Alright people - this is a little experiment. Depending on how well this is received, I'll try and make this a full length story which I have a plan for. A Grunt's story. I am one in real life after all. So I'm trying to add my own flavor of realism and balance my own experiences and real life shit with the militaristic side of Star Wars. This is from the POV of a Rebel Marine (Yes, those troopers that were on Scarif) and his experiences in the war against the Empire. Enjoy. This is a story of war, the effects and the suffering it causes.
Cheers: JJZ-109
PROLOGUE: FOG OF WAR
It stank – the rotten, burning and stale smell of blaster bolts striking turf and flesh alike reeked like the fumes of a stack of burning tires. It filled his lungs and owned his presence on that world inside and out. By the force it smelled bad – and there was no escape from it. He either had to breathe it in, or lose whatever breath he had left in his chest. To lose breath in battle meant to die.
The sounds – they just didn't stop. There was no moment of silence or reprieve between blaster shot or explosion; it was just a deathly, deafening symphony of chaos and terror. After each Imperial indirect fire round (there was no discerning whether it was mortar or artillery blasts at this point) his ears whistled their tune: the high-pitched whine of tinnitus. No chance to rub his head and recover from the racket, it only ever kept on going. Or getting worse. The horrific orchestra was punctuated by the screams of men – his own. His brothers. Some of pain, some of desperation, some of decisive courage. All the screamed words blurred together in the moment – there were no lyrics to this song, only melody in his mind.
The painting before him illustrated it all in the same cruel but beautiful way. The rain here in this moment came not from above, but in front. Red rain. Blaster bolt after blaster bolt, all of the bloody crimson of Imperial weapons, flew his way. They soared around him, whistling as they went past, or impacted on the ground around him sending up blooms of embers and golden sparks. The blaster fire provided colour to an otherwise bleak picture. The low vegetation and grass had been turned up by the brutality of man. Only blaster scorched earth and mud remained now. Each explosion kicked up more and more plumes of dust and dirt, creating a darkness that set upon everyone in this damned clearing. The twin suns poked through the violent storm, providing just enough light to see which his brothers to his left and right.
Oof.
The man to his left, PFC. Vomin let out the short grunt. Somehow, it rang in his ears above the chaos. It sounded like Vomin had just been violently punched in the gut, and when he saw Vomin fall to the ground and curl up clutching himself –he felt that exact way. Because now, he could no longer be frozen in shock and awe.
This was it.
This was on him.
He had to do something.
Something.
A million thoughts raced through his mind. Overthinking his every move, and every move made marked by the shuddering of a body far too hyped up on adrenaline. Whatever he was going to do now, it had to be fast.
Time to grab my balls!
Pushing off the ground with his left hand, he left the safety and restriction of the prone position and took a knee. With his whole body still shaking, he shouldered the A280C rifle and levelled the barrel down range – that is, in the general direction of the maelstrom of enemy fire.
He fired one blaster shot off. Then two. Then three. Four. Five. Six. He kept pressing that trigger.
Click.
No bitch not now!
He aggressively smacked the underside of the blaster rifle where the Tibanna gas canister was inserted. He yanked back the charging handle and let it clack home. The blaster whined.
Atta girl.
The weapon was ready. He dumped bolts towards the Imperial position as hard and fast as he could, all the while slowly inching towards his fallen comrade. All that was going through his head were the same words – taken verbatim out of the Alliance Marine Corps' training handbook.
Get fire superiority first…
Get fire superiority first…
"Kyrus! Get him off the X!" A raspy male voice cried out.
It was the Zabrak Corporal Odessa.
You don't fucking say? What does it look like I'm trying to do, asshole?
The thoughts burned in his head but to waste time and breath vocalising them was the wrong thing to do in this situation.
No, stick to your training.
He finally reached Vomin. The young nineteen-year-old human was curled in a ball, clutching his shoulder, whimpering in pain.
"I got you buddy, you're ok! See that's nothing, you're fine!" Kyrus didn't know what else to say other than the clichés. That was all he'd ever been taught. He didn't want to hurt his mind trying to think about what would actually make the kid panic less.
He wrapped his shuddering gloved hands around the shoulder straps of his blast vest and began to drag him backwards to cover as quickly as could.
"Ah!" Vomin winced out in pain as he was dragged.
For a moment, Kyrus hesitated. He didn't want to hurt the kid any more than he was.
No wait, fuck it. If I leave him he'll get messed up even more. He'll live.
In training, these drags and carries would always tire him out and leave him breathless after a certain amount of meters. Not this time. Adrenaline and pure primal fear pumped through his veins as he pulled him behind the pile of rubble Cpl. Odessa and others were taking cover.
"Medic Up!" He rasped through gasps of air, as after what seemed like an eternity he made it.
"Doc's dead." Odessa yelled sharply, aggressively firing off a bolt or two intermittently from his own A280C.
"What?" Kyrus gasped in defeat, fumbling his own weapon.
"How- "
"It doesn't fucking matter! Spin up that fucking 9-Line or he's dead!" Odessa ordered, firing off two more quick shots.
"Aye, Corporal." He almost said under his breath. There was no way that acknowledgement was audible in this chaos but he didn't care.
His heart pounded in his chest as he observed the sizzling blaster scorch mark on Vomin. It looked like it hurt. He couldn't fuck up now. The Nine Line brief was the standard format Rebel troopers used to call for U-Wing casualty evacuation, containing information vital for the landing.
His hand shaking all the more violently now, he somehow managed to press the push to talk for his wrist comlink.
For a moment, his voice was caught in his throat. He knew what to say. But his mind was completely and entirely flooded. Or clouded, if you will.
Clouded by the fog of war.
"Uniform two-one this is echo three kilo stand by for nine line, over." He managed to get the first part right.
"Echo three kilo this is Uniform two one, send it – over."
Meanwhile, for a moment – there appeared to be a brief lull in the carnage. The dust cleared somewhat enough for Rebel Marine troopers to observe clearly what was happening before them on the Imperial side of the battle.
The platoon Sergeant, the human Staff Sergeant Pekar quickly joined the three of them behind cover. He was simply far too fit to be out of breath from his short little sprint – and far too experienced and battle hardened to lose any form of composure in these kinds of situations. While he was loud enough to be heard, not an ounce of panic or frustration seeped into his voice. It was all ice cold firmness.
"So we have two Imp fixed E-Web positions, direct front, range eight zero meters. Mortars from an unknown pos, more than likely behind them a few hundred meters or maybe even a click or two." His coherence and calmness was like ice to a bruise for Kyrus.
"Roger, so next move?" Corporal Odessa stayed sighted in on his targets as he asked.
"Call for fire." Pekar ordered, a half grin nearly appearing on his face. "And get this trooper outta here." He said, glancing and the writhing Vomin.
The brief conversation was just background noise for Kyrus.
"L-line one…location grid 3589 break…6640 over." Kyrus stammered into the comlink, trying his best to keep the transmission as fluent and clear as possible despite the stress.
"Call-sign remains the same, frequency remains same." He took a deep breath and regained himself after that one.
"Line three…uh…one urgent-"
BOOM!
Kyrus felt like he had just been dropkicked in the chest as he was suddenly launched backwards, painfully jarring his neck as far as it could naturally bend back - so far in fact, that the bottom of his helmet violently dug into his shoulders. It made the pain of slamming into the deck almost null and void, as pieces of dust and dirt rained down on him next, almost burying his grimy, sweaty face.
For a moment, he just lay there in stunned silence recovering from the Imperial artillery blast. His hearing was gone completely for the time being – he was functionally deaf now. And the world around him seemed to move in slow motion. He saw some Alliance Marines trying to push forward. Some successfully – others getting struck down by a stray blast from the Imperial E-Webs. He saw others taking cover, trying to think of what their next move was – as bewildered by this symphony of war as he was. And a few that had just dropped their weapon, curled up and started crying, like children for their mothers. Then there was this other guy, just standing around behind some cover, looking down at the ground like he dropped something.
Kyrus realised the confused guy didn't have his weapon.
How'd you lose your blaster already? – oh
The trooper picked up his entire arm off the ground, turning as he found it. His shoulder at this point was just a gnarled stump with blood pouring out and soaking his fatigues.
What the hell…
"KYRUS!"
He was suddenly snapped out of his shocked daze as Odessa stood over him.
That's right I was calling that nine-line…
He shook his head to snap himself out of it, as well as to flick off all the dirt that piled up on his face. He then took Odessa's outstretched arm and got himself to his feet.
"You know what to do – The Alderaan is engaged in space, so we can't get an orbital fire mission." Odessa said loudly.
Kyrus nodded initially, but his head snapped to his team leader in panic when he heard that last part.
How long was I daydreaming for?
"We're getting air support. Now you get those hurt guys a ride home."
Kyrus raised his comlink again, and resumed the request for casualty evacuation. Meanwhile, Staff Sergeant Pekar just lowered his own wrist.
"Time to target: Stand by zero plus three zero seconds – HACK."
Hundreds of miles above, a flight of three T-65B X-Wings made a tight bank turn…
Without having to be told, Corporal Odessa reached into his bandolier and produced a small canister. He twisted a lever on its top and threw the smoke grenade a few meters in front of them to mark their position. The last thing they wanted were some moronic starfighter pilots lighting up their own men because from above they all looked the same. Surely the guys in shiny white armour are enough of a giveaway right? Better to make sure of it.
"Red Squadron you are cleared hot. Danger Close."
Upon finally finishing his own comm call, Kyrus peeked up over cover and observed the Imperial positions through his A280C's scope. There were two E-Webs all right. And the Stormtroopers manning them were no fools either, they had successfully timed the firing of the weapons so that when one of the nasty machine-blaster cannons overheated, the other would be ready to fire. Thus keeping them constantly pinned. This level of tactical awareness was rare for Stormtroopers these days. Not to mention their fire was pretty accurate.
A jet like whine began to intrude into the chaotic symphony. Heads immediately turned up and to the left as three faint air or spacecraft began to become visible, wings extending like birds.
The wings then opened to form the distinctive 'X'.
Vwap vwap vwap vwap vwap!
Crimson blaster cannon fire tore into the Imperial lines, sending up plumes of debris, and a Stormtrooper or two flying. And that was just the first X-Wing.
Vwap vwap vwap vwap vwap!
The second gun run tore through the Imperial positions and for once, the constant stream of fire from the Stormtroopers was forced to a halt.
"HOLD!" Staff Sergeant Pekar screamed out. The temptation was there to advance, but not yet.
The final X-Wing soared over, let loose its quad cannons, firing them in sync down onto the Imperials ahead of them. The micro-explosions hammered them, slaughtering more confused Stormtroopers and sending sparks and blooms of smoke everywhere.
Vwap vwap vwap – BOOM!
A power cell for one of the E-Webs was struck, and in tune with the grotesquely beautiful opera of violence before them – the golden and red form of the rose of a fireball erupted. The explosion pounded their ear drums, and Imperial troopers were sent flying through the air like ragdolls, and those that didn't were ripped to pieces by the shrapnel.
The E-Webs were destroyed.
"Gun-run complete. Good effect on target, Red Six."
A loud cheer broke out from the Alliance Marines.
"Got their ass, baby!"
And just in time, the U-Wings arrived in turn, coming in low from behind them – descending slowly. The bright red med-cross on their hulls denoted their purpose.
"Kyrus get Vomin to the LZ." Odessa slapped him on the back in encouragement. "You did well, boy."
"Roger that."
"FIRE AND MOVE!" Staff Sergeant Pekar cried out, leaping from his cover, firing a few blasts at whatever stunned Stormtroopers remained.
"Fire and move!" The troopers repeated the cry and began to assault their smoking objective, sprinting from cover to cover – forward.
"NOT ONE STEP BACK BOYS!"
Meanwhile, Kyrus jerked Vomin up and off the ground – and using his momentum, up upon his shoulders in the classic fireman's carry. Vomin cried out in pain as he did it.
"Oh stop your bitching you're on your way out." Kyrus grunted from under Vomin's bodyweight.
"Ky d-did we win…?"
"Shut the fuck up."
Other troopers were carrying or dragging wounded back to the U-wings as well. Among them was the man carrying his arm. Nobody helped him; he just casually jogged back to the U-Wings like he just needed some ordinary thing.
"Watch his head!" The U-Wing crew chief warned as Kyrus loaded Vomin on board the ship, making all kinds of grunts of exhaustion and displeasure as he did so.
"Blaster shot, shoulder." He told them, and jumped on board himself.
Meanwhile, the Alliance Marines had consolidated themselves as a group on the Empire's position from just moments earlier. He could make out Staff Sergeant Pekar barking out orders. Following that, a pair of troopers walked over the edge of the small cliff the Stormtroopers had been firing from.
From it, they draped the flag down. The red Rebel Starbird on the white background, with red trim.
"Rancor Actual this is Rancor One-Three, objective secure."
"Roger that, Rancor Actual copies."
Somehow, despite all the horror he had just been through – a smile broke across Kyrus' face. His first ever battle had been survived.
On cue, the three X-Wings soared over to more cheers from the ground troopers.
"Yeah buddy – we won this one." Kyrus said as he rubbed Vomin's unwounded shoulder.
With that, the symphony faded to silence.
How was it? If there's any current AD guys or vets I'd love to hear your take specifically. Was the Star Wars and realism balanced nicely? Are we ready to go back to the beginning of Kyrus' story? If you have any questions about anything you read just shoot them and I'll answer.
Cheers: JJZ-109