them and making their job much easier.
"Hold your positions," L-Tee barked over the intercom, "let the Reapers thin 'em out."
"What!?" Nines protested over their channel, "Hell with that! Take it right to their teeth!"
"You really wanna lose a hand?" Slip asked, surprising the lot of them.
"Aha, he speaks! Not particularly! I like my hands!"
An explosion rocked the area ahead as a building collapsed under the Reaper's unrelenting firepower.
"Alright, boys," L-Tee called over comm. again, "let's mop 'em up. Zeta search pattern. Keep your squads spread out. Search the buildings for our target."
'You mean the buildings still standing,' Eighty-Seven thought to himself as he signalled his men. Nines took point, The Mega held ready at the hip while the others took to his flanks. They milled about the ruins, turning over every nook and cranny for hiding spots such as hidden away cellars.
"Damn domeheads, stealing my kills," Nines grumbled darkly as they turned over burned and crumpled bodies of the villagers, "came here to kill us some Rebs, not let 'em do all the work."
Zeros shook his head, "From my count, Slip is the only one with a confirmed kill."
"Gotta be bloody kidding," Nines turned over another body, and shook his head, "hey, Eighty! I don't think our guy is here!"
Eighty-Seven nodded, shouldering his weapon and helping Slip move a section of wall. Another body, but not the one they were looking for. "Alright, let's move on to the next building."
Quickly, they inspected the next one in line which was actually intact. But something was… off.
"Where are the bodies?" Slip asked, "Amount of fire we took, there should be more of them."
"Yeah," Nines agreed, "a lot more. Especially with the chromedomes doing all the work."
"Stow it," Eighty-Seven interrupted, "check the building."
Quickly, they searched through the cramped abode, but found nothing.
"There's something weird going-"
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"What the-" Nines pulled at a rug on the floor. His blood turned cold. "BOMB!"
Time slow down as their combat training and adrenaline in the purest form took over. Slip and Eighty-Seven dove back from the ruined hut in a matter of seconds as Nines tackled into Zeros. Every action felt like the span of hours. Every heartbeat a symphonetic rhythm ticking down to their doom. But nothing happened.
"What the-?" Slip asked for them. He started to rise when Eighty-Seven grabbed him by the shoulder, and pulled him down. His predator instincts were screaming in the back of his head.
"Squad, formulate Epsilon," he breathed into his mike.
"And get off of me, you big goofy lug!" Zeroes cursed as he shoved the bigger Trooper off of him.
"Yeah, you're welcome," Nines grumbled as he shouldered his weapon and advanced on the hutt again with his fellows on either side of his shoulders.
"Don't get it," Slip asked over the intercom as they again turned over every nook and cranny looking for something out of the ordinary, "what was that? A dud?"
"No, not a dud," Eighty-Seven answered as he turned over the rug again, kneeling down to inspect it, "it's not a bomb either. It's some kind of… launcher."
"Bit late to be using mortars, ain't it?" Nines smirked.
Suddenly, a bright light thundered from the launcher, just mere inches from Eighty-Seven's helmet. His visor went black as the automatic shielding took over. The night around him turned bright as day. And as he landed on his back, his eyes burning from the sudden exposition, he heard a dread death cry through his comm:
"AMBUSH!"
From the ground rose camouflaged men, throwing tarps and sand entrances aside as they took the armored troopers at close quarters. Screams suddenly filled the channel as the advancing Troopers found themselves being engaged by an enemy up close and very personal. Explosions shook the ground as fire reach up to the heavens as the men entered Hell.
"SONOVA-!" Nines barked as the Mega went wild. However, for all his skill with the weapon, he could never hope to be fast enough on the draw. The guerilla's were upon him in seconds, dragging him to the floor. As Zeros turned to shoot them, they were upon him as well and he disappeared over the side of the wall.
"NO!" Nines growled, "I AIN'T GOIN' OUT LIKE THIS, YA PUNK REBS!"
He struck out against his attackers, punching one square in the nose as they were busy trying to find a hole in his armor. He then launched a vicious elbow, knocking another to the side as his hand traced down to his belt. Ozone suddenly crackled as the air chortled with electricity. Nines swung his blade, slicing through flesh and bone in seconds as the electronic coated vibration weapon cut through them at a molecular level. The man screamed as his arm fell from his body before the dazzling blue arc sliced through his trachea and silenced his morbid pleas.
Then Zeros screamed through his comm's, "GET OFF ME, SCUM! GET OFF AH-!"
"HANG ON, MATE!" Nines barked back as he buried his blade through the chest of another of his attackers, "NOBODY GETS TO KILL YOU… 'CEPT ME!"
Eighty-Seven couldn't see any of this happening. Being half-blind, and his helmet's visor still not responding, he flailed about trying to make sense of his surroundings. All he did know was that his company was getting picked apart by attackers they should've seen coming. And his squad was caught in the mix of it.
"Slip," Eighty-Seven ordered through his intercom, "Slip, do you copy? Slip?"
Suddenly he heard a scream, "Die, bucket-head!"
Instinct bellowed for him to move, and like a jungle cat he dove to the side and slid into cover. It wasn't until he hit the ground that he felt a sudden pain in his shoulder. He could actually smell the burning polymer and metal as he rolled against a wall before his helmet filters shut them off. He felt for it, and found his fingers moving through the charred hole in his pauldron… but he couldn't feel the flesh underneath. He breathed a sigh of relief: his body glove hadn't been punctured.
Fire splintered chunks from above his head and he ducked; blindly moving further down his line of cover. He resisted the urge to return fire. Blind, he would not be able to see what he was shooting at and he would be just as likely to hit one of his own men. But he also knew he didn't have many other options. Eventually, the Reb would press his advantage.
He continued retreating as the Reb kept chasing him with blaster fire until his hand touched the wall. He had run right into a corner. He had nowhere left to go. Another blaster bolt struck the wall just above him. He didn't know if his attacker was playing with him, or was that bad of a shot, but he knew he wouldn't get another opportunity.
He spun and brought his weapon up. He… saw him. He saw the shooter not less than fifteen feet away. Impossible. He was still blind, and his visor was still out. But there he was. And in the split second of realization, he took his chance.
He put a bolt straight through the man's chest, and he toppled over in a heap. He rose to one knee, and looked around again. He still couldn't see, but the fuzziness slowly marching from the corner of his eyes was a sign that he would be back in working order. He then slapped the side of his helmet, the visor flickering back to life.
"Slip," he tried again on the intercom, "report."
As he rose, something big and heavy hit him from behind and he was on the floor again. His weapon was knocked from his hand as he was flung against the wall. While the impact was jarring, his armor absorbed most of it, and he rose to one knee with his hands raised. He felt the kick aimed for his head, and he raised his arms to catch it. As his hands felt leather, they wrapped around the boot and pushed outward.
While his target was a blur, he could easily hear the crash. He got up, drawing his Vibro-blade from his belt and assumed a classic fighters stance. Were it not for his lack of vision, he would've pressed his advantage. But his instincts told him to wait. And they were quickly justified as he heard the shlink of a blade being drawn from a sheath.
"Come on," Eighty-Seven challenged, extending a hand out and inviting him to try his luck. The other man snickered.
"I've killed plenty of bucket-heads in my time, boy. You'll be no differ-"
He froze, and Eighty-Seven heard him choking. He could see the motion of his arms going up to his neck and then he fell to the floor. Someone was standing behind him. He kept his vibro-blade raised as the figure approached.
"Whoa, easy. It's me."
"Where were you, Slip?"
Then he saw the shine coming off his blade.
"Sorry. I was… busy."
Eighty-Seven nodded, smiling slightly. "Told you you would do fine."
"Don't mind me!" Nines laughed, rising from the little mound of his attackers, "Just gettin' swamped is all. Nope, don't mind me."
"Thought you wanted to kill Rebs," Slip chuckled back, "besides, you look good in red."
"Well well, what do we have here?" he smirked behind the helm but the tilt of his head made that obvious, "Little blood, and we got a new man here. Nice and combative. Got a little attitude to go with it. Very nice," he then swung the Mega back into his waiting arms, "and I love gettin' the lead in the score and all, but my Mega here is going to be doing the killing."
He then wiped at the sprays of blood marking his armor.
"Hey, any of you blokes got wash? Zeroes'll kill me seein' me like this. Oh, speaking of which. HEY ZEROES! YOU OKAY, MATE!?"
A single hand rose up from behind the wall, and gave them a begrudging thumbs up. Then a body was flopped onto the brickwork as the bloodied and bedraggled Trooper rose from the grave.
Nines shook his head. "You look like a paint-canvas, Zeros."
"I… am well aware," he panted iratebly.
"Hey Eighty, what's the regulation for being out of proper bearing and dress with your uniform? Section 1, Sub section 7 or something like that?"
"Not… one… more… word," Zeroes growled as he sat in a heap, ready to fall apart. Nines' smirk just grew an inch longer as he shook his head playfully.
"Just remidin' you. You being a stickler with the rules and such."
"Don't rub it in," Slip laughed.
"He laughs! My my, who are you, Reb, and what you done with our skittish boy?"
Eighty-Seven resisted every urge to laugh. But, he could afford to smile. That however didn't last long as L-Tee came over the line. "All squads, check in. Casualty reports, over!"
It wasn't good. Not everybody had their luck. Eighty-Seven shook his head at the thought. There was no such thing as luck on the battlefield. He couldn't shake the feeling, though.
He should've been dead. He was blind and square in the crosshairs and yet he was still breathing.
"CONTACT!"
Suddenly, sapphire fire rang out ahead and the Troopers dove to cover. In seconds they were returning fire. Quickly, the riflemen took up advancing positions as Nines laid down cover fire. Smoke was thrown, and the squad was in the breach. Eighty-Seven continued to listen to the channels as he led his men to storm their attackers:
"We've got multiple contacts here! They're all over! They're coming out of the walls!"
"Echo and Delta, form up a defensive perimeter! Zeta-Mike protocol! And somebody get those Reapers back!"
"They're behind us! I repeat they're behind us!"
"L-Tee, this Delta One-Three. We've spotted an X-Wing to the west. T-70 model. Black and orange markings!
"A Flying Rancor," L-Tee cursed, "disable that ship and capture its pilot. Command will want a prisoner."
"Copy that. Moving to engage!"
"Move it, BB-8!" Poe cursed as he ran for all he was worth across the sand dunes and onto the paved track. His heart pounded so loudly it was symphonetic music playing to his every step and every thought. He had never felt so urgent before. He didn't even notice BB-8's remark about not having legs as his hands grabbed onto the X-Wing's cockpit ladder. As he started to climb, BB-8 adjusted his power settings and was floating towards his spot in the astromech spot.
"Let's blow this chowder stand, buddy."
He was barely strapping into his seat and getting his helmet on when he saw them. Two fireteams worth of white foreboding figures coming at him like ghosts out of the night.
"Oh come on!"
Now the Troopers were shooting. Massive bolts of crimson seared off the platting. Poe knew he was in a bad spot. His engines were facing them. Sure enough, warning signs blared out their lethal message as his only way out was shot to pieces. But he still had more than enough power to make them pay for it.
His hand went to the joystick and thumped the switch. The underbelly cannon flared to life and swiveled about. His on screen camera had them in his sights, and he went to work. Bolts red as fire and big as boulders struck the Troopers and cut through them like a scythe through wheat. The Troopers soon became smoking husks.
"'Good shooting,'" BB-8 commented.
"Thanks."
"'Still stuck here.'"
"I know," Poe grumbled as he buried his head into his instrument panel. He struck the side in frustration as he popped the hatch.
"Just once, I'd like things not to go completely fracked up beyond all recognition in less than five carking minutes!"