Damnable Raid
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
I stood outside of Lt. Andrin's command post. It was a simple office, excavated from the wall of the fire trench and so small it rather resembled an information kiosk. Andrin sat at his desk, put down the datapad with its daily report half-typed. He turned in the seat, barely enough room to accommodate the workspace, and acknowledged my presence.
"You find it?" Andrin inquired.
I returned a crooked smile, pulled back part of my raincloak and presented the bounty. It was a rectangular case that protectively held an expensive bottle of Zeltron brandy. Discreetly, I handed the prize over to Andrin.
"Do I even want to know where you got this?" Andrin remarked, as he concealed the packaged alcohol.
"Colonel Mosiv's personal baggage was just misdelivered," I answered. "It'll get back to her, mostly intact."
The lieutenant shot me a look of exasperation coupled with an audible sigh, as he removed four cartons of Naboo cigarras from his musette bag and handed them over as compensation.
"Anything else?" I asked, lighting one cigarra for myself.
Andrin leaned forward, beckoned me closer to listen, as he did not want the conversation overheard.
"The attack is scheduled, we go in thirty-six hours," the lieutenant spoke, firm in his words.
"They've canceled too many times to count," I replied. "Why are they so certain now?"
"Maider, you've been here long enough to know not to ask those kinds of questions. I don't know if it's the pressure the Brigadier is under to wrap this up, or that fancy xeno-meteorologist they brought in found a suitable gap in the clouds, all I know is, the show is on. But speculating command's decisions isn't the reason I summoned you. Since you are so proficient at taking things that don't belong to you, I have a job…"
I found Haurn seated on the fire step engaged in a game of sabacc with Dashnik and a sapper from third squad, another Mandalorian, Makis. It should be noted, while Mandalorians make for fearsome warriors, they are terrible card players. I do not know where the disconnect is found, somewhere in the bluff –Mandalorians go on the offensive and do not factor stratagem or deception into these games. Whenever Haurn has a favorable hand, she'll grin with the satisfaction her coming turns will take the lot, so one can plan accordingly. She and her fellow Mandalorian were on the verge of coming to blows when Dashnik, cleverly reading them both, emerged the victor.
"Bic ni skana'din!" Haurn growled, as she slammed the cards down.
The second Mandalorian was similarly running his mouth in the Mando'a tongue, in what was presumably a string of curses. Dashnik gleefully collected the small pot of wagered cigarras, ration bars, and credits. I tend to avoid these sabacc games, for one, I know Dashnik cheats, and I have never been an adept card player. To alleviate her frustration and the pain of losing, Haurn turned to greet me with a scowl.
"Give me a smoke," Haurn demanded. "This jehaatyc robbed me of my last."
"Lieutenant says the intel group is looking for a prisoner to interrogate," I began, tossed Haurn one of the cigarra packs Andrin paid. "He wants us to grab one from their lines."
Instantly, Haurn's interest was piqued.
"What's it involve?" Haurn inquired after a long drag from the cigarra.
"Crawl out into the waste under cover of darkness," I answered. "Abduct an enemy, preferably a human volunteer, from one of their forward listening posts. Get them back to our lines."
"Andrin trusts you with that," Dashnik interrupted. "We all know how you really feel about those humans helping out the Mimbos."
I turned to smirk at Dashnik.
"The lieutenant said the prisoner needs to make it back alive and able to talk," I replied with feigned innocence. "I can't guarantee no harm may come from the capture effort. It is dark out in the wastes, lots of tripping hazards, and they might offer resistance."
"Yeah, but if you break their legs," Haurn sighed from exasperation. "You're on your own to carry them. I'm not helping."
The sergeant-major trudged along to collect the members of the assault platoon for another work detail. Dash groaned, mostly from exhaustion, but maintained his eerily cheerful grin. When the sergeant-major spotted Haurn and me, he gave a nod to acknowledge Andrin excused us from the detail, as we had to be rested for the night's work. Haurn and I made for our shelter, a former mortar pit abandoned when the mortar section was transferred. We strung a tarpaulin over the top to keep the rain off. It still leaked and water pooled, but it held together better than some of the other spots we've occupied. There was room for two cots inside, which we pushed together and were high enough from the ground to keep us out of the water. I sat down on the cots and tore off my chest armor. Haurn turned to face me with a wrapped-up blanket in her arms, clearly there was something within its layers.
"I got you dinui, a gift," she said, as she passed it over. "Sorry, I could not find a better way to wrap it."
I apprehensively accepted the blanket, surprised and unsure as to the reason. I pulled back the folds and was stunned by the gift. It was a genuine Mandalorian WESTAR-35 blaster pistol, tucked into a custom-made leather holster. I drew the pistol, admired its elegant frame, the onyx finish, its sturdy build. Astonished and bewildered, I turned to Haurn.
"Its former owner is dar'manda," Haurn admitted. "A disgrace. I took it from him and am giving it to you. The weapon belongs with someone worthy."
"Th…thank you!" I stuttered, overcome by the thoughtfulness and elation.
Haurn carried a WESTAR-34, sent from home, as a non-standard issue sidearm. I was always impressed by her Mandalorian blaster, its power, and desperately wanted a WESTAR. I enthusiastically pointed the weapon outward, simulated aiming. Then it struck me. I turned to look at Haurn, who smiled back, clearly thrilled at my excitement. This was the first time, in I do not know how many years, that someone gave me something, a gift. I quickly embraced Haurn, held her close against my chest.
"Glad you like it," Haurn replied, as she settled into my arms.
The darkness infiltrated the wrecked landscape. The regular spectacle commenced, as artillery batteries loosed their ordinance. The trails of shells and streaks of rockets served to herald the devastation upon those designated as targets. The rain was light, no torrential downpour to make this evening stroll any more unpleasant than it had to be. Andrin stood with us in the fire trench, filled the small cups he passed out and one for himself. It was from the bottle of brandy I presented him earlier. I threw back the potent drink, as did Haurn. Tundy did not know what to do and poured his share on the ground, much to the bemusement of our generous lieutenant. Andrin sipped at his cup, swirled it about, and then nodded at our group.
Tundy was ordered to accompany our raid, much to my frustration. I would have preferred Dashnik or even Govnic, but those two were needed on the detail repairing the leaks in Maj. Brimmo's dugout. Of course, the suicidal Remov was not an option, as he would intentionally get himself killed, and probably us in the process. So, that left Tundy, though his only responsibility would be to cut the razor wire barrier between our lines and the MLA positions. Something simple. He was armed with wire cutters, for we did not think him capable to perform a task any more complex. Haurn and I had the dirty work, snag a prisoner, and haul them back, alive. We would travel light, no rifles, or packs –Haurn had her vibroblade and I took my entrenching tool. The spade on my entrenching tool is kept razor sharp and I prefer to cleave my enemy, which this war has made me quite skilled at performing. The pair of us each had our WESTAR pistols in the event things escalated, and I was itching to use mine. But survival in no man's land depended on not giving away your position by firing off highly visible bolts from your blaster.
Our trio set off, crouched the appropriate distance within the vicinity to our works. Tundy was placed in the middle to prevent him from straying. When an illumination flare burst overhead, we froze for the agonizing seconds it took for the light to burn out. The terrain had changed significantly since the last time I made the perilous night venture. Bombardments and shelling reshaped the wastes with fresh craters and churned debris. Hulks of downed gunships were scattered about, and the derelict frames of walkers further pulverized. Through it all, enemy wiring parties dared to crawl from their lines to erect and repair the razor obstacles.
The razor wire barrier proved a small hindrance. As before, we worked together, held the wire as Tundy cut. It was hastily assembled, most likely the party worked as quickly as they could to be done, and therefore easy to carve our way through. Prior, we explained to Tundy that he was to remain by the wire and cut through as much of it as possible. Should we get into a firing exchange or simply turned around in the darkness, we wanted more than one way out. Leaving Tundy, we crawled further along. The large shell crater, where I previously stayed and made the acquaintance of the Stormcommandos, was morphed by several adjacent impacts into a small chasm. No doubt this would prove an impediment when we made the now set attack in the coming days. It was laborious to traverse, the water was waist deep and we had to silently wade across. There was a moment of horror when we bumped into a corpse, as it floated in this fetid pool. Its flesh bloated, the filthy Imperial uniform burst at the seams.
A listening post projected twenty-five meters out from the MLA trench, connected to the main works by a narrow sap. There were two enemy combatants manning the post, their inexperience and lack of light discipline betrayed their position, as they lit up their cigarras. Haurn and I prearranged our actions, she would silently dispatch one with her vibroblade, while I struck the other with the blunt spade of my entrenching tool. This would incapacitate and disorient my quarry enough for us to spirit them away before an alarm could be raised. Their listening posts were spread too far apart for one to recognize the adjacent might be in danger. It also left a sizable gap a team of infiltrators could slip through, should we want to get into their lines. The two in the post were oblivious to their duties, as they carried on a conversation and neglected to keep their senses tuned. They did not hear nor observe Haurn and me. We crawled within meters of their position, could smell the embers of tabac from the cigarras. I put a hand to Haurn, she turned and indicated she was prepared. Counting down with my fingers, three, two, one.
We picked up and threw ourselves over the piled dirt that encircled the post. Immediately, Haurn plunged her vibroblade into the first enemy, pressed a hand to their mouth to keep them quiet in their death gasps. I bashed the second on the forehead and opened a bleeding wound. My target was not wearing his helmet, so it was easy to leave a mark. As he sputtered about dazed, I clasped my hand to muffle the expected scream and drew my new WESTAR. The WESTAR, I placed firmly against the temple of my bleeding prey.
"Make a sound, and I bore a tunnel through your skull!" I quietly, but resolutely delivered my threat.
The enemy nodded; his eyes were wide in terror. He was radicalized enough to come to Mimban, but not fanatical enough to sacrifice his life sounding the alarm. Haurn was out and I pushed our captive over the embankment. Climbing out myself, I grabbed the prisoner by the back of the neck and thrust the barrel of the pistol firmly into his lower side. The three of us moved swiftly, we took the risk to crouch and go at a quicker pace than crawling. Our luck held, as we were not detected, for the first fifty meters. There was a fair amount of distance put between us and the enemy's works, it was going too well. Then our captive was overcome by a wave of panic. It must have been the initial shock of the abduction wearing off and the realization of his situation taking hold. He stopped, turned to me, and began screaming.
"PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!" the captive shouted, as tears formed. "PLEASE, I DIDN'T WANT ANY PART IN THIS! I THOUGHT THIS WAS A PROTEST, NOT A WAR!"
"Shut up!" I commanded and painfully smacked the frame of the pistol into the back of his head.
Our captive was a human, around my age. Another kid wrapped up in this war, but I held no sympathy. He volunteered to be here, voluntarily sided against the Empire. Whatever misfortune awaited him, it was deserved. The hysterics alerted his comrades, who took up their arms. Blaster bolts flashed over our heads, as we dropped to the ground. It was erratic, panic fire; the enemy based their shots on the sounds of the cries and could not pinpoint our exact spot. Haurn led the way since we now had to crawl. To complicate the situation, the MLA mortar teams manned their pieces and hurled bombs. The bombs exploded all around, close enough to throw mud onto our backs. Their mortars did not need to be precise to blow us apart. We could not count on support from our side, as the Imperial gunners were ordered to hold their fire in this sector –avoid disrupting the mission.
It felt like we crawled for hours, progress infuriatingly slow. At each whirl of a bomb, we had to stop and cover our heads. One detonated so close the heat from the blast nearly dried our uniforms. The MLA were really worked up about this incident, for their fire never slackened. Several heavy repeating blasters were brought online and spattered the area in bolts. If one of our scouts was well concealed, they could get a great count of the enemy's guns. Sliding into the chasm offered some reassuring protection from the blaster fire. There was enough noise and commotion we did not have to be subtle when fording the pooled water. Once we made it up the other side and through the wire, we would be out of range for most of the small arms and practically home free.
Dawn was only a couple of hours away and we could not remain much longer in this chasm. Their mortars shifted fire and the bombs fell to our right. I was confident enough we could continue and motioned to Haurn it was time to move. After another stern threat to our captive and a heavy smack with the frame of the blaster, the three of us began our crawl. At the crest, the wire barrier was intact and obstructed further movement. Somewhere in the darkness, we were turned around and not at the point we entered. It was expected, which is why Tundy was brought along to cut as many openings in the wire as possible. Evidently, he failed to do that.
"Tundy!" I called out his name in a hushed shout. "Tundy, where are you!?"
There was no reply. I scanned along the length of the wire as far as I could see, but it appeared unbroken. Dammit, we were in a bad spot and had to think of a way through. Then the MLA fired an illumination flare. We froze, as the light betrayed us to the enemy. To our shock, a patrol emerged from the darkness, comprised of heavily armed Twi'leks and Wookiees. They were sent out from their works to hunt us down. The patrol identified us and engaged. We were trapped, the wire at our backs and the enemy in pursuit. Haurn did not appreciate being cornered in this manner, a Mandalorian trait. She drew her WESTAR-34 and fired several times. The lead Wookiee was struck and collapsed, an impressive shot for this distance. The patrol returned fire, but the flare was spent, and we were once again shrouded in darkness. Blaster bolts flew around us, but none could precisely find its target, to our benefit.
"That asshole Tundy is going to get us killed!" I said to Haurn.
"You're going to get us killed if you don't shut up!" She hissed back. "I'll keep us covered; you find a way to cut through that wire."
Another flare shot up and burst in a blinding light. The patrol targeted its blaster fire. Haurn, from a prone position, aimed her pistol and shot two more hostiles, which scattered the group. The enemy dispersed for cover in what debris or shell craters were nearby. The flare burned out and we were granted another reprieve in the night. Three dead would force the patrol to rethink their strategy, but it was imprudent to believe they would outright abandon the pursuit. Without wire cutters, carving a path would be difficult. If I brought a thermal detonator, it could blow a sizable hole, while revealing our position to the enemy. The entrenching tool was my best, albeit unwieldy option. I raised the tool and brought the sharpened spade down where the strands of wire wrapped around the upright posts. With enough force it split. I repeated with the strand above and cut it too. This allowed me to move forward to the second line of wire in the entanglement. Again, I brought the entrenching tool down, as if it were a hatchet. The closeness of the wire made it awkward to hew and it necessitated several swings. Finally, we had a path. It was a tight squeeze, and the barbs caught my uniform, tore into my limbs. I left a trail of blood that could adequately guide others through, had it been day.
Haurn kicked the prisoner several times before he would move, and he wriggled through the narrow path. We emerged on the other side and expedited our pace. The MLA redirected their mortars, no doubt relayed with aid from the patrol's survivors, and bombs descended about. The shrapnel from the exploding rounds whirled by with the most wretched shriek. We evaded as best as we could until a shell splinter, no longer than six centimeters, embedded itself in my left forearm. I was more surprised by the pain than overcome by it, but it was shock enough to compel me to lose my footing and I collapsed into the mud. Haurn realized I was wounded, fearing it to be severe, tossed our prisoner into the nearest crater. She took hold of my webbing and dragged me into the cover offered by this shallow depression.
It was fortuitous we found this refuge, as the intensity of the mortar barrage blanketed our surroundings with deadly ordinance. A storm of fire and shell roared about while we hunkered down to wait it out. Within minutes, the mortars walked their bombardment to concentrate on another section and spared us further excitement. We sat tight for the moment to catch a respite in the lull. Haurn took my arm, examined the metallic splinter that protruded from the flesh. It was only superficial; the splinter did not puncture too deeply. Before I could ask Haurn about it, she ripped the fragment from my arm and slapped a bacta patch over the wound. The bleeding was stopped, and possible infection staved off for the moment. The pain was still there, but I still had function in my hand, the strength to move my arm.
"I thought that was serious for a moment," Haurn mocked. "Turns out, you're just ik'aad!"
"Serious enough to get me off the line, evacuated to the aid station," I replied, in jest.
"They wouldn't evacuate you for that, and you know it!"
She was right, you had to receive a mortal gutshot from a blaster or have a limb sheared off from an explosion to be evacuated by the medics. Everything else, you were told to toughen up and see it out. It might be enough to go on my record as wounded in action, which increases your pension upon discharge. Regardless, we had a chance to sit down for a much-needed rest and an opportunity to reorient. The darkness, shooting, and bombardment turned us around and we were not sure exactly where we might be. There was the risk, when approaching our own lines, replacement troopers, deprived of sleep and lacking experience, might become agitated and open fire. Our battalion knew we were out, and a Stormtrooper unit had enough discipline to exercise restraint but approaching another regiment would require the employment of caution.
On the opposite side of the crater, the prisoner was curled up, overcome by fatigue and terror. He stared at us with an innocent and fearful gaze.
"What the hell are you looking at!?" I fired back at him.
"P-please," he stammered, then broke into a long-winded plea. "Please, just let me go. I won't say anything. I'm not supposed to even be here, second semester courses started last week, I am supposed to be back in class."
"Shut-up!"
I kicked the prisoner with enough force it had to hurt, but he kept talking, kept up his vain motion to appeal to our senses, our humanity.
"I didn't know we'd be fighting a war," the prisoner babbled. "They came to campus to recruit us for a demonstration. I thought we'd be picketing a mining site, waving banners, and blocking equipment, the petty protesting stuff. But that didn't happen, instead they give us blasters and throw us into the trenches! Please, I don't want to fight anymore, I just want to go back to class. Can we please forget about this?"
"And here I thought you had to be smart to go to Uni," Haurn quipped.
Again, I kicked the prisoner, repeated my command he remain quiet, yet he persisted in his attempt to dispense an explanation. Finally, I had to crawl over to him, drew my blaster and shove the end of the barrel right under his chin.
"Another word out of you and I'll guarantee you won't make it back to our lines," I grunted, frustrated by his obsessive talking.
Though overly dramatic, my threat managed to compel his silence. I slid back to Haurn, who had her head just above the lip of the crater and scanned the horizon beyond. The sun had yet to rise, and the visibility was still poor, but there was a chance we might recognize landmarks or other features.
"Any idea where we are?" I asked Haurn, though in a lower voice so our prisoner could not clearly hear our words.
"Can't be more than a kilometer," Haurn answered.
The prisoner began sobbing loudly, head buried in his knees, which were drawn up to his chest.
"I've about had it with this creep," I complained.
"I'd say put a bolt through his skull and let's be done with him," Haurn added. "But they'll just send us out again tonight."
"We do another five hundred meters, then pop a green flare? That should put us out of sight of their mortars. Hopefully the idiots on watch know what to do with a green flare."
Haurn agreed with my idea, and I turned to seize the prisoner. Savoring the last few moments of being off our feet, we begrudgingly stood and set out. It started as a crawl, for their mortars were still active. Sufficiently along, there was confidence enough to crouch and proceed. I had no way to judge, but it was an intuition for Haurn, who could calculate the distance without aid or tech –raised her hand to halt us after we crossed the five-hundred-meter mark. The flare was cylindrical, rather resembled a small pipe and I carried one on my belt. The bottom unscrewed to expose a short cord, which, when pulled, fired the signaling projectile. Pointed skyward, the green flare climbed high above the waste in an unmistakable flash. Green was the agreed upon signal for friendly forces in the area and sentries were instructed to make an effort to identify incoming persons before blasting away. A second green flare shot up from the direction of our lines to indicate our message was received. Bolstered by the response, we set out for what we hoped was a hospitable reception.
It was dawn when we approached the listening post, manned by troopers of the 8843rd. By some twist of fortune, we managed to guide ourselves back to our unit's section of the line. When we shoved the captive into the trench, a large mob of troopers assembled from every corner and hole to view our prize. The prisoner was curled up on the duckboards, terrified. Most viewed him as a curiosity instead of a foe, leaned in to inspect the cowering man or prodded him to get a better look. A replacement lieutenant, responsible for the hour's watch, stepped forward to take charge of the situation, get himself mentioned in dispatches for exhibiting such diligence. The junior lieutenant had his sentries seize our prisoner and began a thorough search of the man's person. I was content for others to exert the effort henceforth.
Across from the congregation of gawkers, I spotted Tundy, lazily sipping a warm mug of caf. Haurn saw him as well and we were thrown instantly into a rage, at the irreverence, the audacity of this imbecile. It could be assumed Tundy had been killed or just gone missing, eaten up as another who never returned from the waste. No, Tundy failed to complete his task and fled back to our lines, so it appeared to us. I called him a bastard or son of a bitch, Haurn hurled an epithet in Mando'a, as we drew nearer. Haurn smacked the mug from his grasp while I shoved him into the wall of the trench. We were about to pummel Tundy, as recompense for his dereliction, when a chorus of shouts grabbed the collected focus of all assembled. Tundy sought the distraction to slip away, as military police assigned to brigade headquarters pushed their way through. Maj. Brimmo, Andrin, and a cortege of staff officers dispatched from Brigadier Pellond followed swiftly behind the MPs, to take possession of the prisoner.
The officers paid us no heed, more excited about the prisoner now in their custody. I sat down on the firing step next to Haurn. We were both exhausted from the action, my arms were in pain from where the razor wire snagged. Too tired, even, to pursue Tundy and his matter further. The MPs placed the captive in binders, all the officers watched, except Andrin. Our lieutenant looked at us, nodded an approval, a silent acknowledgement of a job well done. I never learned the true fate of the enemy volunteer we abducted. Rumors were plentiful. Most could agree he was turned over to agents of the Imperial Security Bureau, as they were better equipped to handle the interrogation. Some accounts said the ISB agents beat the captive to death. Others claim he gave up valuable intelligence on the enemy's positions in exchange for clemency. The probable one said what the captive gave up was of little value, and he is rotting away in a labor colony on Delrian. Though, it was no longer our concern. Haurn and I were spent from the ordeal and looked forward to shutting our eyes.
The battalion adjutant stood over the cot, prodded me with the stick he carried so he wouldn't dirty his hands when touching the enlisted. It was late afternoon, we slept most of the day, still exhausted from the previous night's mission.
"What!?" I bemoaned, drowsy and not appreciative of the disturbance.
"Major Brimmo requires your presence in the command post," the adjutant snapped, his tone posh and conceited.
As I roused Haurn from her needed sleep, the adjutant looked on with contempt. Suitably presentable, we followed the staff officer, who took purposefully great strides to distance himself ahead, to the dugout that served as the battalion's command post. Brimmo loomed over the topographical holo-display situated on the table in the center of the underground chamber. The battalion's officers lingered about the room with an attaché dispatched by the Brigadier to attend. The attaché wore a uniform conspicuously clean given the squalor those of us in the trenches must endure, with a bevy of medals, mostly awarded for service other than combat. Dangir, the fawning parasite, stood uncomfortably close to the major's side in an unsolicited joint study of the enemy's mapped positions. It was an overwhelming sight to see the cadre of officers, the company commanders assembled, turn their heads and glare when we entered their presence. I could only guess as to why we were here, provide a report on our capture of the prisoner or an update on the enemy's works. Andrin pulled Haurn and me aside.
"I don't want any smartass comments out of either of you two," Andrin lectured, voiced in a stern whisper. "Speak only when spoken to and answer definitively, no speculations or 'I don't knows', understood?"
"What's this about, lieutenant?" Haurn demanded.
"Brigadier wants another raid, tonight. Bigger, larger force, more prisoners. Brimmo wants you two along."
"Dammit! Lieutenant," I cursed, griped. "We almost got our heads blown off last night, I'm wounded for kriff sake!"
Andrin appeared exasperated, placed a hand on each of our shoulders before he spoke.
"Some things just aren't fair," Andrin lamented. "I argued you both needed a rest, even a night in the rear, but the major isn't having any of it. Lot of pressure coming down from the Brigadier. Brimmo seems to think you two are dependable."
"Oh kriff me!" sighed Haurn, then shot me a look. "This is your doing, Paulus. You keep kissing Brimmo's ass."
I scowled in response, uttered a sordid grunt at her implication. Andrin tightened his grip to the extent the applied pressure became a moderate discomfort.
"Save it for the bugs," Andrin snapped. "Just play it smart and make it back. No bravado or foolish risks. Plenty of volunteers signed up for this thing, let them win the glory. I need my sapper platoon intact for when we make the big push. Meantime, amuse the officers. Like I said, answer their questions and show good order, or else they'll eat you alive. Got it?"
We nodded quietly, though felt frustration at having to partake in another perilous mission. Brimmo commenced with his briefing, pointed authoritatively to the defined enemy positions, and spoke with a confident, informed grasp of the objective. I always liked Brimmo, as a company commander. He was one of the few capable officers who exercised proper judgement, but did he have a temper if you failed to execute an order. The attaché interjected to congratulate Brimmo, neglecting praise to the ones who did the work, on the capture of the prisoner. The Brigadier was so impressed, and the wealth of information gained, whether that was true is debatable, merited the abduction of additional enemy combatants.
"Lieutenant Dangir will command the raiding party," Brimmo looked up from the map and announced. "Fifty volunteers from across the battalion will take part. Corporal Maider and Trooper Haurn undertook a reconnaissance last night, will accompany as guides."
The eyes of the room shifted upon us, and I felt myself nervously quake from the sudden attention. Dangir betrayed a look of frustration, displeasure at the mention of my name. It made sense he was involved, as a successful haul of prisoners would bring him closer to promotion to captain. While everyone participating in this raid might have volunteered for the honor, we appeared to have no choice when it came to our involvement. Brimmo then motioned Haurn and me over to the holo-display and ordered us to identify any significant features not shown. There was a highlighted path, intended to be the approach for the raid. I noticed the path traversed the chasm as if it posed no obstacle and decided to correct the discrepancy.
"Just beyond the bug wire," I pointed to the area on the display –indicated only as a small crater. "Several closely landing shells have created a sizable chasm, bottom of it contains some fairly deep water. It'll hamper any force we send through."
"How big of an obstacle?" Brimmo responded with an inquiry for details.
"Twenty meters across," Haurn answered. "It runs for a length of sixty to sixty-five meters and is ten meters deep."
The Brigadier's factotum scoffed at the corrections we pointed out, offended we dared to contradict what his staff compiled. Our enlisted presence was a source of irritation and distress for this attaché, especially when Haurn and I swatted at the itching mites. He purposefully kept his distance when I interacted with the map, for fear of catching the infestation.
"Major, I must refute these approximations," the attaché protested. "This topographical chart is most assuredly accurate, why the division's finest surveyors and cartographers generated these maps. To insinuate the data is inaccurate or incomplete…no, it is implausible."
"With respect, sir," I interjected, not realizing how out of turn I spoke. "I waded through that kriffing ravine last night. It's most assuredly there. If you don't believe me, head out there, and take a look for yourself."
The attaché nearly erupted in a rage. I do not regret speaking in such a tone with the rear echelon cretin, who would never find himself in combat, facing the enemy. Though, I should have exercised more tact when addressing an officer, in the company of many officers, despite what I thought about the individual. Andrin shoved Haurn toward the door, grabbed me by the tunic and dragged me outside. The three of us were in the trench, our lieutenant fuming.
"I thought I told you no smartass comments, Maider!" Andrin barked, smacked me on the back of the head. "I will deal with you later!"
Andrin turned about and disappeared back into the dugout. The conclave remained in session and plans incomplete. We slunk away to avoid any further disruption.
"Why do you always do this to yourself?" Haurn grunted, as she lit a cigarra.
"It's in my nature," I smirked in response, lighting my own.
I stood next to Haurn, beneath a tarpaulin stretched to keep the rain off our backs in a secluded traverse. It was already evening, and we would soon be called to the assembly of troopers for the raid. There was no opportunity for additional sleep, and we felt the effects of fatigue. Begrudgingly, we each opened an energy ration and consumed the amphetamine bar to get us through the coming night.
"You'd think we'd have earned a bit a rest or at least a thanks for the capture we pulled off," Haurn said, spoke through a mouth full of the ration bar. "Now we must do it again tonight, but with that asshole Dangir at the helm."
"Bastard pulls this off, he'll get his medal for sure," I responded. "Maybe we should haul that rear echelon bottom feeder attaché along. Then he can speak to all those medals pinned to his chest."
For some time, we smoked silently, readied ourselves for the coming night's business. Haurn had a flask filled with some appropriated hooch and we alternated sips. The alcohol would help steady our nerves for what needed to be done in the coming hours.
"Where do we go from here?" Haurn broke the silence.
"Probably linger around a bit," I answered, though a bit ignorant to her question. "Raid will start at sundown."
Haurn, either forgetting my arm was still sore after being patched up or deliberately frustrated, jabbed my bicep with a light punch. It was enough to feel some discomfort from the earlier incurred wound. She also called me an utreekov, which has some disparaging, though appropriate, application in Mando'a.
"I'm talking about after Mimban," Haurn contemplated. "If we make it through all of this, tonight's raid, Hill 211, Voran, the nine months left in our service, what does the future hold?"
"I'm not going back to Euruta, that's a given," I asserted. "Dash has been pushing me to apply to combat engineer school. Put this sapper experience into something."
"Kriff what Dashnik says. That would require you to reenlist. The second you reenlist they'll ship you back here."
For a moment I had to pause and consider a future. There was no home to return to, no family to welcome me upon my discharge from the Imperial military. It would be a fresh start wherever I ended up, which might not be a bad prospect. Then I recalled my furlough on Coruscant. There, I had a glimpse of life outside of the Army, a chance at peace and days spent carefree. Those were not peaceful days, but days spent tormented and haunted by dreams. My idle hours were spent in a rage, fueled by an alcoholic binge, and marred by violence. Though I physically left Mimban for that short time, the terror and suffering would not depart no matter how I tried to drive it away, escape. Should I eventually be released from Mimban, would I ever be able to adapt to life beyond this hell? Or was I condemned to endure this torture, to inflict death upon others, to immerse myself in this eternal misery?
000