Flaming Water, Frozen Earth
Chapter Four
-DOCUMENT START-
INFORMATION AVAILABLE FOR PUBLIC DISCLOSURE:
DOCUMENT#: LAF48235
GRAND LIBRARY OF THE FORMER GALACTIC EMPIRE, CORUSCANT
CARIDA IMPERIAL MILITARY JOURNAL, VOLUME 807, ISSUE 09
EDITORIAL: ADDRESSING MYTHS AND MISCONCEPTIONS REGARDING THE COMBAT EFFECTIVENESS OF AT-AT AND AT-ST CLASS ARMORED ASSAULT WALKERS
In the wake of recent military operations conducted on Hoth and Gorman, it has risen to the attention of Imperial Army command that the All Terrain Armored Transport and its smaller cousin, the All Terrain Scout Walker, have been saddled by the galactic public and by those similarly uninformed with a reputation for combat vulnerability, structural instability, and generally limited utility.
As numerous rebel ground formations have discovered prior to, during, and since these key engagements, such misguided perceptions of walker-type vehicles as clumsy and useless cannot be farther from the truth. In reality, armored assault walkers enjoy numerous important advantages over similar categories of repulsorlift-powered transport and ground effect vehicles:
First and foremost, the removal of the need for walker-type vehicles to account for thrust-to-weight considerations permits AT-ATs and AT-STs to mount far heavier armor than any repulsor hovervehicles in their class. This permits armored walkers to sustain and shrug off battle damage and incoming fire to an extent that repulsor-powered tanks and transports simply cannot match.
Next, armored assault walkers, contrary to popular perception, in fact enjoy better handling on rough or rugged terrain than near-ground hovervehicles. While combat hovertanks and similar vehicles that have a higher operational ceiling can indeed traverse rough terrain with even greater ease, their greater flight altitude leaves their drive systems critically vulnerable to enemy fire. Assault walkers are further favored by their near-complete immunity to bounce-mines and sensor-mines that are triggered by repulsorlift fields.
Most importantly of all, the power savings that result from the use of a walker drive system instead of repulsorlift engines permit combat walkers to not only mount heavier main and secondary energy armament, but also carry far greater loads of troops and other materiel. In addition, assault walkers further enjoy reduced noise signature and improved operational range compared to hovertank and hovertransport vehicles.
Lastly, the psychological warfare advantages conveyed by the intimidating appearance of assault walkers cannot be understated or underestimated enough.
In both computer simulations and formal large-scale military exercises, as well as in the crucible of real combat, armored assault walker formations have proven themselves time and time again to be harder-hitting and more resilient to battle attrition than comparable units equipped with hovertanks or repulsorlift assault transports.
In summary, it is best to let the Rebels cling to the comfort of their false myths, for when they are confronted by these elite Imperial shock forces in person, those lies and their own smoldering corpses will be all that they have left to them.
SIGNED,
GENERAL MAXIMILLIAN VEERS
COMMANDER, IMPERIAL TWO-HUNDRED-THIRTY-FIRST ARMOURED BREAKTHROUGH DIVISION: "BLIZZARD FORCE"
ISSD-1 EXECUTOR
DATESTAMP 39:10:7
-END OF DOCUMENT—
OOOOO
Gone was the jocular laughter and easygoing conversation that had filled the main hangar over the past weeks and months. As the orange-clad pilots sprinted from the base corridors into the glare of floodlights, they found themselves swept up in a storm of frenzied activity that seemed to fill every square meter of the vast chamber. A calm voice was nowhere to be heard among the ground crewmen milling about in the shadow of the great transports—only curt orders and yelled exchanges penetrated the racket of the cargo-loading droids and the roar of massive engines warming up for flight.
They gathered in the center of the hangar around Princess Leia for the final briefing.
Armin had never met the Aldaraanian noble, nor had he ever seen her up close in person. As she outlined their combat orders, Princess Leia seemed to project the very picture of resolve and courage. Surrounded by the fighter pilots, she paced back and forth at the center with a fiery determination that gave her the air of a giant among them, even though she stood perhaps a couple of inches or so shorter than Armin did.
A part of Armin wondered if it was all a front. He searched the princess's dark brown eyes, curious if she was secretly just as nervous as they were, or if she really felt as courageous as she appeared on the outside. If it was an act, he couldn't tell.
"All troop carriers will assemble at the north entrance. The heavy transport ships will leave as soon as they're loaded," she was now saying. "Only two fighter escorts per ship. The energy shield can only be opened for a short time, so you'll have to stay very close to your transports."
Hobbie Klivan, whom Armin recognized as one of Rogue Squadron's seasoned aces, spoke up in a skeptical tone. "Two fighters against a Star Destroyer?"
The princess acknowledged Hobbie's interruption with a small nod and continued, looking back around the circle of pilots to each of them in turn. "The ion cannon will fire several shots to make sure that any enemy ships will be out of your flight path. When you've gotten past the energy shield, proceed directly to the rendezvous point. Understood?"
A chorus of acknowledgements rose from the crowd of men and women. Dazz, in particular, barked out "Yes ma'am!" with an enthusiasm that was truly unexpected from him.
Before she moved to head back towards the command center, Leia lowered her voice, and Armin perceived in her sudden sincerity a hint of who the princess really was at heart.
"Good luck."
With that, Princess Leia Organa of the House of Aldaraan, former Senator of the Galactic Senate, turned and strode briskly away, flanked by an aide and two Alliance soldiers.
"OK!" screamed the deck officer, bringing his combat gloves together in a loud clap. "Everybody to your stations! Let's go!"
The pilots dispersed. Those assigned to transport escort paused to shake hands and wish luck to those participating in the battle on the planet's surface, then walked off towards the rows of X-wings. The famous aces of Rogue Squadron departed at a fast walk, the hanger with their airspeeders located just a hundred or so meters away. The fighter bay holding the Scouting Corps's T-47s was a much further distance from the main hangar, and so Commander Erwin ordered the squadron into a fast jog once more. Flight boots pounding on the rough metal deck, they broke away from their fellow pilots as a group.
Ground crew personnel and infantrymen looked up as the squadron of twenty-four pilots approached, waving their hands and wishing them well with excited cries.
"Go get 'em, Green Group!"
"Good luck, Commander! See you at the rendezvous!"
They passed the empty berth where the Milennium Falcon had sat a few days ago before Captain Solo had ordered it moved to a dedicated docking bay of its own. Puddles and stains from hyperdrive coolant and machine lubricant still marked the space the ship had once occupied, testament to Han and Chewbacca's devotion to its maintenance.
Armin wondered if the smuggler captain still remembered his name.
They passed a line of 'monuments'—Alliance soldiers crippled beyond the ability to serve—waiting to board a transport. Some sat wheelchair-bound due to severe nerve damage. Others were led and guided by service droids, blinded by plasma or laser fire beyond the aid of bionic eye replacements. Still others stood in the queue with hunched backs, bent over beneath the weight of too many organ replacements or prosthetic limbs to walk or stand normally. They spared the Scouting Corps pilots barely a glance. Glum and resigned, they awaited evacuation—living reminders of the harsh truth that once a soldier joined the Alliance, they could never be discharged from its service except by death.
They passed a group of soldiers from the Stationary Guard Division driving a utility speeder along the hangar floor in the opposite direction. Armin spotted a familiar face behind the controls and elbowed Eren and Mikasa excitedly as they ran beside him before pointing and waving to Captain Hannes. Recognizing the three pilots in turn, the middle-aged ion cannon operator waved back, calling out something that was lost amidst the din.
An instant later, the speeder was vanishing behind them, the blond head of their fellow Shiganshima native receding into the distance.
Finally, they entered the squadron fighter and speeder hangar. Once through the chamber's entrance doors, they passed the double row of the Scouting Corps's twenty-four X-wing fighters, each instantly recognizable by the double row of green stripes painted across the S-foils and down the nose of each starfighter. From behind the cockpits, their astromech droids beeped and whistled as they watched the squadron run past as a group. Armin looked back over his shoulders at the fighters as they jogged onwards, reflecting grimly that not all of the X-wings would be reunited with their pilots at the ground battle's conclusion.
Ahead in two neat rows sat the twelve T-47 airspeeders they would ride into battle.
With a raised hand, Commander Erwin motioned for them to halt. Captain Mike Zacharius stepped out to one side from behind the commander's shoulder, turning around to face to the column.
"Pilots, assemble!"
As one, they each took three steps forward to form two rows of ten pilots each. Taking their helmets and cupping them under their right arms, they straightened their backs and stood proudly at attention before the commander.
Standing in the first row, flanked by Christa and Eren, Armin could feel his heart starting to beat faster, and the jitters in his stomach that had subsided earlier were returning. Ignoring the fluttering sensation of worry inside him, he kept his head high and his spine ramrod-straight, refusing to allow any sign of unease to show outwardly. Damn it, he thought. He'd hoped he'd outgrown his pre-battle shaky nerves.
"At ease!"
They relaxed. Commander Erwin stepped forward, looking up and down the squadron's ranks. After first allowing himself a hard, thin smile at the sight of the pilots lined up before him, he began opening his mouth to deliver his customary pre-battle address.
Just at that moment, an interruption arrived in the form of a black-clad Alliance commando who sprinted past the squadron's two rows before skidding to a halt in front of the commander.
"Sir! Lieutenant Marlow Sanders, Alliance Intelligence Interior Security Brigade!"
To Armin, the soldier was the very picture of what he'd always imagined an elite foot soldier would look like. Tall and athletic, the commando gave off an air of experience and extreme lethality. Shorter than Bertholt or Mike Zacharius, less muscular than Reiner, Marlow nevertheless exuded an attitude suggesting that cutting down stormtroopers came as easily to him as eating a meal. A heavy blaster rifle hung from his shoulder, and a deadly assemblage of grenades, equipment, and electronics dangled from his pack, belt, and combat harness. Even the operative's face and hands were stained an intimidating, dark gray with camouflage dye.
Marlow Sanders saluted Commander Erwin. "Sorry about the interruption, sir. I need to speak with your unit immediately."
The commander took the interruption in stride, nodding and taking a step back. "Please."
"Green Squadron pilots! Could I have your attention for a moment?"
He need not have asked. The squadron was already staring, wide-eyed, at this wraith, this phantom-like elite commando standing before them. Armin, too, looked up and down the strange soldier, from the grey skullcap clashing horribly with the man's bowl-cut black hair to the long vibroknife thrust into a calf sheath above one ankle.
It heartened him, in a way, to see for himself how every branch, every sector of the Rebel Alliance had adapted completely to the vicious, one-sided, no-quarter nature of the war that they were fighting.
"Hey, he's kind of cute, don't you think, Jean?" Mina chose that moment to whisper, giggling quietly.
Jean coughed. "What!? Really Mina, at a time like this…?"
The soldier did not appear to have heard the exchange. With a brief, evaluatory glance at all of them, he introduced himself a second time. "I'm Lieutenant Marlow Sanders, Alliance Intelligence Interior Security Brigade."
"This is just a reminder that we are now operating under Protocol Blue," he began, his voice stern and businesslike. "This is a full-scale, short-notice base evacuation."
"Any equipment that can't fly into space or be loaded on a transport…" He waved a hand at their surroundings, indicating with a gesture the hangar cranes and refueling vehicles, the spare parts inventory and the repair bays. "… is getting left behind."
Suddenly, he glared at all of them. "I can't make this clear enough—once you land, do not under any circumstances allow your flight computer and comm system to fall into enemy hands! Before you take off, set your data systems to self-wipe if your vital signs turn critical. Follow all proper code procedures."
More than anything, this lecture suddenly drove home to Armin the reality of what they were doing. This was not just another battle. This was no simple base relocation. This was a desperate all-out evacuation, taking place directly under the guns of a full Imperial battle fleet.
They were fleeing.
"—and once you've completed your mission, or if your speeder is forced down, plant a thermal detonator inside the cockpit to destroy everything inside. If you can, of course."
Lieutenant Marlow let out a short sigh. "I know you'll have a lot on your hands very soon, but remember this: if the Empire breaks our codes or locates the rendezvous point, then the Alliance is as good as finished."
"Thank you," he finished.
Then, it was Commander Erwin's turn to speak. Quietly thanking the security brigade officer in turn, he stepped before the squadron.
The commando left as suddenly as he had appeared before them, racing away at a full sprint as he raised a comlink to his lips. The last Armin saw of him was a dark silhouette darting into the base corridors, blaster rifle bouncing at his shoulder.
It was Erwin's turn, finally, to speak to them. This time, his voice, instead of assuming the fiery, passionate tenor that they were used to, began by assuming a tone that was almost fatherly to the ear. "I will be honest with you—our unit is understrength, and a third of our pilots are not only inexperienced but also well below the standard of training expected of frontline combat pilots."
"Furthermore," he added, spreading his hands out to either side of him, "the majority of our veteran squadron members are accustomed to starfighter combat in planetary orbit or in deep space. Even many of our most experienced pilots are unused to flying in a close air support role."
Suddenly, the commander's voice surged, ringing with the energy of a war trumpet of ancient times. "Our squadron may be underprepared," he declared, "But! The hours that lie ahead of us will decide nothing less than the future survival of the Alliance!"
Armin felt a surge of adrenaline travel down his back at Erwin's words. Looking around, he saw his fellow pilots equally impressed by the do-or-die nature of their mission. A few feet away, Ymir's face was stern and resolute. At Armin's shoulder, Eren's expression was equally stoic, his eyes afire with an eager spark of spirit. Even members of the ground and hangar crews around them were glancing in the squadron's direction, listening in.
"The supplies and personnel carried by the evacuation transports represent our best hope of ever creating a galaxy without tyranny. Our ability to cover their withdrawal will be crucial. You must buy their safety—with your lives if you must!"
The words rang out across the hangar in the frigid air, and this time, a shiver of chilling mortality raced down Armin's spine.
Even Erwin's speech was uncharacteristically shallow and rushed, as though hastily improvised. Why did Armin have such an uneasy feeling about this upcoming battle?
"In every open battle ever fought over the course of our rebellion, the Empire has won victory after victory almost without exception," Erwin reminded them all. "However, if we throw them back here, then the universe in which we can finally strike back will be within our grasp! We—!"
Just at that moment a signal tone interrupted the commander, blaring twice loudly and causing Christa to jump in surprise beside Armin. At the sound of the siren, he saw Levi, Hanji, and the other veteran pilots visibly steel themselves. Teeth gritted, they fidgeted where they stood, tightening their flight gloves, adjusting the chinstraps of the helmets they carried.
With that pealing alarm, Command had just sent the order for their squadron to launch.
At the far end of the long hangar, a parka-clad ground crewman cupped his hands around his mouth to scream to a comrade over the whine of the repulsorlifts engines.
"Chet! Hit it—open the doors!"
Erwin, glancing over to the great durasteel doors that were about to open to the outside air, returned his gaze hurriedly to the pilots assembled before him. He snapped into a traditional Aldaraanian salute, placing his right hand over his heart as he concluded his address to them.
"Pilots!" he roared. "Good luck, and may the Force be with you!"
They paused only to return the salute. Then, they were off, sprinting towards their fighters as they pulled their helmets on, fastening them at the chinstraps. Most of them sought out their fellow gunner or pilot before heading for their assigned speeder. Armin, however, ran alongside Eren and Mikasa as they made their way up the left side of the vast chamber.
As he ran, Armin glanced back over his shoulder. Behind him, Franz and Hannah were sharing a long kiss in the center of the room, the last two pilots to start moving. As Armin watched, they broke apart and moved at last towards their airspeeder, leaving the floor empty.
With a groan of protesting machinery, the hangar doors began opening, spilling the violently bright Hoth sunlight across the floor of the flight deck.
"Hey, it's sunny out there!" Armin heard Connie exclaim.
"Of course it's sunny! Didn't you read the weather report?" Thomas Wagner shot back, laughing.
With the entering doors, cold air spilled like a flood into the hangar, greeting Armin's face and neck with an icy, painful kiss that made him inhale sharply in shock. The rest of his body, wrapped in the temperature-controlled pilot's suit and all but immune to the frigid gust, moved normally, ignorant of the frozen atmosphere around them.
To either side, Armin could see his fellow pilots arriving at their T-47s, clambering into the cockpits, fastening flight harnesses as service personnel milled around them making last-minute adjustments to the squat, angular airspeeders.
"Yi-yiiip ayo! Ay!" Sasha yelled in a traditional Arrakiyan hunting cry as she leapt onto her fighter after Connie.
Out of the corner of his other eye, Armin caught a glimpse of Jean, grim-faced, stepping slowly up to his own T-47. Marco already sat in its gunner's seat, concentrating intently as he monitored several displays as part of their pre-flight checks.
Next to them, Auruo and Petra stood side-by-side in front of their speeder.
"I'm looking forward to painting some kill markers on this baby," Auruo bragged.
"Pssh…" Petra groaned. "The T-47s are getting left behind, remember?"
Finally, they reached Eren and Mikasa's craft. Armin slowed, and the three of them caught each other in a fierce hug. His face pressed into Eren's shoulder, the scent of Mikasa's faint perfume in his lungs, Armin spoke.
"Eren… Mikasa… be careful out there, okay?"
"You too, Armin." Eren replied, his voice dead serious.
"Don't take any reckless risks," Mikasa urged him. "We'll watch your back."
Armin nodded. "Same to you two."
Eren's arms tightened around the two of them, then loosened as he was the first to leave the embrace. Then Armin let go too, and the three of them shared a brief smile.
Around them, the whine of repulsorlifts increased steadily in pitch, the wail of countless engines like a growing wind whose strength would sweep them all away. Armin could see cockpits beginning to close along the rows of T-47s.
He turned to face the open hangar doors. There, framed as though part of a hologram, stretched the vast expanse of the frozen plain, backed by the harsh, black lines of the distant Clabburn range. Outside, the snow and ice gleamed in the sun, shining with the purest highlights of white and blue.
Then and there, Armin was solemnly reminded that Hoth was a planet that had never before borne witness to the devastation of war.
Up ahead and to his left, his airspeeder waited.
OOOOO
I do love integrating scenes from the movie with this fic… don't worry, though, I shall refrain from overindulging and leave things at this. Almost everything from here on out will be largely original, with only incidental references to the main Star Wars storyline. That said, everything will remain canon-compliant, so no, there will not be a lightsaber duel between Armin and Darth Vader at the story's climax. :P
And yes, Marlow deserves to be somewhat of a badass…
"SIGNED,
GENERAL MAXIMILLIAN VEERS
COMMANDER, IMPERIAL TWO-HUNDRED-THIRTY-FIRST ARMOURED BREAKTHROUGH DIVISION: "BLIZZARD FORCE"
ISSD-1 EXECUTOR"
-Can I confess to having given myself the chills?
^^Please pardon the somewhat hammy introductory public document—now is that foreshadowing or what? Haha…
That's right—next chapter, things get hot as the Battle of Hoth kicks off!
As always, thanks for reading, and don't forget to favorite, follow, and review!