The Battle of Cristophsis
Alpha-53, an Advanced Recon Commando, is inserted with the 212th and the 501st to mount a recon and counterattack on Separatist forces steadily entering Crystal City. Assigned to eliminate the Separatist Major Arwid Almaani, Alpha 53 and the 212th's Banger Platoon infiltrate enemy lines to determine his location.
Knowing of war is one thing; conducting and understanding it is another.
Alpha-53 understood well, conducted well, and performed absolutely.
The warfront of Christophsis loomed like a cloudy sky. Once bright, blue skies were now plagued with smoke, a tinge of ozone contaminating Crystal City. Its aquamarine and crystal-blue structures shattered from eternal artillery fire, orbital bombardment, and fierce front-line conflict between Separatist and Republic Battalions. Alpha-53 sat on a toppled piece of duracrete seven stories above the ground, the building now a jagged remnant. Dozens of skyscrapers and shorter buildings met the same fate. Scorched by laser fire, shredded by shrapnel, or crushed by sheer concussive force, most of Crystal City's monuments now lie dead like many residents. Thick, black smoke and thundering cannon fire reverberated in the distance.
53's Phase-1 helmet lay in his lap, cupped by hand as he observed the landscape. Everywhere he looked, buildings lay wrought by both galactic war machines meeting in full. After entering the local area, he climbed the derelict structure to lay the land. He had one kilometer to go before meeting his assigned Platoon of regs. A notification blipped on his forearm device. Donning his helmet, tiny holographic indicators winked into existence through his visor. In the bottom right corner, one displayed his Westar-5 munition count and reserves. A second scrawled across the upper view presented vital signatures. At the bottom left, the third most significant notified Alpha-53 of an incoming REPSPECWARCOM - Republic Special Warfare Command transmission.
He produced a holographic communicator from his battle belt, an ethereal blue figure clad in form-fitting gear springing to life, "You're late," He grumbled, standing erect, "What's the situation, Ma'am?"
Reading as Jedi Knight Ozura Atlacoya, her broad physique and stature fit the billet of a part-time bodybuilder over a Jedi. The Mirialan lacked distinct tattoos across her flush cheeks, tailored by a taut jaw and rounded nose. Fierce with a glare and grin, Ozura folded arms clad in rolled sleeves and several colorful - were it not disguised by holographic transmissions - tattoos and small scars. Dark wraps protected her hands, and small body armor segments covered her shoulders, elbows, outer thighs, knees, and shins. A saber hung off her right side from a well-stocked belt.
"Not by much, Lieutenant." A husky yet soothing voice. Tapping his kit in frustration, 53 allowed a sigh. "That being said, the rest of your details came in."
"Waiting."
Ozura scoffed, shifting her hands to her hips. "Eager, eh? Right then," Ozura tapped something on her waist. An operations order dropped in his helmet feed.
"You're assigned to Banger Platoon, recently replenished after a hairy engagement while the main contingent landed. They specialize in reconnaissance but are outfitted with a demo team. Your mission is to infiltrate deep into Seperatist-occupied territory with stealth-modified BARC speeders and locate Major Arwid Almaani-" A Chistori, towering and well muscled with scars to boot, flashed before 53 wearing the fit of a rugged bounty hunter similar to Trandoshan kits. Their naturally blue pallor showed well in his holographic display. Still, the report showed an entire Separatist file likely acquired by RC or other Alpha-Class assets from one of many downed Seppie ships' data logs "-consort to General Loathsom. Unlike his superior, his forces have evaded our large-scale movements and execute exceptional tactics. We only have an AOR on his super-tactical droid, revealed by flyovers from some fighter pilots five hours ago. Intel's best guess is his forces were scattered on landing and are still regrouping."
She sighed, the Major's hologram disseminating as she moved to adjust her sizeable hair bun.
"Make no mistake, fifty-three; Almaani may be the lesser rank but is no slouch. Records say he's distinguished in military service and employs hired help in troves with the new B-X class droids we've seen more of. His droid has taken a scrapyard within an industrial plaza as its temporary operating base. Our most recent intel says they're getting ready to mobilize. Your mission is simple; get in, snatch the S-T-D's head, and get out. Once you're finished, join the main element of two-twelfth and five-oh-first twenty clicks north. From there, you'll work directly with Kenobi to find and neutralize Major Almaani." She'd finished, long raven braids wrapped around a central fluff with a singular, cross-section pin securing its mass resembling a sea snake. A slight smile formed on her lips, "Remember, you're there to kill the Major, not capture him. So whatever Kenobi says may be his mission, but not yours. If he has questions, refer him to Jedi Master Arligan Zey. Understood?"
"Yes sir," 53 adjusted his footing, glancing about the city and its somber yet beautiful visage, "Any other details?"
"To watch your back. Kamino probably wasn't the best wake-up for you, Alphas, but I bet you're itching for a fight, huh?"
"Always."
"Get to it, fifty-three. Give me updates as the mission moves along. Dismissed."
The female Jedi dispersed as 53 depressed a deactivation toggle, then pocketed the projector. He took thirty seconds to observe the area - oddly serene from this angle. Even as the booming cannonade continued and vermillion flashes licked the near-evening sky, it instilled a deep sense of calm and focus in 53. A familiarity and likeness. A chance to use his training to full effect.
53 wasted no time in descending the building and rendezvousing with Banger Platoon.
After an unceremonious arrival, Alpha-53 stood before the clones of Banger Platoon. Lieutenant Oh-Five and Sergeant Dune led the contingent, with squad leaders comprising Krys, Camden, Amad, and 330/010-11. He'd brushed up on the Platoon's makeup en route and had a general idea of their makings. Each squad contained five soldiers, one being a squad leader, save for the final squad, which comprised six. Krys led Demolitions, Camden led Marksman, Amad spearheaded Recon, and 330 directed Comms. The latter mainly consisted of shinies, while Krys' squad contained vets - most survivors of Geonosis. Their customized armor - although minute - indicated this with yellow paint and small symbols.
"Listen up," 53 called out, demanding attention with a slightly thicker accent. Shinies, identifiable by their fresh-issue armor, sharply paid 53 attention. Those with dirt and soot smearing their armor, each with dings, marks, or customizations, turned aptly, displaying ruggedness not imbued on the newer troops. Fifty-three decided to nip their brief in the bud, having devised his plan while dissecting the Platoon's makeup.
"Myself and Recon squad will proceed ahead on speeder bikes. Demo, Comms, and Marksman squads follow at approximately seven hundred meters with thirty-meter intervals between bikes. Be prepared for quick changes to the plan. Facing this element head-on is a death sentence. They have armor; we only have rocket launchers," 53 said with a glance to the demolitions squad led by Krys, "Bide your time moving on this objective; it's a haul. Once we assess this forward contingent and snatch the S-T-D's head, we will reunite with the main five-oh-first and two-hundred-twelfth elements. Equip your radar-scattering ponchos and kill any comms once we're within the AOR. Any questions?"
Each clone responded in unison, "No, sir!" Fifty-three made the faces that stood out to him.
Sergeant Dune let his hair grow to a longer-than-average length, finger combed to the side with lackadaisical effort. Oh-Five bore a buzz cut and a small, partially healed abrasion beneath his left eye. Corporal Krys touched his crew cut with tasteful gray dye, and one of his squadmates, Troy, embraced the full silver with a mustache to boot. Seth of Camden's squad wore a squared goatee, while Corporal Amad entertained a faux hawk with skin-tight undercuts. Spike, also from Recon, had a vertical stripe of golden hair, with Aces sporting an Ace tattoo over the left side of his neck. Twelvetrees of 330's squad wore the number '12' tattooed under his left ear, and Reds dyed his crew-cut crimson. While glancing back through the various faces, 53 caught Mortar of Demolitions' glasgow scar bridging the left corner of his mouth and ear and wholly shaved head.
"Alright," 53 barked, "Move out in ten."
"Sir, yes, sir!"
At his command, each clone helmeted up - if they hadn't already - and dispersed into squads while Dune and Oh-Five spot-checked as needed. The vets painted yellow markings over their armor, notably Krys and Amad, while the others sported scant designations to differentiate them from one another. The Demolitions squad gathered, Krys and another sporting Z-6 carrying harnesses with their assault bags. Mortar and another toting PLX-1 launchers and according ruck bag. One, who 53 already identified as Troy, loaded up on grenades and mines. The others had their fair share, but Troy doubled down on his explosives and gear. Reds and Aces of the Marksman and Recon specialists toted a Two of the Recon and Marksman clones each toted DC-15X sniper rifles, the others relying on DC-15S carbines. Most of the troops utilized these, while some kept their long rifles.
Not wasting time, 53 checked his equipment.
His Westar-M5 Blaster Rifle has a pump-action munition launcher, smart-linked scope, and a two-point synthetic sling. Both DC-17 Blaster Pistols snugly holstered outboard of his grey and black kama painted with urban splinter camouflage. 53's extra torso protection wore a breast pouch containing additional charge packs for his M5. Strung around his waist were four thermal detonators, his medical kit, and supplementary tibanna and plasma for his M5 and DC-17s. He produced a shawl similar to the others from his BARC, wrapping it around his person and buttoning it at the collar and above the left breastplate. These would confuse any active and passive radar searching for them, along with thermal scanners.
Loaded in his Republic Assault Bag - several Banger clones also carried extra explosives, food rations, and medical supplies handpicked by the Alpha Class ARC Trooper. Entertaining half a ration bar and two swigs of water from a canteen, 53 mounted his BARC five minutes ahead of schedule and observed the other clones.
When the ten-minute mark passed, 53 checked his GPS and determined the route, highlighting it on a tactical pad strapped to his left forearm and diverting the information to Banger Platoon. As each clone dissolved the information, Amad's squad mounted on their BARCs, repulsors whining to life. With a kick, 53 started his own and raced off down the designated location. Within seconds, Amad's squad followed in a rough wedge, cloaks fluttering in the turbulence. Those with names and just numbers scrawled across the left of his HUD on request via nod.
Amad
Vant
Spike
55-0123
Aces
Nodding the names away - his custom designated toggle - it transitioned to the BARCs linked radar. Amad sped and matched 53 twelve meters to his left, while Vant, Spike, 55, and Aces trailed behind in a modified wedge pattern. With twenty kilometers of distance between themselves and the objective, 53 ran through the briefed alternate rally locations, separate routes, and fallback strategy with Amad.
As they raced through abandoned blocks of cityscape, 53 spared individual moments to note Crystal City's landscape. Towering, glassy skyscrapers lined his periphery. Some had sloughed from their former glory, leaving jagged monoliths gaping at the sky. Some remained black from char and fire, while others still burned, mixing the dulling sky with further acridity. Abandoned and destroyed vehicles lined the roadways with weeks-to-days-old corpses left to rot in the aftermath of Trench's original occupation. Monorails strung between openings in an interconnected mass transit system, one with its train torn off its tracks and spilling into an unseen district below, its windows blown out and structure blackened. Civilian amenities were left abandoned, some with still-smoldering fires and others long dead, with the occasional niche left completely untouched like a frozen moment of what was.
No clone understood their purposes and only paid them passing thought while zipping through the dead traffic.
Fifty-three led the element down a side path, and they emerged into an industrial district. Checking the GPS, they were approximately 15 kilometers away, the sun still burning despite the atmospheric clutter. Distant groans of cannons and cracks of blaster fire echoed off Skywalker and Kenobi, battling Loathsom's forces.
Generously increasing his speed, Amad's squad matched him, and they exited an industrial warehouse assembly into an open courtyard decorated with abandoned machinery. Once buzzing with industrial making, the assembly plant lay dormant from the war. Fifty-three led Banger through the plant, a second array of industrial locations, and into an outer district of skyscrapers and refineries.
One thing about Cristophsis; is the abundance of skyscrapers no matter where you go.
Crossing through this section, 53 ended the next several kilometers in the outer industrial district, where shipyards and other naval engineering feats were accomplished. As 53 led the squad element into a small port for civilian vessels, the 2-kilometer scout point lit up on the BARC, indicating they'd have to stop here and progress on foot or risk targeting by Seppie radar even with their protective measures.
Bumping his comm, he communicated to the clones of Banger Platoon.
"Banger, this is 53; we've entered the area. Slow speed, disembark at our pitstop, and proceed on foot. Kill comms once you're mobile."
"Roger that." Said Oh-Five.
Fifty-three veered the BARCs right and hit the air brake, curving his speeder into a drift, stopping it several meters before a wall, with the others stopping shortly after. Swinging his legs over the seat, 53 snagged his Westar from the rear magnetic clamp, his assault pack, and verified Amad's squad had their equipment. After toggling off his long-range comms, 53 adjusted the cloak over his figure, raised the M5 through its front slit, and took point.
Cutting through the urban aquamarine forest took time. Eventually, the clones threaded their final obstacle, a refinery, clearing several corridors of machinations, abandoned smelters, and smaller side rooms. Fifty-three received a shortwave ping from his BARC, indicating the remainder of Banger had arrived. With Recon leading the unit, they trudged through several other abandoned warehouses, factories, and construction zones. The clones of Banger came caked with a thin layer of dust when they eventually emerged through maintenance access into an open scrapyard. At least one kilometer in length, the location lay scattered with a hastily assembled Separatist Forward Operating Base. Easing to prone, 53 placed his M5 to the right and grabbed binoculars off a belt pouch. The poncho obscured his figure, as it did to the other clones who nested around 53. With the sun now low, their presence was practically undetectable.
Amad lay next to him, sweeping the yard with binos.
"What do you make of it, sir?"
Fifty-three nodded, acknowledging the clone with a grunt, and scanned the area. Crystal City's main scrapyard comprised a massive pit with once active crushers, which autonomously collected and incinerated any excess material, then discarded what they couldn't smelt into the yard. Scraps, melted mounds of metal, and decrepit vehicles littered the kilometer-wide area. The Separatist element had transformed many of the derelict items into structures. Within it all, several hundred to nearly one thousand droids milled about - patrolling, repairing vehicles, or performing other tasks as directed by their Super Tactical Droid. A droid barracks had been set up closest to them and their right, a vehicle depot. Within this L-shaped FOB sat the command center, where hastily built structures made a comms center and radar suite.
"We expected this," 53 stated, shifting his binos to view the STD, "The droid's at the command center. Same plan as before."
"That looks like suicide, even for you."
"We won't attack head-on." Fifty-three lowered his binos and observed the nearby area. The location surrounding Crystal's Scrapyard contained additional refinery buildings and a semi-raised loading platform close to them. On the left, a massive warehouse had collapsed from stray artillery fire. And across the yard sat the entrance, patrolled and protected by heavy droid units. "We'll split up into two units. One to draw fire, one to flank and eliminate. Our objective is to obtain intel - we don't have the numbers to deal with this, and we have no fire support."
Plastoid on metal rumbled behind them, and each clone pivoted, observing the alley for threats. Blips of allied began to shuffle through in a slender patrol column. Krys' squad came into view, and 53 waved them over. Within the minute, the entirety of Banger knelt or laid out, observing the scrapyard. Fifty-three briefly explained his plan to them as they settled.
"That's somewhere shy of a regiment of droids! Helluva armor element, too. You sure this'll work, arky?" The inquiry came from Troy, a Geonosis vet who toted a DC-15S.
"Yeah, suicide if you ask me," Chimed in Snatch, another demolition expert, resting his forearms on a DC-15A. Fifty-three noted the PLX on his back. Swiveled towards them, dissolving their observations, he nodded. "Noted. You'll help me as the bait."
As they groaned, 53 rose to a knee and crouch-walked to Oh-Five and Dune, who silently observed the ARC. Fifty-three raised his left arm before his torso and punched in a three-digit code. A blue, holographic image washed their vision, all clones paying attention.
"Listen up. Myself and the Demolitions squad will flank right towards the vehicle bay. We'll infiltrate, arm explosives, cause mayhem, and scram. After luring the droids towards the loading docks, the remaining squads will station an ambush through the scrap and observation decks, trapping whatever comes after us in a kill box. While they're distracted, I need the best shooters to move with me into the command center, snatch the droid, and exfil."
Oh-Five knife handed to three clones. "Demo, go with 53 to start the distraction. Troy, Spike, Reds, you'll be on grab duty." Spike and Reds acknowledged with a "Yes, sir," However, Troy merely grunted, earning a glance from 53. "You'll be on point with me, trooper, so lose the attitude. It'll serve you in the long run. Any questions?"
Nobody said anything. The plan played out on the holographic display as he spoke.
"Good. Infil element, strip down to the essentials, but pack explosives - give your assault packs to the others. Ambush elements, prep detonators, droid poppers, mines, big guns, and launchers. Once they're onto you, you'll have the entire element to deal with. We'll do our damndest to knock out as much armor as possible, but it won't be everything. Bottleneck them, strangle them, and don't give an inch."
Twenty minutes later and the distant thunder of blasters and explosions continued. Banger platoon, save for Krys' demolitions squad, now lay within an assembly of scrap and totaled vehicles spread before and within the observation post at the loading bay. Two massive scrap piles had been cleared before their arrival to make way for the loading area. This scrap contained the Recon and Comms Squads, with explosive launchers distributed between them. Under the command of Sgt. Dune, overseeing the Marksman squad, consisting of Corporal Camden, Seth, Irene, and CT-03-5521, like the others, utilized rocket launchers and heavy blasters ranging from the Z-6 to the DC-15A, with Camden holding their DC-15X Sniper Rifle to create intersecting fields of fire - a "kill zone".
Spike and Reds positioned themselves ahead of the element among a deserted speeder carcass in wait for 53.
53, Krys, Snatch, Troy, Koji, and Mortar crouch-ran between wreckage, leapfrogging massive wedges of durasteel and twisted vehicle chassis. Fifty-three remained on point, halting behind what used to be a sculpture. He produced binoculars and leaned around the waste. Sheets of metal were held together with shoddy welds, durasteel cables, and miscellaneous wreckage. The bays, where vehicles were stored or worked on, sat in the open with munition racks lackadaisically surrounding them. B1 droids sat, patrolled, or worked on the vehicles. It reminded 53 of how Fett described POW camps.
"Loud or quiet, boss?" Troy asked, kneeling behind 53. The ARC glanced at the clone but did not immediately respond, prompting him to retreat two steps. Fifty-three presented his Westar in a left-handed grip, poking it around the corner. "On my signal, toss poppers into that bay and cover me. Troy, you're on my six. Ready?"
"Yes, sir." Came their reply, and Troy silently shuffled to 53's left, giving him a tap on the shoulder. "Ready, arky."
"Now."
Snatch, Krys, Koji, and Mortar armed EMP grenades and hurled them over the melted obstacle, landing inside the vehicle bay. Before they erupted, 53 bolted from cover, Troy following with a DC-15S carbine. As the brilliant blue electricity fried droid circuits, they hadn't even noticed the two cloak-clad clones making entry.
53, and Troy slid into the bay after twenty meters of open sprinting. A sudden spur of activity outside the bay indicated they'd been spotted.
"Hurry," 53 ordered, fishing a det charge from his bag and tossing it to an ammunition rack. Troy wordlessly followed, hopping up the AAT's body and slinging his charge in the open commander's hatch. "You have contact!" Krys called over shortwave helmet-to-helmet comms as the rumbling and droning of B1's neared. "Engage and cover us; we're not done here."
Waving down Troy, Krys' team opened fire on the clankers, blue bolts striking tan torsos with sparse return fire. Fifty-three rounded the bay to his right to see the element of B1's in a rut while being mowed down. He tracked one with his reticle, squeezing two bolts into its chest and moved on, leading Troy further into the bay.
As he rounded a welded structure, 53 entered a small canopied area with a second tank crew. They had only just stood up, complaining in their robotic voices as 53 and Troy entered. "-the deal - Huh?!" Both clones worked triggers, punching blaster bolts into torsos and sending the five droids spinning to the ground before they could shoot back.
"Move."
53 and Troy slung detpacks from assault packs and into this ammunition rack. They continued out of the canopied space into an open channel for vehicle movement, dozens of open and canopied bays surrounding them. Deeper into the FOB, they saw dozens of droids amassing towards Krys' element. Fifty-three hurried across an aisle, with Troy in tow, slinging additional detpacks.
53 stroked three more blaster bolts into a B2's leg, toppling it into a B1 who'd mistakenly stood beside it, then finished it with a bolt through the processor. After infiltrating, Troy and 53 had placed six det packs in different vehicle bays, positioned to route the nearest Seppie elements toward the ambush site. They then moved through the lefternmost of the compound and regrouped with Krys' unit 100 meters from Banger's surprise.
Beside 53 stood Troy, blasting away with his carbine. To his right, in cover and shooting, were Krys, Snatch, Koji, and Mortar, firing away with DC-15 rifles and carbines alike, their heavy weapons back with the main unit.
As that B2 fell, another took its place, a massive, marching line of grey durasteel flanked by the tannish hulls of B1's. In the distance, 53 could finally make out the whine of AAT's coming to play. Crouching behind cover, bolts snapping overhead, he chimed comms to the squad.
"Krys, set the mines here and retreat. I'll draw fire."
"Yes sir!"
Glancing to Krys' location, Mortar and Koji unloaded their tactical-ized packs and tossed mines onto and beside different wreckages. Troy shifted behind 53, fired a string of bolts that stitched two droids dead, and rolled into a separate section of cover. Popping up, 53 shouldered his Westar and ripped dozens of rounds in fully automatic succession into the surging forward line of droids, mowing several went down and attracting dozens of bolts.
53 combat rolled into a metal slat on his left, red-hot blasts scorching the ground and debris. He duck-walked to the opposite side, peeking the weapon around and firing its grenade launcher. Utilizing the smart-scope, he placed the shell dead-center of several B1's. Retracting behind cover, 53 shucked the launcher's pump and worked a fresh grenade through its loading gate.
"Sir, ready to go!" Krys shouted into comms.
Double-checking his radar, they'd spread the mines in an asymmetric fashion across their cover, the surrounding scrap, and the deck. In the distance, he noted three AAT's converging toward them. They work fast.
"Copy. Full retreat! Cover fire as you go."
Without verifying they would, 53 rose, palming his only mine, activating it, and hurling it like a frisbee over his cover and into the crowd of droids. As he bound over open space, it smacked into the face of a B2 and detonated, washing it and seven other droids in a thermal concoction melting them to slag. Sun-hot death snapped around him in disarray. Leaping over a waist-high segment of metal, he landed, laid prone, and wormed to face the droid element.
Troy and Krys were hammering the droids the best they could with blasters, but by now, they'd amassed a reaction force and were pushing the clones back. Rising to a knee, 53 fingered the underbarrel munitions launcher, firing a thermal detonator over a fifty-meter distance and landing it center of the forward droid element. An eruption toppled six droids and staggered more.
Shucking the pump, he slightly adjusted his aim and fired another munition at a segment of B1's breaking off to flank Krys. It landed in one's torso, flinging shrapnel through the others and melting circuits. A telltale swoosh grabbed 53's attention, and he turned to see a white-hot rocket screaming at him.
Fifty-three scrambled to his feet and bolted left, crisscrossing between wreckage to meet Snatch, Mortar, and Koji. The missile disintegrated the cover he'd left. Sliding beside the squad, he instantly pivoted around cover and walked six blue bolts through the B2's launcher, detonating it in hemispherical glory. "Troy, Krys, fall back; everyone cover!" Standing from cover, he and the three laid down a stream of blue bolts across the battlefield. 53 swept the tri-faced reticle across dozens of automatons, combined fire pulverizing dozens of droids, distracting them from Troy and Krys enough for the two to retreat.
As they zig-zagged back, 53 came over comms again, "Everyone, book it back, now!"
He continued to fire as Krys' element turned and bolted towards the planned ambush center. Now 53 could make out the distinctive semi-domed features of three AAT's moving in an assault wedge toward their location. The Westar vented a sudden wash of gas, its charge reading dead from over-expenditure of the plasma pack. 53 fingered a detonator into the fray of droids, racked the pump, turned, and weaved through the mess of wreckage toward Reds and Spike, who hid beneath a speeder carcass.
When he arrived, 53 slid on his side, metallic skids painting his plastoid before he halted within the wreckage. There, Troy huddled by Spike and Reds, the latter of who offered a wave. After crawling into the recess the center chassis offered, 53 sat up, dropping the sack-pack on his M5 into a dump pouch, removing a spare, and inserting it into the lower receiver. Dozens of droids marched by directly into the kill zone.
Ambling the explosive detonator from his belt, 53 popped its cap and depressed the red button.
"Bang."
53 barely heard his own voice. An eruption suddenly and violently ripped through dozens of vehicle bays, igniting munitions, tanks, and droids, illuminating the dully-lit sky with multiple cascading explosions and black clouds. Its shockwave swept through the area, shrapnel whizzing by and tearing the semi-autonomous bots to pieces unfortunate enough to be nearby.
As they licked their wounds, a sudden barrage from the ambush element of planted mines, rockets, and blaster fire shredded the already hurting response force. Troy peered through an opening in the chassis, observing the carnage while bobbing his head.
"Hell yeah, that's some frellin' damage right there!"
"Keep your voice down," 53 rebuked, punching a three-digit code into his forearm device, "And listen up. This is the plan." Shuffling to the center, 53 glanced to each clone through their visor as a holographic display illuminated their battlefield. "We exit on the opposite side, cut through this scrapped frigate, and exit one hundred meters north of the command center. Once we're there, we blast our our way to the tactical droid, snatch its cranium, and dip around the backside of the same frigate. We'll have to board the observation decks from here," A location blipped, two hundred meters away from the ambush site, "And regroup halfway. From there, we exfil through the industrial loading bays and haul it back to our speeders ASAP. We're moving straight to our main element to provide support, so don't get lazy."
Each clone nodded to his hushed voice, so 53 closed the display, and they began systematic gear checks. Once finished, resupplied from the limited items provided by Reds and Spike, 53 shouldered his M5 and tipped his head towards their exit.
"Let's move."
With 53 leading, they exited what was once a cockpit and bolted across a small opening. They entered the rear fuselage of a derelict frigate and clambered through gutted engineering decks. As the battle roared outside, they moved deeper, gradually distorting as they distanced themselves. 500 meters and an entire section later, they emerged through a decimated forward gunnery post into a pile of scrap. 53, binos in hand, laid atop a semi-circle of melted slag with Troy, Reds, and Spike peering around it.
Surely enough, the super tactical stood within its makeshift command center, delegating the battle through a holographic display. Surrounding it were multiple watch stations, their own panels, and droids operating it tirelessly, several patrols protecting its exterior.
"There's no cover between us," 53 noted, "And dozens of droids. Reds, Spike, you're covering while Troy and I push in."
"Me again?" Troy groaned, but before 53 could rebuke, he swung the DC-15S forward, "I'm ready to blast droids any day."
53 glanced at Spike and Reds. They nodded. Turning back to his binos, 53 began marking each patrol with an indicator, which was highlighted in their HUDs. Once the six patrols had been marked, 53 shuffled from his nest and pocketed the binos. As he slung the M5 into his hands, the clone tapped the side of his helmet, linking with Troy's comm.
"Zig zag on your approach, stay out of the line of fire, and be mindful of the STD. We waste its head, this mission is fragged. Drop any unnecessary weight."
Troy nodded, removing his assault bag and shrugging it over to Spike. Both sifted through, tossing Troy two thermal detonators. After the gear was distributed, 53 indicated Spike and Reds.
"On our retreat, throw every grenade, munition, and explosive we have. Smoke, thermal detonators, everything. I'll cover with what I have, too. Understood?"
"Sir, yes sir!"
ARC-53 nodded.
One minute later, flanking the right corner of the pile, 53 and Troy crouched in wait, observing as patrol groups one, three, and two moved away from each other, creating a temporary path directly to the command center. Atop the scrap mass, Spike and Reds laid prone, DC-15A rifles aimed forward and turned up to the maximum output. Patrol Five vanguarded opposite the command center, while six and four were further to its right.
Only a smidgeon of cover separated the CC and them, an old slag mound conveniently convexed towards the clones like a shield. However, its small stature made it difficult to utilize. As the distance between patrols one, two, and three expanded, they reached their opportune apex/.
"Now."
Bursting at full tilt, 53 and Troy bolted across open space directly for the command center. They weren't spotted for the first forty meters, the droids oblivious at first. Then, a patroling B1 caught the movement, waving his blaster and opening fire. Patrols one and two followed suit, lacing the air with crimson death.
Red bolts pockmarked the space around 53 and Troy, the duet weaving left and right around the spurring storm. Spike and Reds, from their concealed location, began to hammer out high-powered blue blaster bolts from afar, splitting droids in two and spitting fried circuitry from bolt holes. Shouldering the M5, 53 triggered an explosive detonator into the central console assembly, blowing it to pieces with high-det and sending molten shrapnel flying.
Patrol three and five reinforced two as they were gunned down, with patrol six and four performing the same for one.
B2's emerged from a vein, swarming the STD and firing over the console operators at 53 and Troy. One spat a white rocket from its munition launcher.
Troy moved left, and 53 right, leapfrogging and spraying to their front as B1's rose to meet them. The rocket smacked into durasteel and skipped into the distance, exploding on the frigate. Spike and Reds shifted fire, hammering the patrol elements as they came to reinforce with blazing blue bolts. Their weapons spent almost half a charge already, and required reloading shortly.
As Troy and 53 shuffled into opposite ends of the command center, the B2's flanked the super tactical, laying down sheets of reciprocating red blaster bolts.
Troy dove into cover behind a series of melted terminals, red bolts stroking the console and durasteel around him, the remnants of patrol five coming straight to his forward. Pulling a thermal detonator from his belt, he hurled it in the general direction of patrol five as the B1 element came to, firing wildly at the lone clone.
With his linked scope, 53 easily maneuvered the reticle of his Westar onto the left leg of the B2, stroking its entire side with an assortment of blue bolts, blasting out its knee, hip, and left shoulder, forcing it to the ground. As patrol six moved into view, 53 stroked his munition launcher's trigger, arcing a thermal detonator into their center and blasting them apart. He weaved between consoles and metal sheets, using their visage and his cloak to throw off droid aim. Several small holes had already burned in the cowl.
Spike and Reds continued to hammer bolts, removing the third, second, and first patrol elements in seconds just as their charge ran dry. As they receded to swap, patrol four pushed into 53, its two B2s firing barrages of red bolts as the B1s surged forward.
An explosion ripped half of fifth's element to shreds, causing the others to recoil and dive away. Troy stumbled from cover into another as the B2's arm blaster overcycled and vented hot gasses, shifting to its launcher and firing a missile into Troy's cover. Vaulting over and to the right, its missile streaked into the component, exploding as Troy arced to the droid's left side. Extending his DC-15S one-handed, he fired a series of bolts, stroking the B2's torso and groin with intense fire as it swiveled to meet him.
Changing his aim, he fired into the B2's right forearm, blowing its built-in autocannon to pieces with a combined explosion. Closing in, Troy gripped the carbine with both hands and hosed the B2's visual receptors until it dropped dead. The B1's to his left emerged, firing up at Troy as he bound into the semishielded command center. It missed, and Troy made it pay with a bolt through the cranium.
53 rose and strafed to his right, the fourth patrol pushing on his location, swinging their aim to meet him. Shucking the pump, 53 triggered the munition launcher, beaming the first B2 in the chest with a thermal detonator, ripping it in half and sending the second flying across the battlefield. Four B1s went down, however, the other four continued loping forward, firing inaccurate red blasts.
One soared by 53's helmet who slid to a knee, strafing the droids with blaster fire en masse and splitting their chassis wide open. He hastily stood and charged into the command center, distant sounds of conflict growing in intensity. As 53 and Troy disappeared into the command center, Spike and Reds re-emerged, punching bolts into the scrambled fifth patrol and dismantling each droid.
In the command center, the super tactical droid stood with a small element of B1 droids; his B2's already killed by Troy and 53. Both entered at once, dropping the guard element with combined fire. Stepping left, the STD drew a E-5 and fired, drilling 53 and knocking him into a wall. Troy worked two bolts into its left leg, dropping it to the ground.
Before the STD could get up, Troy planted his right knee on its blaster arm, then blasted its shoulder socket. He quickly looked up to see 53 rolling his head left to right, muttering clone curses and other ones he hadn't heard before. Stalking over the tactical droid, he let the M5 hang on its sling, then removed a long vibroblade from the back of his belt. Grabbing its head, he slipped the knife through an articulating socket, slicing its circuits and removing the cranium.
53 grunted, tossed it in his tactical bag, then motioned to Troy.
"Let's move, now!"
Troy didn't hesitate, following 53 directly through the front entrance, beating feat straight back to the scrap pile over dismantled droids and destroyed stations. Halfway there, Reds and Spike opened fire as several droids emerged from the base's reaches. Red bolts hissed dangerously close to the fleeing clones, forcing them to zig-zag back.
"Clankers! Lots of them! Get back here, now!"
53 didn't answer, pumping his legs harder with each step, Troy on his tail. They made the run, grabbed their assault bags, then began hurling detonators, mines, and fired munitions over the slag pile. 53 ran his Westar and its munition launcher dry, tightening it across his back and drawing both DC-17 Blaster Pistols. His blue bolts knifed through vague, tan, and gunmetal grey masses converging through the wrecked command center. Smoke hissed across the open space. Spike's DC-15 whined as its cell depleted for the second time. "Out!" He screamed, shuffling behind the waste as Troy and Reds hurled the final two mines in a messy array around their position.
Spike shouldered one bag and tossed the final two to Troy and Reds as they retreated from an overwhelming maelstrom of crimson plasma, sparking small fires in the miscellaneous material makeup of garbage left in the pit. With the mines set, 53 shouted for retreat, and they turned, sprinting around the frigate chassis with dozens of droids on their tail. Spread in disarray, the mass of B1s and B2s thundered after the clones at full tilt as they exfiltrated.
Red bolts chipped the durasteel at the clones' feet as they zig-zagged across open space. 53 noticed the others failing to keep up with his pace, far outperforming them in a dead sprint. As he gained the lead, one of the blaster bolts hit something other than metal with a thwock, followed by a brief shriek of pain and someone collapsing to the ground.
Fifty-three swiveled, spotting Spike sprawled across the ground with a burning crater through his bag, smoke billowing off his back. Spike's helmet had clattered to the ground, golden mohawk glowing in the low light, teeth clenched in pain. Troy and Reds swung around, freezing at the moment. Spike propped himself on an elbow, but a second bolt sheared through the side of his neck, his face working in surprise, then slacking in death as a few strands of sinew connected his head to his shoulders. As Spike slumped to the ground, the muscle tore, dumping the decapitated head onto the deck.
"Spike! NO!"
Troy sprayed blue bolts across the advancing field of droids, marching directly toward them. Reds dropped to a knee, working bolts across appearing shapes. A bolt smashed into Troy's left shoulder, spinning him to the ground, a wail of pain immediately followed.
"Damnit! Cover me!"
53 pivoted hard, walking both DC-17 blasters into advancing droids. Dwindling blue bolts barely contested the red - their only savior being the slight bottleneck the droids were forced through between the frigate and scrap. More B1s and B2s trotted forward, blasting or marching. As 53 neared Troy's body, he holstered his left pistol and armed a smoke grenade, hurling it in front of him and sliding next to the injured clone. Troy had propped himself on his good arm, growling obscenities, trying to move his left to no avail. The grenade snapped, coughing out an instant smokescreen.
"Come on! We need to move!"
Without waiting for an answer, 53 scooped Troy's good arm and hoisted the clone, smoke separating them and the droid armada. Troy resisted at first, took one last look at Spike's decapitated corpse, then turned and ran.
After a short minute of straight sprinting, they'd arrived at the loading bay and scrambled into an access hatch. They knifed through several empty corridors, halting at an instrument station. 53 turned to Troy, unslinging his M5 and exchanging the charge pack.
"Trooper," He began, staring down Troy, "There's nothing we could've done for Spike. No backtalk. Remove your pauldron; I'm going to give you medical aid."
Having lost his blaster, Troy clenched his good hand, but relaxed it moments later, nodding with admission. Reds turned towards the corridor they'd come from, watching it with his DC-15A as 53 removed an IFAK. With swift execution, he applied a bacta patch, wrapped the shoulder in gauze, and then reattached his marred shoulder plate.
"There. I'm on point; Reds, you're center, Troy, you're security." Pulling a DC-17 pistol, his left one, the ARC offered it to Troy. "You're doing good; it's just the home stretch now."
Troy stared at the pistol for a long moment, snagged it, and nodded. "Sir, yes, sir." Though bitterness tainted his tone, 53 ignored it, leading their element toward the rally point. Within minutes, they'd climbed up access stairs and arrived topside. This observation center was 100 meters from the regroup point, an abandoned warehouse. The battle, since subsided, stirred up seppie activity. Looking over the FOB, 53 identified their main armor element pushing across the old ambush site as B2's, and B1's combed the pit. Some had followed 53's group across the derelict frigate and loading bay. From a distance, 53 identified two OOM-Class droids dictating tactics outside the command center.
Looking away from the mess, 53 hastily jogged to the warehouse and met the main Banger element. Two wounded were under work by the platoon Doc, Twelvetrees, but 53 didn't recognize either. As he neared, the platoon element waved the three clones over. Oh-Five stood by a communications rig where Sergeant Dune spoke to the command element. Both comms techs adjusted parameters via a pop-out touch panel on its backside. Fifty-three knelt and removed his helmet with Troy and Reds.
"Sir," 53 began, removing the head from his bag, "Mission accomplished. One KIA, one wounded. We lost Spike."
Oh-Five's brow furrowed, scar slightly twisting, and he glanced away, clicking his tongue. "Damnit. Alright, very well. Banger Platoon! Consolidate and move ASAP. Those clankers are hot on our tail. Troy, have Twelve see you before we move."
"Aye, sir."
Troy glanced to 53, then shuffled to Twelvetrees. Reds tapped 53 on the shoulder, prompting him to meet Reds' gaze.
"Reds, right?"
"Yes, sir. Troy and Spike served on Geonosis together, so... If he holds any ill will against you, that's why."
53 looked at the gunmetal grey durasteel and focused for two seconds. Geonosis, the first battle of the Clone Wars - a bloodbath by any jurisdiction. An action he missed due to the relativistically late activation of Alpha-Class ARC troopers. He nodded, looking back to Reds and patting the clone's shoulder.
"I understand, soldier. But we do what we have to, remember that."
Reds nodded and moved to his squad center with Corporal 330. Fifty-three moved towards Krys' squad and knelt, the troops glancing at him, with Krys offering the DC-17 used by Troy back to 53. The ARC nodded appreciatively, holstered it, and momentarily observed Banger Platoon. The Recon squad was mourning Spike's loss, emblazoning their helmets' antennae with golden paint. Fifty-three noted this, remembering the clone's hairstyle of choice. He turned to see Troy and Reds doing the same with their helmets.
Glancing down at his gloved hands, he pondered the same but didn't feel much sympathy for this clone. Spike. He's just another casualty at this point, isn't he?
Shaking away the thought, Oh Five quickly came over comms.
"Banger Platoon, we have two droid elements outside the warehouse! Haul ass, and let's move!"
If they hadn't already, the platoon sprung to life, donning helmets, loading equipment, and arming blasters. Within seconds, they'd filed into squads and began out the designated exit. The demo squad laid mines at the entrances, and as they left, a detpack in the mix. A sporadic burst of red bolts followed, but none landed true.
Banger Platoon cut through several industrial backstreets, crossing the predetermined route to their speeders. A short minute later, an eruption billowed through the sky - frag and slag aloft - the droids having triggered the trap. When Banger arrived at their speeders, they rapidly embarked, kicking each BARC into activity, racing off down another route, rapidly transferring from industrial to uptown and eventually downtown cityscape.
14 Kilometers later, they arrived at the main conflict between Republic and Separatist armor.
"One click out. Several droid contacts. We're coming up on a seppie armored column's flank. We eliminate this, and our walkers can push through. Move into attack formation."
At 53's command, Banger Platoon shifted into a staggered line of BARC's. They emerged from alleyways and streets into an open stretch of Crystal's parks. In front of them, droid emplacements hammered red bolt fire towards and down into the Republic advancing units.
"Fire!"
Squeezing the trigger on his sticks, 53 simultaneously leaned forward, screaming to max speed as blue bolts hammered down range. En masse, blue bolts by the hundreds ripped into unsuspecting droids and tore their bodies to pieces. Few caught wind, swiveling double-barreled blaster cannons in Banger's direction and unleashing their own response. One BARC caught it head-on, stitching the fuselage and driver with heavy cannon fire and a violent eruption.
Moments later, the position got strafed by another clone. Elements to their right began laying fire, striking clones off their bikes and ripping BARC fuselages open.
"Scatter! Demo team, advance. Everyone else, cover fire!"
53 noted the silhouettes of Krys, Koji, Troy, Mortar, and Snatch accelerating forward with him, cannons blasting. Banger Platoon swerved to the right, either disembarking and firing with rifles or continuing to blast with the cannons on their BARCs.
Swerving around a gun emplacement burnt by blasters, the edge of the parking deck came into view, directly overlooking the Seppie emplacement.
"We're coming in! Brake!"
Engaging the air brake and drifting his bike, 53 jammed the sticks hard and sideways as the speeder's whine roared, then whispered as it slid to a stop. Directly below them, roughly 40 meters down, was a wedge of AAT's supported by Dwarf Spider Droids. B2 droids and B1 with rocket launchers and crew-served blasters hammered a bottlenecked Republic advance of AT-TE's and Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi. His movements were a blur, the man's blue saber whipping through the air and deflecting the bolts fired at him.
Swinging his legs over his speeder, 53 ripped a PLX-1 launcher from his bike's magnetic clamp and knelt by the parapice's edge. Krys, Troy, Mortar, Koji, and Snatch did the same, equipped with the same launchers.
"Pick your targets! Fire!"
Simultaneously, they fired the recoilless missile launchers. With a supersonic crack, they emptied the tube, firing backblast through the rear vent and snapping a screaming munition out its front. Two missiles ripped through the front AAT and its supporting spider droids, with the other four rockets boring through the left wedge and first tank of the right, erupting their hulls in a blue-red explosion that ripped through their accompanying support columns.
The line of infantry coming to support moved to fire at 53 and the demo squad. Each clone shuffled away from the edge, crimson bolts whistling by. Fifty-three dropped his launcher and unslung the Westar-M5 as a comm pinged him. Kneeling, swiveling to fire at the infantry advancing on Banger, 53 noted its source and answered with a nod.
General Kenobi.
"Sir, Lieutenant Alpha Fifty-Three speaking."
"Lieutenant! Bravo on your flank! Without your support, we had our hands tied down here. Thanks to you, we can push through here and secure this position."
"Always ready to assist, General."
"Very well. Hold your location; we'll send assistance within the minute."
"Aye, sir. We'll hold here."
The comm line terminated, and 53 veered his vision to see the Jedi General leading a surge of clones armed with blasters charging the decimated enemy position. AT-TE fire raked the remaining retreating tanks, destroying two of three. The final one managed a shot, piercing the leg of one AT-TE. A clone with a PLX fired its warhead through the turret ring, blowing flames and shrapnel out of its commander compartment and grounding it permanently.
Obi-Wan led the way, blue saber deflecting bolts and slashing droids with his Commander, the famous CC known as Cody, by his side. Cody shot 53 a look, and offered a nod, which he returned. Focusing on the task, 53 knife-handed forward and began towards the line Banger Platoon held.
"Let's move!"
Behind him, he heard Jet Troopers throttling their packs and firing EMP launchers - purple balls of lightning arcing over the Banger clones and landing in precise groups within a mass of droids attempting to retake the garden. Among their ranks came Captain Rex, landing side by side with the 501st Airborne unit.
"Alright, make 'em pay, boys!"
53 and Rex's detachment made the line at the same time, firing hundreds of bolts by the second, knocking down droids of the same amount as they struggled to form an assault. Rex blazed away with two DC-17 hand blasters; 53 ripped automatic fire from his M5, shifting his sight as he accurately bodied droids by the dozen, occasionally blowing small groups apart with the underbarrel munition launcher. Oh-Five blasted away on his speeder while Dune shredded droids with a Z-6, each clone howling war cries.
"Take that, clanker!"
"Another one down!"
"Get Some! Get some!"
"That's for my brothers!"
"Another one bites the dust!"
"Eat it, scrapheap!"
"For the Republic!"
Within a greyscale briefing room stood 53, Rex, Cody, Oh-Five, Obi-Wan, and Seth.
Seth, an IT specialist, finished connecting the Tactical Droid's head to a mainframe and hastily went to splice its memory banks. Thirty minutes later, Seth rose, stroking the goatee sprouting from his chin and wearing a grin. "Cracked it," He announced, the opposite set of fingers tapping the table-mounted device as a holographic map of Crystal City appeared before the group.
"Nice work, Seth," Cody commended, clasping the clone on his shoulder, who responded with a nod. 53 remained silent, observing as Seth identified the location of Major Almaani. With a few keystrokes, the holographic map focused on a Southern sector of Crystal City, a transitionary district between residential and industrial precincts. It featured several apartments, community centers, and familiar towering skyscrapers. The AOR; an industrial park with an open courtyard spanning several hundred meters. Its center consisted of a large storehouse.
Nearby buildings were identified as scattered apartments, workshops, and garages. The sole tower had fallen across the courtyard, crushing part of the central warehouse due to the Confederacy's planetary bombardment.
The Major had filled the park with up to 2,000 droid units, including armor and spider derivatives. Red beacons peppered the park - enough to identify the command center in the central warehouse, a vehicle depot within an assembled row of makeshift structures, the droid barracks consisting of two smaller apartments, and a dizzying amount of gun emplacements, sniper nests, and trenches spotting the building-filled complex. Additional vehicle bays and droid stations spotted the courtyard, however, none compared to these.
Fifty-three audibly grunted, trailing a gloved hand across his stubbly face. In his periphery, Obi-Wan contemplatively stroked his beard as Rex kept his arms crossed and brows furrowed. Beside him, Oh-Five did not react and instead diverted his gaze between Cody and 53. Cody and Seth eyed the display with equal parts bewilderment and astonishment until Cody's expression molded to contemplation.
"That's at least a lot of tin cans," Seth grumbled, his enthusiasm drained, "How're we taking that Major, sir?" Seth looked to his Commander, head tilted. Rex approached, indicating the soldier with both a look and knife-hand.
"Artillery. Our guns have finally been resupplied, and with our front secure for the time being, we'll have access full access for arty missions."
Cody nodded to Rex's words, a thumb massaging the center of his chin.
"I agree. We'll also need air support, if not an air exfil. Chances are we won't destroy half of what we want. Once we're in, we need to grab and get out."
"Let me worry about that," Obi-Wan offered, stepping to the holographic display. Punching a command in, a warship materialized above the courtyard - their fleet flagship. "Once you require extraction, I will coordinate forces stationed on Admiral Yularen's Flagship. At your signals, we will perform the required bombing runs and evacuate you after the mission is completed." Kenobi folded his arms, returning to an erect stature, "Then we can level the area once you've extracted."
"Thank you, sir."
"Likewise, Cody. Once we capture the Major and weaken his element, our only worry will be General Loathsom and any remaining scattered droids."
Departing with a kind smile and superficial wave, Obi-Wan left to contact Admiral Yularen for support on Banger Platoon's mission. Oh-Five and Seth followed, leaving Cody, Rex, and 53 to devise a tactical plan. 53 milled over the deferral from his mission prerogatives - kill - versus Obi-Wan's; capture. Dismissing the notion, 53 moved before the control panel.
"Right," 53 began, inputting commands and illuminating their forces descending through the Northwest. "First things first. We'll need to manually designate arty and air support once we arrive. So we don't get completely bogged down, we'll split Banger into two elements; Mynock and Rancor. You two will lead Rancor, the recon and comm squads. I will take the demo and marksman squads. After the bombs drop, Rancor will push through the barracks and into the command center while Mynock pushes through the vehicle depot."
Rex picked up where 53 left off, who'd paused momentarily, searching the Captain and Commander for reactions.
"We'll regroup at this trench line, here, and push to the command center." Rex indicated a deep groove carved into the industrial park, once some manner of path with an anti-air gun planted center mass, "We'll use their own trenches to cross the distance. Once we're inside, it's a matter of clearing the warehouse and finding the Major. If it's still operable, we'll take the big gun and use it, then blow it once we're done. Depending on how much spare armor they got, it'll be a mad dash to get to the command post."
"We should set up sniper fireteams on these locations," Added Cody, pointing out two apartment complexes overlooking the near-kilometer of space they'd be crossing, "Aces and Irene are the snipers, Vant and Reds are the spotters."
Fifty-three nodded to the summarization of the plan, "We'll need a light outfit. Heavy weapons will only slow us down. Carbines, detonators, rocket launchers, and anything that can be brought in an assault bag. The only ones carrying heavier kits will be the demolition specialists and designated marksmen." He wrapped his right thumb over its index finger and popped it, "That being said, I will be bringing my own equipment."
"I provided some of my guys," Rex chimed in, folding his arms, "To fill in the KIA's on the last mission. Trav, Pod, and Duke are from my jump jet company; they'll do good here and supply some extra muscle for Rancor."
53 weighed the situation.
A fresh supply of jump vets into the recently engaged Banger would be necessary. Some clones had only been given bacta treatments, and by luck, only three died last mission. Two no-names and Spike - the latter replaying behind 53's eyes. Shaking the image, 53 refocused. Once the assembled ordinance scrambled the Seppie's position, they'd need to cut through them like a vibroblade does butter - smoothly and without a hiccup. He changed gears and spoke his mind, relieving him of a nagging impulse.
"Is there a reason behind the General's change of... Perogotives for the Major?"
Cody and Rex exchanged glances, with Cody answering, thumbing to where Obi-Wan departed.
"Jedi prefer a less... Violent outcome. General Kenobi's very adamant on not killing the opposition's high command so they can stand trial."
"Stand trial?" Fifty-three snorted, brows furrowing in slight frustration. He splayed his hands towards the decimated apparition before them, "They should be killed on the spot. Pseudo-semantic ideals have no place here."
Cody bristled, clenching fists and glaring daggers at 53. "Watch your words, Lieutenant. Whether or not you're right is irrelevant - it's the General's orders. And Kenobi's one of the best."
Taking the Commander's word, 53 offered a slight nod, refocusing on the battle board. Whether General Kenobi's likes would stand in the face of this mission would be seen. Besides, 53 had his own mission, authorized well above Kenobi's head.
"Right, then. Plan's settled."
"Agreed," Cody stated, retrieving his helmet from the table. Rex did the same, offering 53 nods as he retrieved the data chip containing a copy of their tactical plan, storing it in a belt pouch and exiting the room.
Arriving at his quarters, 53 punched in a code and entered. A spartan gunmetal grey compartment, his assembly of tactical gear lay splayed across a durasteel table. The officer's quarters contained a bunk, holo-display, personal desk, workbench, and two closets for uniforms and gear.
His highly-customized Westar-M5 Blaster Rifle sat on the workbench, updated to new specifications. A Merr-Sonn aftermarket smart link scope replaced the previous optic. The pump-action munition launcher's pump handle featured deeper grooves, and 53 extended the upper receiver, where a tactical light and laser module fixed to the left side, actionable with an Omni-directional dial and pressure pad.
Two DC-17 blaster pistols with barrel shrouds sat beneath it. A vibro-sword in the style of a twenty-inch machete sat in a solid scabbard, a tanto-style vibro knife to its left, and a talon-style vibro knife to its right - each within proprietary scabbards. One cylindrical thermal imploder sat between two circular thermal detonators, two smoke grenades, and two droid poppers. A full paratrooper rig of grenades for the launcher - thermal det, anti-armor, and smoke - with spare charge packs, tibanna cartridges, and an individual first aid kit rounded off his equipment.
Its greys and whites now entertained specks of yellow, as per his efforts, and a golden stripe emblazoned the helmet's antenna.
53 passed his pre-assorted gear and sat at his work desk. Plugging the chip into his table, the tactical plan sprawled out before him in an ethereal blue glow. With few swift motions, a comm link bridged to REPSPECWARCOM through encryption. As 53 pondered the tactical data, the link was established, and the life-sized image of Jedi Knight Ozura Atlacoya materialized. This time she'd permitted her hair to hang freely, stretching to the mid-thigh while nursing it with a brush. Ozura wore some kind of nightgown, dark by the hologram's indicative tone, and she sat on a rotating chair, likely in her quarters.
"You have a status report, fifty-three?"
"Yes, Ma'am," 53 fingered keys, vectoring the tactical data to her directly. She responded accordingly, displaying the captured information outside the hologram's reach. "More hostiles survived than we expected. The Major's confirmed to be at this location, and we're moving on the objective in five hours. I'll revise the tactics, catch some shuteye, then re-brief the Platoon come morning. They're still in the dark about my objective."
Ozura nodded, her expression unresponsive, "Good. There's a lot here, fifty-three. Do you need additional support?" Her gaze shifted to 53, "We have eight R-C and one additional Alpha-class operative in Cristophsis. This takes priority."
"No ma'am," 53 fractionally shook his head, "That won't be necessary. We'll be in and out - quick."
Several seconds of Ozura studying 53 passed, her head tilting to the side, corners of her mouth dipping. "Very well. These are sound tactical plans. Once you've revised them, send them over, and I'll inform Master Zey of your progress." She paused, re-inspecting 53 as his eyes vacantly stared through her hologram. Ozura's gaze narrowed. "Fifty-three. Is there something else?"
Spike's final, dying second replayed before 53. The clone's helmet tilted up, arm propping himself off the ground as smoke billowed through an open hole in his back. An executive bolt knifed through his neck, and a few strands of scorched sinew tethered it as it fell - then tore - dumping his head on the ground. Troy's bellow followed. 53's guts wrenched as the memory replayed.
"Lieutenant?"
His attention returned to Ozura. "Ma'am?"
"Is there something else going on?" Ozura softened her tone and, while remaining husky, leveraged empathy. Fifty-three glanced sideways, cogs in his head working as his detachment transformed into somberness. Fifty-three inhaled slowly, speaking at the top of his breath. "We suffered three casualties today, ma'am." 53 paused for several seconds again, focusing on Ozura, his expression stoic. "Nothing we weren't prepared for."
Ozura's expression - her whole posture - drooped. "I see." She paused, straightening poise and releasing her hair to flow over the chairback, expression solidifying, "Has it been affecting you, trooper?"
"No," 53 shook his head, "It has not."
Her gaze narrowed but didn't persist, folding well-trained hands and nodding. "Very well. Don't let it affect your mission, fifty-three. I know from personal experience it's easier said than done."
Silence hung between them, 53 glancing around his room, running through the scenarios over and over again - their fog shrouding his mind and sickening his gut - but he remembered how to push through it. Taking a long, four-count breath, he defocused and pushed the emotions down. It ebbed from his system, like a slow bleed, until he released the breath, and it evaporated. With the occlusion buried, 53 sighted on Ozura and nodded, straightening his posture.
"Thank you, ma'am. I will remember that."
She nodded, returning to her hair care and glancing back to the tactical plans. "Is there anything else, Fifty-Three?"
Fifty-three shook his head, "No, ma'am."
"Very well, dismissed. May the force be with you." Ozura looked concerned about the ARC moments before her hologram disseminated.
Turning to his own display of the plans, 53 went to work on perfecting his assault on the Major's outpost.
You may have noticed this is split! Yes, so people find it easier to read.
Enjoy!
[And so it's not a gigantic wall of friggin' text! I mean, seriously, 30k words? What a chore!]
-MontyTheMemeMan