Jaheli had joined the Empire right as this expedition had begun. He had itched for the option to leave that rat hole he had called home. Nal Hutta was not a place to grow up, but it had taught him valuable skills.
He hefted his rifle, an E-14 blaster rifle similar in look and design the the ancient model E-10, but with the E-11s cooling system and a link to his helmets scouting system.
He tapped that scouter now, as he looked over the area . It was one of the hab blocks, still littered with torn apartments and cracked streets. All around, there were small refugee camps as the Imperial Army struggled to keep them fed and sheltered.
His particular Battalion, the 345th Attack Battalion, of the 118th Brigade, 15th Corps, etc, had been reorganized into the 1st Battalion of the Imperial Conquest Consolidation Corps. He was more than a little proud but also aware that their new title was due far more to a lack of available troops than any specialness on their part, but still. He was proud.
Jaheli watched two of the native refugees thank two Armsmen who carried a crate of foodstuffs over to them while a translator spoke and three other Armsmen, aware and blasters up, started to form rising natives into a queue. They were a pale people , brone to black and blond hair colors and didnt seem too bright but he saw that they were highly religious and prone to praying for their "God-Lord". Their clothing was another oddity, a combination of utilitarian and ornate, just like their structures.
He looked up at one of the statues that were littered across the city. A bald man, wearing thick ceremonial armor, a sword in his hand and laid across a a table the held in his other. A wreath sat behind his head.
He observed about a dozen natives headed toward him and raised a hand up to stop them, falling back on his limited phrases of the local tongue. "Greetings. If you wish to food, you have to-" He stopped, his hands itching and raised his blaster. Nal Hutta had trained him and that training never failed. "On the ground! Ground now!"
The natives paused, staring at him in mixtures of fear and apprehension but a few retained faces of smooth calm. He heard the crackle of his comlink in his ear. "Lance Corporal Jaheli, sitrep, now."
He lift one hand from the barrel but retained the other on the handle, finger near the trigger. He pressed on his comlink. "Got about 8 natives here and I have a bad feeling about them. Requesting assistance to pat them down sir."
A pause, then. "Alright J. Sending K and BT your way."
"Copy."
Suddenly, just then, some of the natives produced small weapons, firing red beams at him he dropped to one knee and took out two immediately, dropping them with two blasts each. He ducked and rolled and brought his gun up for his next target.
There was child in his sights. He stopped. He thought of Hutta and the streets of starving kids.
The first blast hit him right in the face. What had been his head was now a mess of seared flesh and bone. His body fell limp to the ground.
He had been a Lance Corporal, and would be posthumously promoted to Corporal. He wouldn't be the last.