Fives' heart pounded against his ribcage as he fired at the crawler.
His blaster bolts reverberated off its ray shielded surface, but they did at least offer some distraction, enough to allow the artillerymen to aim their rockets and fire. Not that the bombardment seemed to achieve much, save for slowing the monsters down.
Men were dying left and right as he dashed behind a twisted tree, some groaning or screaming as they did so. One brother reached for him briefly as he passed, his hand falling limply to the ground just in time for the crawler to scurry over him. Fives could do nothing but continue to evade his own demise, listen to the unpleasant squelching sounds, and pray that the poor fellow had died quickly.
The valley was becoming a charnal pit. They were too spread out, trapped by the steep walls of the gorge, and the Umbaran's were picking them off like fish in a kriffing barrel. They needed a plan. And quickly, before their ranks thinned to the extent that they'd never bring the mechanical beasts down.
Fives heard the sound of somebody sliding into cover behind him and twisted to see Hardcase, stumbling to a crouch next to him.
"Well, this isn't going to plan!" Hardcase yelled, flinching at the dull thud of a rocket impacting into the side of one of the crawlers.
"We're too spread out," Fives grunted, pausing briefly to catch his breath, before sprinting for the next piece of cover, Hardcase hot on his heels.
"Where the hell is Rex?!"
In answer to Hardcase's question, the Captain abruptly vaulted over the top of the boulder behind which the pair of them were crouched.
"Rex!"
"Glad to see you boys in one piece," said the blonde, his pistols gripped tightly in his hands, despite the fact that they were more or less useless against the crawlers. "Where the hell are the rest of the platoons?"
"All over the kriffing place," replied Fives in exasperation, hunkering down as one of the crawlers lumbered dangerously close by.
"Those things have spread everybody out across the valley, sir," said Hardcase, hoisting the enormous gatling gun he carried and no doubt raring to use it.
Rex grunted grimly.
"We need to regroup. Draw them into a trap and then strike as a unit. It's the only way we'll bring them down."
Hardcase nodded as Rex engaged his comm link.
"All squads, reform at the west side-"
Fives didn't hear the rest of Rex's message.
Something collided with the boulder behind them, sending Fives and the others flying in a cascade of rubble. He hit the ground hard, rolling over and over until he connected with the twisted trunk of a tree. Wheezing and gasping for breath, Fives pushed himself to his hands and knees, lifting his head and coming face to face with one of the crawlers.
He opened his mouth to yell, but his lungs were empty of air, and only a hoarse rattle escaped. He frantically scrambled backwards, desperate to put some space between him and the death machine, but there was nowhere to go, and his legs were shaking so badly that they wouldn't bear his weight. He fumbled for his blaster, but it was gone, thrown from his grasp by the impact.
Fives' eyes went wide, and his heart threatened to beat right out of his chest. This was it. This was the end.
Everything suddenly shifted into slow motion. He watched the spindly legs carry the monster closer, watched as the nearest gun turrets swivelled to face him. And then abruptly, the thing dropped to the ground, collapsing to slide across the dirt, its back end buckling and tipping up to arch over its front. It rumbled to a halt less than two feet from Fives, where it remained motionless, billowing fumes and stinking of hot metal.
Fives finally managed to draw a long, agonising breath, which promptly left his body again as a high-pitched yell.
Standing shakily, he peered over the corpse, his eyes travelling over its twisted form and coming to rest on the large, smoking blaster hole piercing right through the pilot's cab.
"What the-?"
His gaze then travelled further, along the length of the thing, to the distant treeline, where he saw a figure in dark armour hopping to the ground. Nearby, Rex and Hardcase were already on their feet, watching in awe as a colossal form stepped in front of the final crawler. Fives was about to open his mouth to shout a warning, when Wrecker drew back his fist and punched the lumbering hulk square in the face. It shrieked, thrown off balance and half twisting to writhe on the ground, where Hardcase promptly put it out of its misery with a burst of well-aimed bolts from his plasma canon.
The whole ordeal was over in a matter of minutes, leaving a heavy, painful stillness in its wake, the only sounds being the cries of the wounded, and the pounding in Fives' own ears. He gave himself a shake, retrieved his blaster, and headed over to the carcass of the crawler, where the remaining members of Clone Force 99 plus any survivors from the platoons were gathering.
"That was...impressive," said Rex genuinely.
The Sergeant, Hunter, twirled a vibro knife between his fingers and shrugged.
"Just doing our thing, Captain."
Whether the man was really being humble, or just plain nonchalant, Fives couldn't tell. But he was damned grateful that Clone Force 99 had rejoined the fold.
...
There were wounded men everywhere, crouched or lying on the ground, weeping, screaming, trembling.
There were so many that Kix had to triage them ruthlessly. There was only so much bacta he could carry, and only so many wounds he could tend. Those worse off would die so that others could live.
It was an unpleasant part of his job and one that often kept him awake most nights.
Kix jammed the hyperdermic into the neck of the nearest trooper, moving on down the line of hunched figures with a disassociation he reserved for these occasions. The next two were lost causes, and he couldn't even spare the meds to give them a painless death. Screwing his eyes shut and trying to clear his mind of the swelling guilt, he almost walked straight into his next patient, who caught him by the shoulder with one huge paw.
"Hey! Watch where you're goin'!"
Kix took an involuntary step backwards, his gaze travelling upwards until it came to rest on the face of the man in front of him. One eye was milky white, and a web of scars cradled his bald skull. Kix had seen the guy before at a distance, but even so, the muscle of Clone Force 99 was impressively intimidating up close, towering a good half foot above baseline and twice as broad as any other trooper.
Giving himself a shake and snapping out of his reverie, Kix folded his arms across his chest and plastered a scowl on his face.
"I could say the same to you," he said briskly, raising an eyebrow. "This area is for wounded men only."
"Err, yeah," said the giant with a sheepish grin. "That's why I'm here."
Kix couldn't hide his surprise, mostly because he didn't believe the behemoth was capable of being injured.
"You need medical treatment?" he asked, eyeing the fellow up and down. "You look fine to me."
The giant grunted angrily and leaned in closer to Kix, who did his best not to flinch.
"You callin' me a liar?!"
Under normal circumstances, Kix would have risen to the confrontation. But he was exhausted, mentally and physically, and he couldn't spare the energy for a fight. And besides, he didn't think his chances of coming out on top of a scuffle with this guy were particularly promising. He took a deep breath and pursed his lips.
"Where are you hurt?"
The giant hesitated for a split second, grunting to himself and eventually backing down.
"Busted up my hand," he replied, waving the appendage about and wincing. "Tech said he can't fix it."
Kix stared at the man for a moment, finally sighing wearily.
"Go and wait over there."
The giant nodded, striding over to a nearby log and plonking himself down.
Running a hand over his face, Kix turned back to his more pressing patients, and it was only once they'd been tended to that he circled back to the large man.
"So," he said, perching on the log but remaining a good distance away, "you said you hurt your hand?"
The man nodded, holding out his paw hopefully.
"Yeah. Think it's broken."
Kix nodded and shuffled a little closer.
"Can I see?"
Again, the man nodded. Kix took his hand and began carefully removing the knuckle guard and hand plate, gingerly tugging off the glove and watching warily for any sign of discomfort. But aside from the occasional grunt, the fellow was a model patient. Kix let his eyes travel back to the wounded area, which was an impressive blackish purple, the skin around the knuckles split and oozing blood. He ran the medi scanner over the injury, which confirmed his findings.
"Well, there aren't any broken bones. Just some bad bruising and a few lacerations."
"Huh. You sure?"
Kix resisted the urge to make a sarcastic comment or flaunt his medical training. Instead, he reached into his pack and pulled out a roll of steri plast.
"I'll strap up your hand, which should minimise the pain and prevent you from aggravating the injury."
The man abruptly beamed at him, the gesture looking odd in his rough, scarred face.
"Great!"
Kix went to work, carefully binding the hand as tightly as he could. The giant didn't move a muscle, merely watched him work in silence. Eventually, the scrutiny became uncomfortable, and Kix softly cleared his throat.
"So, how did you get this, err..." he paused, wracking his brains as he tried to remember the man's name.
The trooper chortled loudly.
"Name's Wrecker," he said brightly, "and I got this punching one of them tank thingies."
Kix nodded, the words taking a couple of seconds to sink in. His eyes went wide.
"You punched it?!"
"Yup!"
"For Maker's sake, why?!"
Wrecker shrugged and grunted.
"Why not?"
Kix shook his head, his mind flashing back to some of the more stupid things Hardcase had done in his time. Often, in his experience, there was never a sensible explanation.
"I'm amazed you didn't break your hand," he tactfully said as he finished bandaging the appendage.
Again, Wrecker shrugged, looking thoughtful for a moment.
"Guess I'm made of tough stuff, huh."
Kix couldn't keep his lips from quirking up. He normally hated arrogance, but Wrecker seemed more like he was full of Child like self-confidence than cockiness.
"I guess so."
Wrecker brought his hand up to his good eye to inspect it, tentatively flexing his fingers.
"Hey, thanks!"
Kix was just opening his mouth to reply when Wrecker, to his utter surprise, wrapped one huge arm around his neck and squeezed so hard that he thought he might pass out. He spluttered, face going a deep shade of red from both embarrassment and oxygen deprivation. Shoving feebly against the massive limb, it was almost a full minute by the time Wrecker finally let go, rising to his feet and sauntering off as though he hadn't a care in the world.
...
The pounding in Hunter's skull had lessened once the crawlers had been put down, though a persistent, low grade thrumming still remained.
He briefly closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose as they wove their way through the hulking heaps of machinery. The pain was bearable, more an annoyance than anything else, but he was all too aware of just how quickly his sensory overload migraines could build. Best to try and minimise the risk of one of those developing, because he really did not fancy dealing with that in front of the regs.
With a sigh, Hunter cast his eyes over his shoulder at the cliff that they had almost made it to the top of only an hour ago. They could have been safe by now, most likely already scoping out the enemy airbase, instead of falling back in with the regs. But, if he was being honest with himself, he had rather enjoyed his squad swooping in to save the day. Hunter had been immensely proud watching Crosshair down that crawler with a single shot, and Wrecker punch the living daylights out of the other. It appeared as though the regs had been similarly impressed, and it seemed like they'd earned a grudging kind of respect from the rest of the clones. Not that they needed that, of course, but it was still pleasantly satisfying.
The valley was eerily quiet as they advanced towards the end of the gorge, their numbers now half what they'd been only a little while ago. Hunter was no strategist, but, glancing around at the weary and wounded regs, he wasn't certain the battalion was in any fit state to conquer the air base. At least not without incurring more casualties.
Another sharp spike of pain pierced his brain, and he clapped a hand to the side of his helmet before he could stop himself.
"Headache?" came a voice to his left.
Hunter stiffened, forcing his hand down to his side. There was no way he was going to let the regs see any kind of weakness. He'd learned to avoid doing that the hard way in the past. Throwing a look over his shoulder, he saw that it was Captain Rex that had spoken, the man casually keeping pace beside him.
"It's fine."
Rex was silent for a moment.
"I get them too sometimes."
Hunter made a huffing sound, because he still wasn't certain he trusted the regs enough to be chummy with any of them.
"Not like this," he replied shortly, stopping to kick aside a piece of scrap.
Rex watched him thoughtfully, his head cocked to one side.
"Maybe your HUD needs adjusting?"
"It's got nothing to do with that."
Hunter continued moving, his senses primed for any further signs of danger. A pair of winged creatures flapped overhead, but otherwise nothing moved in the valley besides the troopers. Captain Rex continued to stare at him as though concerned, and Hunter sighed, realising the man wasn't going to leave him alone until he gave him some kind of proper response.
"Electromagnetic frequencies tend to... aggravate my senses."
Rex moved a little closer, and Hunter got the sense that he'd piqued the man's interest.
"Your senses? You mean you could sense those crawlers?"
"Yeah. Something like that."
Another long silence. By the time the Captain spoke again, they'd cleared the last of the wreckage and began to pick their way down the valley once again.
"Forgive me for asking...but is that a part of your...what makes you different?"
Hunter had expected to be offended by the question, so he was surprised by the swell of pride that he felt in his chest. He was different, but that was what made him better.
"Yeah."
Rex huffed a small laugh.
"That's a handy talent to have," he said with what sounded like genuine admiration in his voice.
Hunter blinked, twisting to subtly look at the man. Perhaps this reg wasn't too bad. Maybe at least marginally better than the rest.
"It is. Except for the headaches. The electromagnetic frequencies of those...things," he waved a hand at one of the fallen crawlers, "were pretty intense."
"I can imagine," said Rex with an uncomfortable amount of sympathy. "At least it'll go away now that the crawlers are destroyed."
Hunter grunted in reply. Now that the reg had mentioned it, this particular headache had lasted far longer than the others usually did. From past experience, the pounding usually stopped within half an hour of the exposure ceasing. It had been some time since the crawlers had been taken out, and he was still in pain. That was unusual, but perhaps it was exhaustion that had his head hammering like a steel drum. He considered taking a stim, except that he wasn't certain that that wouldn't aggravate the problem.
Kriff, but what he wouldn't have given for a few hours sleep.
Hunter briefly wondered whether he'd ever get the opportunity to sleep again, or whether Krell would continue to march them until they dropped. From his very brief observation of the Jedi, he wouldn't put it past him.
He'd been so caught up with his thoughts that he'd forgotten all about Rex, causing him to stiffen at the sound of the man clearing his throat.
"Hunter?"
The use of his name rather than his rank was strangely intimate. He blinked rapidly several times, caught off guard by the sudden familiarity.
"Yes, Captain?"
Rex was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was soft.
"Thank you."
Hunter was glad of his helmet, because it hid the expression of mingled shock and smugness that he was sure was on his face.
"You're welcome."
He might not be ready to take a blaster bolt for the man, but it was a step in the right direction.