The Nightmare
what time was there to mourn friends? for they had already woken up…
I was on my belly, crawling through the mud, up the slope of the plateau. Blasters tore at the ground at every side, pulling up fragments. The heavy fire coming from the second bug line, we dubbed it the Hydian Alley in planning and on maps. Hundreds of craters of every size dotted the slopes, which provided cover but slowed our advance. The incline was exceedingly steep, causing you to easily tumble if you stood upright. The ground was scarred by shallow communication trenches the enemy had cut for protection and movement –though thoroughly mashed by Imperial shelling. To advance was a truly perilous undertaking. The bugs lobbed thermal detonators and mortar rounds, fired rockets and unleashed torrents from their repeating blasters. Explosions laid waste to those not pressed flat or within a hole. I was trying for an adjacent crater. Remov was already situated inside, firing his DLT-19, laying bursts at whatever target presented itself. A few additional meters slogged, and I rolled into the crater with Remov. He dipped down to allow his weapon to cool and replace the gas canister. Thymond was in the crater as well, completely overwhelmed by the chaos, his hands pressed to his face.
"We're falling back!" I shouted directly into Remov's ear, as another spattering of bombs erupted.
"How the hell are we supposed to accomplish that!?" Remov inquired at a yell.
"Hell Rem, I'm just trying to my job," I mocked in jest.
Three TIE bombers dove in from the right and flew parallel to the enemy positions at the plateau's crest. Absorbing bolts from automatic blasters that perforated their arrays, the bombers dropped their payload. The conflagrine drums spewed their contents and ignited a firestorm. The inferno was a magnificent sight that lit up the plateau for kilometers in every direction. It was sure to incinerate all the bugs in the open, but most had run for their bomb shelters at the first sound of the twin ion engines. We withdrew from the crater using the conflagration to screen our movement. Remov and I each had to put an arm under the panic-stricken Thymond to get him out, eventually resorting to rolling him down the slope.
It was after midday when the battalion collected in the demolished trench we captured, the enemy's former front line, termed the Perlemian Trench. Codenames were assigned to each of the enemy's lines on the plateau, names taken from the Galaxy's prominent hyperspace lanes. At the plateau's foot, the trench we occupied was the "Perlemian Trench". The concentration of enemy positions roughly midway up the plateau's slopes was designated "Hydian Alley". The final line at the plateau's summit was the Rimma Trench".
The attack had pressed on after we initially secured the Perlemian Trench. "Continue the advance" was the standing order, the last order given to the companies by Brimmo –we only carried them out. The resistance was heavier than expected and forced us back, to rethink the next approach. Capt. Dangir was the ranking officer and so surrendered his 3 Company to take command of the battalion.
Wounded were scattered about, tended by the medics and the benevolence of comrades who could render basic aid. Haurn wrapped a bandage around the head of her Mandalorian vod, Nost –covering his eyes. The white bandage was soon saturated and stained. Nost cried out in pain, hands fumbled in the blind search for reassuring familiarity.
"Anila kando gar, nuhut'uun!" Haurn uttered in a stern voice to him. "Parjir gar aaray. K'atini!"
I stood over her, watching, as I smoked a cigarra. Remov stood at my side, the DLT-19 hung from a strap around his shoulder and his arm rested on the weapon. Haurn's tone switched to comforting phrases in Mando'a to assuage Nost's excitement. Observing, I will admit to feeling twinges of jealousy at the attention she showed the wounded Mandalorian. There were those among the battalion's composition of Mandalorians who would prefer it if Haurn kept to her own kind and abandon all relations with the aru'e, as they have taken to calling me.
Andrin was conversing nearby with Lt. Felis, who commanded 4 Company. The officers surveyed the slope, pointed out strongpoints, and identified strategic routes of advance –locating targets for the AT-DT batteries to destroy. I left them to their strategizing and settled into a ditch with Remov and Thymond. Two more TIE bombers flew over on another sortie, seconds later we heard the roar of the inferno ignited by their ordinance. Dashnik scurried over from his briefing and joined us, his face weary.
"You want this back?" I said to Dash, holding out the medallion entrusted to me.
"No, I think your luck's better than mine," Dash replied with his empty smile, pushing the medallion back into my care. "It's safer with you. Besides, someone has to make it through, to tell about all this."
I stuffed the medallion back into a pocket, silently desiring to be rid of its burden and unamused by Dashnik's bleak candor.
"What's the next job?" Remov inquired, as a salvo of bombs roared in the direction of the enemy. "It's pretty sticky up there. Not going to be easy getting through."
"Spoke with the runner sent over from brigade," began Dashnik. "Colonel Vale wants Hydian Alley flattened before we head in. Sit back and let the guns put on a show."
"And what about Dangir?" I interjected with my question, desiring an answer. "The colonel is sending over someone qualified to command the battalion, right?"
"The runner informed Dangir to expect a replacement by the end of the day," Dash reassured.
Morale collectively sank when word of Brimmo's death spread. Those who witnessed it were especially disheartened. Brimmo was a stern leader and possessed a fireball temper but was competent in his office and utterly fearless. Dangir, conversely, was cause for great concern. He was purely a promotion-seeker and held no aptitude for command, no qualities to inspire troopers to take the fight to the enemy. Above all, Dangir was a coward. It was with great relief that the brigade's commander recognized Dangir's shortcomings and would send his own replacement for the 8843rd.
"Sergeant Dashnik!" Andrin's voice thundered above the exploding shells.
Andrin loomed above our refuge, face red from anger. Dashnik threw on his helmet and climbed out to report.
"Get the squads together, make sure everyone has their kit squared," Andrin commanded.
"What's the reason boss?" I turned to the lieutenant and asked.
The informality was not appreciated, for I was returned a scowl that reflected Andrin's displeasure.
"Round up your people, Maider," said Andrin. "We're resuming the assault in ten minutes."
The battalion lay at the foot of the plateau, arrayed along the Perlemian Trench. Hands tightened around blasters, as the last shells from the artillery erupted across the plateau. I thought there was going to be a pause, allow the guns and TIE bombers to pummel the enemy into dust before sending us in. Dangir, who appears to be acting beyond his scope, has called the battalion to renew the attack. He means to win further promotion by pushing all the way to the Rimma Trench, regardless of how many lives it takes.
The advance was slow, the muddy slopes of the plateau brought difficulty with each step. Cautiously, we picked our way up, maneuvered around craters and other debris. I slipped on a patch of mud and fell to my knees. Haurn turned around and put out her hand, hoisted me back to my feet. She was on her way again before I could thank her. Govnic sped by all of us, unburdened by the heavy incinerator –invigorated by his madness and lust for violence. He was too eager, it appeared, to meet the enemy. Thymond had great difficulty under the RPS-6 and rocket ammunition I was sure to have him replenish. Most distinct were the growls and shouts from NCOs driving the battalion onward by way of curses, taunts, and threats.
Enough time had elapsed for the Mimbos to recognize the cessation of artillery and they emerged from their hideouts to reoccupy their works. Automatic blaster fire erupted, and we flattened ourselves to the terrain. A few too slow to react soon dropped and lay motionless. Troopers rolled into the shell craters or found what little protection there was available. Enemy grenades were tossed, exploded about. One landed before a trooper. The trooper, thinking out of desperation, kicked the grenade with her boot, as it exploded. The blast tore off both of her legs, leaving her shrieking. Screams of the agonized wounded blended with the fury of shot and blaster. Mimbos fired their shoulder mounted rockets, with combustible warheads, into our ranks. I witnessed the incendiary chemical set troopers alight, burn flesh from bone, all while victim screeched. The only way out of this hell was to crawl forward.
Remov was fully prone, stock of his blaster tucked into his shoulder, as he held the trigger down. His bolts landed across the enemy's position. Allowing his weapon, a moment to cool, he grabbed my foot as I crawled.
"We just fragging did this!" he exclaimed.
"What do you want me to do about it!?" I answered with humor unsuitable to the situation. "Dangir wants that promotion."
"Where the hell is Dangir anyway!?" Remov then demanded. "I'd love to put one of these through his kriffing back!"
Hydian Alley lay directly ahead. Our artillery reduced it from an established trench to a series of craters. Dugouts were burrowed directly into the plateau from Hydian Alley and sheltered the MLA from the worst of our bombardment. Bugs and allies trickled out from the shelters to engage our battalion.
Still closer we pressed. We were within throwing range, though it would be uphill, we lobbed our thermal detonators and stick grenades. Our bombs popped in succession along the rims of the craters where the enemy lay, each inflicting some manner of casualty upon the bug. The battalion capitalized on the bombing, pushed its momentum forward. The more excited troopers would rise, spray their blaster about, and be instantly cut down by a Mimbo. Those that stayed alive kept low, minimized their exposure, and crawled forward.
When Govnic was close enough, he opened the incinerator and saturated the ground before him in flame. The torrent spewed from the mouth of the bug skull the cur mounted to his weapon, in keeping appearances of a demon from the depths of the void. Bug and allied combatants engulfed in the blaze, raced about as sentient torches, as they desperately tried to extinguish their conflagration. Other sappers with flamethrowers turned their nozzles loose. A sheet of fire covered our front. Those foes not alight darted from their holes in terror, tried to run up the slope, their bid to escape. Troopers took delight in shooting them in their backs as they fled. We drew closer to the sheet of flames, our blasters raised and trained forward. The heat was so intense that it excited the mites infesting our uniforms and we could feel them scurry about on our flesh.
An opening was carved into the slope, the entrance to a tunnel by appearance. More elaborate than the simple bombproof refuge we initially thought they were. Andrin, following closely, shouted orders for my squad to inspect this tunnel. Troopers of the companies carried the assault up the slopes, toward the final Rimma Trench, but clearing these enemy holdouts fell to the sappers. I cautiously peered inside and felt my heart race, as a blaster bolt, fired from within, grazed my helmet. Pressed to one side of the tunnel entrance, Haurn took up opposite. Remov dropped to the ground and fired his DLT-19 on fully automatic until it overheated. From my webbing, I took a gas grenade, armed, and tossed it inside. The canister popped and a thin cloud of yellow smoke engulfed the corridor –yellow colorization was intentionally added as a visual signal to our side that lethal gas was present.
Haurn indicated she wanted to go first and swung around the corner, entering the tunnel. With the SX-21 in her hands, Haurn proceeded with me directly behind. The tunnel was maybe ten meters in length and opened to a small room, dug deeper into the plateau. Bunks lined the walls, overturned tables, and stools, mixed with combat accoutrements, littered its center. Haurn and I stood over the half-dozen enemy combatants. As much as I despise the cumbersome Imperial issued respirators, the alternative was splayed out before us. A human, Twi'lek, the rest were Mimbos, convulsed at our feet. Coagulated blood oozed from the mouths of the stricken, the liquification of their organs accomplished by the gas. The poison was engineered to maximize the suffering when inhaled, attacking the lungs by dissolving the organs. The target was immediately incapacitated, in the sense they were knocked off their feet and pacified, but death was not instantaneous. The victim's suffering was purposefully engineered into the gas, ensuring they would be conscious through the agony. We caught the last glimpse of life extinguished, as they retched their final gasps and fell still.
"You like that?" Haurn scoffed her humorless remark through the respirator's filter.
My stomach was instantly unsettled by the sight. The part that affected me the most was the blood when I accidentally stepped in a puddle made by one of the victims. The viscosity of the fluid thickened, as if it were a stew since the gore had mixed into the concoction. A spell of nausea overwhelmed me, and my knees weakened. The only sound I could hear was the heavy rasp of the mask, as air filtered with each breath. There were other tunnels that stretched out deeper into the ground from this room. They would need to be explored, the enemy rooted out, but I had no energy for it. The notion of fighting through each passageway overwhelmed my severely taxed mind, which teetered as if I were drunk. It was the being underground, the confined space pressing against me, the memory of being buried under the traverse.
The next time my eyes opened, I could see the sky. A bright stream of green cut across my field of vision, as I stared upward. Remov crouched at my side, the butt of his heavy blaster planted in the mud and used as a support.
"He needs water," I heard Haurn say, undertones of concern echoed in her voice and a canteen in her hand.
"Too much gas in the air," Remov's mask filtered voice objected. "Move him down the hill first."
Regaining more awareness, I raised my arm, and it was firmly grasped by Haurn. She pulled our locked hands tightly to her chest and held them there. I can only assume I fainted and was dragged outside, but I did not dwell too much on that, for I was so preoccupied with the affection given by Haurn. The moment was dashed by a series of bombs that landed only a few meters away. Remov leaned forward to shield me from the bits of mud that rained down. Troopers from the infantry companies slid down the slope, away from the direction of the Rimma Trench. It was clear the attack was in trouble, our forces checked and now forced to withdraw. More bombs crashed, tore through clusters of bodies and incited further panic. Streams of blaster bolts increased, gunned down scores of troopers. The wounded tried to crawl, some could only make it a few meters before they were overwhelmed by their pain and stopped. If a comrade recognized them and offered help, they stood a chance, but many were simply left. The bugs rallied their numbers and counterattacked to push us off the plateau –executing our immobilized wounded as they passed.
Haurn assisted me, my arm over her shoulder, in limping down the slope. Remov turned back to fetch Govnic, for the cur was saturating the discovered tunnels with his incinerator and cackling like a fiend the entire time. Once more we collected in the Perlemian Trench, still no nearer than when we started. The casualties were abhorrent. One could look up the slope of the plateau and see nothing but bodies littering the ground. The sight left us disheartened and frustrated. The blame solely rests with Dangir, for his hubristic relentlessness saw those troopers needlessly butchered. We must contend with a well-entrenched enemy, as well as the battalion commander's ego. He would learn nothing from the day's action, for our sacrifices meant nothing to him.
The bitter fighting raged all day, and we collapsed exhausted. Remov was devoid of emotion, while Govnic panted with his tongue extended like a feral animal. Thymond had disappeared somewhere around the tunnel, and we never found any trace of the kid. Sufficient distance from the gas permitted the removal of respirators and I could breathe in an unfiltered gasp of the putrid atmosphere. Haurn handed me a canteen, insisted I drink. So weary, I did not recognize it as one of my own canteens she mistakenly grabbed and gagged on the alcoholic contents.
"Paulus Maider, gar cuyi ordinii!" Haurn cursed, sniffed the alcohol from the canteen. "Haar'chak, don't you have any water on you!?"
From the opposite, Remov handed me the canteen from his belt. I took a sip of the precious water and our group immediately had to cover our heads. A cascade of bug mortar rounds overshot and impacted behind us, with debris falling upon our backs. AT-DTs engaged in counterbattery fire and shelled the positions where they believed the Mimbos had their artillery. The plateau's incline was too steep for the TX-225s to climb, so they were relegated to offering direct fire with their rotating MK 2e/w laser cannons. Though most of the Occupier tanks were shifted to aid the 8913th in completing the last leg of the encirclement. What we could observe were figures descending the slope from its crest, MLA picking their way down to reoccupy the battered Hydian Alley. Dozens upon dozens of enemy combatants streamed from the ground, from the tunnels we encountered. Right away we knew what our next task would be, the elimination of those tunnels. For all we could speculate, corridors and passageways could have been dug beneath the plateau, perhaps even linking to the underground galleries of the redoubt. Given I seem to poorly handle being within confined and enclosed spaces, it was a task I would rather be excused from performing.
At our physical limit, ready to lay our heads down, word passed through the battalion to prepare for another assault. Another assault, Dangir has gone mad! The ranks were depleted, ammunition depleted, our strength gone, yet this petulant worm of an officer elected to drive us onward, for what purpose?
Heavy rains blew in and blanketed the plateau's surroundings. We strung our spare raincloaks to form makeshift canopies and huddled beneath in a serpentine mass of shivering wretches. Dangir called his company commanders together soon after the battalion's failed second attempt assaulting the plateau. 4 Company made it to the summit, prepared to storm the Rimma Trench, when they ran into a row of E-Webs and other repeating blasters emplaced just behind the plateau's crest, missed by the artillery because of an inadequate preparatory bombardment. The company was slaughtered. The whole battalion suffered horrendous casualties. The command structure below Dangir was obliterated, necessitating the advancement of junior officers to leadership. 1 Company was now being commanded by Aspirant Vinor, still technically a cadet and terrified of the responsibility. Andrin was moved from his sapper post to lead 2 Company, for they were completely depleted of officers. How discouraged we sappers were at Andrin's departure.
Ammunition bearers passed through, hauling crates in pairs, handing out supplemental charge packs. Grenades were also hastily distributed. Whatever rations could be quickly consumed were scarfed down as if we were ravenous beasts. No water was available to refill canteens. Dashnik nervously checked the chrono on his wrist, his hand shook uncontrollably. I recall the immense frustration that overcame me when I failed to light the sodden cigarra clutched between my lips. A quick glance to check on Haurn was returned with a sneer. For all that talk of desertion, she was still here.
2 Company comprised the bulk of the first wave, its troopers struggling over the ground reduced to a slick and treacherous slope. The ascent, already difficult because of the sharp incline, was further arrested due to the elements. Logically, Dangir should have waited, but he was determined to expend lives, and nothing could impede this course. The weather grounded the air support, a frequent occurrence. Troopers stumbled, landed in the mud, and were immediately covered in filth. It was a frustratingly slow advance. Still, we were driven forward.
Darkness had overtaken the sky, yet the plateau was aglow. Streaks of light darted back and forth. The guns supporting the assault fired blindly, conditions obscuring the line of sight. The Mimbanese countered with their own stocks of rockets and mortars. Explosions erupted across the slopes throwing up sheets of flame. Infernos raged in the face of the downpour. Flares launched into the night burst in macabre flashes of illumination against the low clouds. When viewed, your eyes absorbing the scenes laid before you, it was as if you were gazing upon the very image of hell. Shrapnel rounds burst overhead and showered our ranks with lethal splinters. The fragments tore through men, flayed them into pieces, punched right through the flimsy chest armor. The sight I cannot shake is of a poor boy, laid out on the slope, gutted by a splinter. He feverishly worked to shove the intestines back through the opening that had been bored into his stomach.
You could start to smell it, that acrid stench which permeates every corner of this world. Your tongue could even catch the flavor of it, respirators filtering out toxins but not the taste. The flesh burning in the chemical fires, the skin charred from blaster wounds, the fetor that accompanies gore. None were scarce this night. Every sense was overloaded, the mind unable to process. Cries for help or pleas for loved ones resounded as vividly as the bursts of ordinance or the shots of blasters. I slipped and fell completely forward. For a time, I paused and laid there in the mud. I fit my hands beneath the flanges of my helmet and press my palms firmly to my ears. I wanted to drown it out, to make it stop. Convictions of duty were eroded by a feeling of unwillingness to prosecute this battle further. Eyes closed; I could still see the horrors unfold as strikingly as if they were open. The awful, pitched squeal, the Mimbanese make when they laugh, supplanted the dissonance of the battalion's ascent. I possessed no disposition to continue, momentarily accepting cowardice and self-preservation above my devotion to the Empire. I allowed my grip to slacken, my body gradually sliding downward and creeping away from the direction we were ordered to go.
Unexpectedly, the straps of my webbing tightened and I could feel myself being dragged onward. Peering up, I saw that it was Govnic, his hand grasping onto my kit as he trudged.
"You're nae gettin' outta this one, mate!" the ogre snarled and hauled me into a shallow depression.
Remov was present, as were several sappers from the other squads and troopers from across the company. All capitalized on the defilade afforded by the position. A comms operator manipulated the tuning knobs on his unit while a platoon sergeant yelled into the comm handset, relaying coordinates for a fire mission. Once more, atmospheric ion interference severely disrupted communications. Haurn was nowhere to be seen. Dashnik rolled into the cover and quickly scoped it out.
"What's wrong with Maider?" Dashnik inquired of Remov.
"'e's fragged!" Govnic answered in his stead.
Dashnik took a dismissive look, judged my state, and then focused his attention on the platoon sergeant.
"I can't raise anyone at the battery," the platoon sergeant announced then checked his chrono. "Battalion should be launching fourth company any moment and we're still pinned by heavy fire. They'll be stacked up behind us if we don't get moving!"
"How the hell are we supposed to get moving!?" replied Dashnik, forsaking his usual collected demeanor for one of excited agitation.
"Your lot are sappers, aren't you supposed to come up with something?"
I can remember sitting up, my back propped against a berm, unable to move. By all the indicators, I had witnessed it in others before –combat shock taking root. My hands trembled uncontrollably, and I was hit by a wave of utter exhaustion. Dashnik knelt in front of me, removed my respirator and goggles to get a clear look at my condition.
"I'm real sorry about this, and you can take it out on me later," Dash spoke with regret. "But I really need you right now."
His last utterance, Dashnik shoved the circular tablet into my mouth and held my jaw shut, so I was compelled to swallow. Sergeants were issued small canisters of amphetamine tablets to distribute among their troopers if the situation required additional exertion from fatigued squads. The drugs went to work after only a few moments, and Dash could tell from my dilated pupils. "Strength returned to my worn limbs, my chest flailed against the inside of my armor, and a wave of hatred overtook my thoughts. It was rumored but never confirmed that the military added a psychoactive substance to the stimulants to influence certain battlefield-appropriate behavior. Renewed, I slapped Remov on the shoulder, swore at Govnic to move, and flung myself over the berm.
The wave of troopers pressed forward, struggling through the mud to advance. Blaster bolts fired by the Mimbos ripped through our numbers. Mortar rounds arched overhead, bombs sent by us cascaded upon Hydian Alley, while the bugs lobbed their ordinance vigorously. The battalion's mortars, being in direct support of the infantry, could more accurately hit their targets, versus our AT-DTs staged to the rear. A line of explosions erupted across our front. I grinned in satisfaction, while the enemy was engulfed in the blasts. Within throwing range, I armed a grenade and hurled it. I did not stop to assess the damage, only primed another.
The MLA could be seen abandoning Hydian Alley, scrambling inside the tunnels. Despite the rain, the mud, the losses, and the hellfire we waded through, our resolve and the weight of our advance brought us to this point. The few defiant Mimbanese, and their allies, desperately fought to hold their positions. Govnic sprayed several with the incinerator and let out a most demented howl as they burned. We fired at close range; barrels often pressed into flesh as the triggers were pulled. Many blasters were caked in mud to an extent they were unable to shoot, and other means were employed. Entrenching tools, vibroblades, cudgels, and every sort of lethal object were furnished to hack and bludgeon.
I had my hands on the back of a Mimbo's head, as it flailed wildly. I pushed with all my might, pressed my quarry's face into the mud and never let up. The bug eventually suffocated, its resistance ceased, and its body slackened.
Hydian Alley was once again taken, the tunnels now had to be stormed and the enemy within eradicated. We preempted the activity by tossing in our gas grenades, to drive them back from the entrances. It was time for the sappers to regroup and I saw the survivors consolidate. Remov and Govnic present, Dashnik corralling the platoon for a headcount: fourteen. I exhaled a breath of solace when Haurn staggered into the formation. The sappers reloaded charge packs on blasters, made grenades easily accessible, and all prepared for the next phase. In a moment of excitement and to relieve the tension, the group let out a collective cheer when we sighted our former boss, the reassigned Lt. Andrin, now in company command.
Andrin appeared as a natural in the role, as he strode with a comms operator and his adjutant struggling to keep pace. He was collected and calm, while hell let loose. When the lieutenant heard the spirited shouts and turned in its direction, he immediately had to avert his gaze to hide the embarrassment, yet we knew he was proud. Behind Andrin, we could see the green flashes reflected in the mist, AT-DT batteries launching another salvo. But something was wrong with the trajectory.
The rounds fell short. Our own shells exploded along the slope, through the masses of troopers. The artillery was horrifically effective, as our people melted away beneath each detonation. Comms operators screamed in vain into their units in a manic fury calling for a cease fire. Some troopers bravely stood perfectly exposed and waved their arms, frantically signaling to the artillery spotters –all before they were cut down. Others launched the red emergency flares into the sky, the prearranged signal to halt an artillery bombardment, yielding no results. A grand ensemble of yells from the mouths of troopers rose, alternating between warnings to stop and vile curses directed toward the gunners. The ferocity of the bombardment and the tight grouping of the impacts told that the bill would be considerable.
I saw where Andrin was hit, the exact spot. The blast hurled parts of him several meters in different directions. It was sickening to view, and the sappers were left aghast. One sapper bolted toward the remains of Andrin, only to be killed by another bomb. The artillery did not appear to slacken, and we were in the open. The best option was to seek the protection of the tunnel.
The interior could hardly be considered a refuge. The roof buckled under each thud of a cascading shell, dislodging mud, and rocking the support beams. A maimed trooper crawled in, his legs reduced to grotesque, misshapen appendages. The air grew thick as sapper Peliav's panicked gasps filled our ears, before he tore off his respirator and the gas killed him in seconds. The support beams groaned under each crash of a bomb, and one buckled, crushed another sapper named Kaelin from the second squad. We were not alone either, for Mimbos within the depths fired their blasters at our disheveled lot.
My mind felt so overwhelmed by the gruesome tableau before me, an unceasing deluge of the senses, compounded by the loss of Andrin. The stimulants, administered by Dashnik, stabbed at every nerve in my body, injected me with bursts of energy I could not overcome. I could not sit still, felt driven to press onward. But Andrin, our leader who we all admired, respected, viewed as children would a father, was just gone in an instant, ceased to exist. I wanted to grieve, to let out the torrent of emotions that welled within, but the relentless chaos of war demanded otherwise.
Govnic sent a searing jet of fire through the corridor. Agonized screams erupted from the direction of the flame's recipients. Glowing figures illuminated the darkness. The cur released the trigger, the conflagration ebbed. I hurled a thermal detonator then charged directly after the blast. Entering a small chamber, lifeless forms smoldered on the ground, embers clung to the walls, furniture, and other waste. Something moved, I sent a bolt through it, and it crumpled. The stench permeated the filters, leached through the seals of the respirators, a horrid aroma. The feeble glowrods affixed to the frames of our blasters offered a pitiful amount of illumination.
Footsteps, boots slammed against the duckboards lining the corridors or splashed in the thin pools of water on the floor, as we plunged deeper into battle within the pitch-black abyss. I fired indiscriminately at each crack of a sound, the slightest noise, and at every fleeting shadow. My breathing was labored, heavy, great difficulty drawing a breath through the hoses of the respirator. The enemy was concealed behind every corner, crouched into every nook, waiting to ambush and contest each section of tunnel. Our foe could not simply be driven back, the bugs needed to be rooted out and exterminated. We could easily gas the Mimbanese, as they didn't require respirators on their native world and were unprepared for our use of chemical warfare. The MLA allies, on the other hand, wore breathing masks due to the natural airborne spores and had a degree of preparedness against our unconventional methods.
At the top of a staircase, which descended deeper into the tunnel complex, I tossed a gas grenade. Screams and gags answered the thickening miasma of smoke. A hand gripped my shoulder, giving me a tremendous fright, and I turned, about to shoot.
"It's me! Sonya!" Haurn conveyed in an alarmed manner, equally surprised.
My knuckles tightened around the grip and barrel of the E-11; the blaster still trained. Haurn had to bat it away, and I let the weapon descend with my slackened arms. I stood before her; the breaths of the respirator's airflow echoed across the length of the passageway. Visibly incensed, even if veiled by her combination of mask and goggles, Haurn readied to physically lash out her frustrations upon me, when I noticed the figure.
A shape charged the length of the corridor and was nearly upon us before we could register its presence. Instinctively, I took Haurn by my left hand and guided her around my body to interpose myself at the forefront, forming a shield. Raising the E-11, I fired maybe half a dozen bolts and the shape crashed onto the floor. Perhaps a near-human? I was not sure, because it wore a respirator and was thus not affected by the gas.
"Paulus, I think we're lost," the filtered voice of Haurn announced, undertones of fear spoke through the words.
The stimulants held my focus on the advance, to eradicate the enemy wherever it was found. So consumed, I lost my awareness, ran ahead of the sappers, and became separated. Haurn was the only one who gave chase and followed me to this point. She laid a gentle hand to my shoulder, and for a moment I felt myself pause, breathing slowed to a normal rhythm. Had it not been for the presence of the gas, I would have liked to remove our masks and caress her cheek. Given the circumstances, it was nice to feel her soft touch.
Blaster fire erupted and returned us from the brief escape.
"Stay behind me, I'll lead," Haurn commanded, hoisted the scatter blaster and with humor injected, continued, "And no more wandering off! I swear you are often worse than a child!"
Cautiously traversing toward the source of the blaster fire, we discovered only the remnants of an engagement. The bodies of two sappers lay motionless against the cold tunnel wall and floor, their chest armor bearing the scars of faintly glowing blaster holes. The section of tunnel was dimly lit from the cast of a holo-projection, an emitter clenched tightly in the hand of one of the fallen. My attention focused on the holo-image, and I thought I recognized the individuals depicted from somewhere. Then I put it together, gazed at the sapper who grasped the emitter.
The body was still, and I slowly lifted the respirator because I had to be sure. Remov's lifeless face held a smile and the widower appeared at peace. I felt my heart sink at seeing my close friend, who I would never again have a chance to joke with, share stories or brag of exploits, complain of hardships, or drink ourselves to oblivion out of boredom. There was solace in the knowledge that the last image Remov had carried with him into eternity was that of his beloved family. The final glimpse at the family portrait put his tormented soul at ease, and it explained the enigmatic grin. Remov went to his death armed with the conviction that he would soon be with his wife and daughter again. Maybe he would, for he sure held fast to that belief. For his sake, I do hope he is with them and far from this place.
The last tribute I could do for Remov was to eject the power cell from his DLT-19 and smash the receiver with my boot, so the bugs could not repurpose the weapon. I suppose I may have been an emotional wreck had it not been for the amphetamines playing havoc with every part of my body. On my feet, I nodded to Haurn, who acted as sentry so that I could have that brief pause to mourn, and we continued.
"Sonya, remember you made me that promise?" I uttered to her, the need to talk amplified above my ability to remain in a tactical mindset.
"What kind of a promise?" Sonya answered, she slowed her pace, but did not break her focus.
"Back at the outpost. You said you'd take me to see a beach because I'd never been to one. I think I'd like to go to one."
Abruptly, Haurn abandoned combat decorum to stare me down. Her gaze pierced through the goggles covering her eyes and her notorious temper, the one I find attractive in some odd way, roared to the forefront.
"If we make it out of here Paulus Maider!" Haurn snarled in an emotional mixture of exasperation and good-natured banter. "I'll take you to that beach I evidently promised you…and drown you in the ocean myself!"
"So, it's a date?" I replied, a true word spoken in jest.
"Gar cuyi layari aruetii!" Haurn said in a more lighthearted utterance in Mando'a.
I could assume it was affectionate, as she returned me back to the title of "outsider" versus the aru'e moniker recently assigned.
Shouts were heard and we quickened our pace. It came as a shock when the height and width of the corridor expanded, and appeared to be lined with durasteel plates, reminiscent to a hallway found aboard a star cruiser. No longer did we have a feeling of being in a tunnel crudely etched from the ground, as we now stood within an expertly constructed passageway. In fact, we had located an accessway to the redoubt's subterranean superstructure.
"Come oot, come oot, wherever ye are!" a demented voice rose.
Orange pulses of light danced around the corners of the passage and cast their grotesque shadows upon the walls. I recognized the voice. It was that of the cur, Govnic. Around another turn and the tunnel opened upon a large atrium. Crates were stacked to the ceiling, which rose perhaps ten meters from the floor. Three charred bodies lay at its center, while the cur stomped about and occasionally sent flames from his incinerator at the stacks. Govnic had either bugs or sympathizers cornered and was thoroughly delighted in toying with the prey.
"Please," a plea screeched from behind a stockpile. "We surrender. We're just students, not soldiers. We just wanted to protest, not fight. Nobody told us we'd be fighting!"
"Oh, tha's one ah've 'eard be'for!" Govnic hollered in his approach at mockery. "Tell ye whit. Ye come oot, and Ah'll tak' ye pris'ner."
Govnic was not well known for his powers of persuasion, yet he was able to compel the four sentients from their concealment within the crates. The four were typical of the university student lured to Mimban, wishing to affect political discord only to find a blaster shoved into their hands. They complied, laid down their weapons and raised their hands. Venting the shrillest and most frightening screech, Govnic cackled and set the captives ablaze with his incinerator. The cur beamed with satisfaction while the four writhed about and bellowed tormented cries of agony. Flaming shapes darted about in manic efforts to hopelessly extinguish the blaze. In horror, Haurn and I observed this madness, the suffering inflicted so delightfully by Govnic. We were prepared to leave Govnic and seek an alternative route when several blaster shots rang out.
Bolts struck each of the four burning masses to terminate what manner of existence they still enjoyed. A column of Stormtroopers dispersed into the atrium and began a tactical sweep among the crates. Govnic was in a rage over the abrupt deaths of his quarry and aggressively swearing at the parties responsible. Impatient with the cur's antics, a Stormtrooper NCO battered Govnic with the butt of an E-11 until passivity could be exacted. Additional Stormtroopers poured into the room, and their numbers could effectively overwhelm whatever resistance the bugs could manage to offer. One of the bucketheads spotted us and pointed to the route that led out of the tunnel complex. Lines of Mudtroopers were moving through the corridors, pushed by us –searching for a way to break into Redoubt 7 through its lower levels.
The sun timidly emerged from the horizon, barely piercing the cloud cover, as we staggered into the light. Engineers toiled at the tunnel's egress to widen the passageway and reinforce the ceiling with stronger support beams, all to accommodate the meat needed to fuel the nightmarish combat. A new day dawned, for the entirety of night passed while we fought our way through the corridors beneath the ground. The slope, the one our battalion waged a ferocious and desperate battle to secure, resembled more a hellish graveyard than captured ground. Troopers, faces ingrained with expressions of shock and exhaustion, worked in teams to align the dead in rows for later collections. The rows appeared to stretch on endlessly. Unfortunate individuals, eyes devoid and hollow, were detailed to collect the severed limbs strewn across the slope. The violence of the artillery bombardment and the abundance of victims ensured these macabre scavengers had no shortage of gory work. Fires burned in scattered pockets; eerie flames cast their sinister reflections against the phantoms of men, who paused to throw the corpse of the enemy onto the pyre. Plumes of acrid smoke, poisoned and turned to a sickly obsidian hue, shrouded the landscape with a malevolence that infected the air. Reinforcements formed meandering lines as they summited the plateau –the fight to be taken to the very redoubt itself. The troopers, each bore a mixture of foreboding and determination, pulled themselves along on guide ropes fastened by the engineers.
While the stream of reserves slinked their way upwards, Haurn and I were some of the few who passed in the opposite direction. Our visible weariness and the filthy appearance of our uniforms spoke volumes to the horrors experienced without the utterance of a single word –enough to inspire trepidation in those we passed. At least the threat of gas had subsided, allowing us to exchange the fatal poison for the noxious atmosphere of Mimban. It was a welcome sensation to tear the respirator from my face.
At the foot of the slope, Haurn and I settled into a vacant spot in the Perlemian Trench. Wounded troopers were gathered nearby, wailing in agony, as they were triaged by the scant contingent of overtaxed medics and nurses. The ingested stimulants were at the end of their efficacy, and I felt my body collapsing under the exhaustion it was owed. At my side, Haurn unfastened my helmet and removed by chest armor, then laid out a raincloak as a crude bed. I did not have the strength or coordination left to accomplish these simple tasks. My recollection was of my unsteady head collapsing onto her shoulder, Haurn taking me into her arms and gently stroking my hair. My eyes were too heavy to remain open.
The troopers of the 72nd Assault Brigade accomplished the objective, the plateau was captured, and the enemy driven from their works into the battlements of Redoubt 7. The redoubt is invested by Imperial troops, who are fighting room by room, corridor by corridor of the fortified structure to eradicate all traces of MLA resistance. It only cost the 8843rd seventy-five percent of the battalion's effectives. In regular circumstances, Dangir would be castigated and cashiered out of the military, yet the incompetent fool received nothing but the Brigadier's praise for the expenditure of our lives.
I wish that had been the end of it. I wish we could be excused from the continued existence of this nightmare, but it appears that is not permissible.
000