Dear Reader, A nice, short chapter . . . enjoy! Peace, CS
Chapter 50 The Risk-Taker
"You will never do anything in this world without courage. It is the greatest quality of mind next to honor."
Aristotle
"This is no good," CT-1004 grunted. "Every time we even try to stick our heads out, they're raining on us."
"Maybe it's best to just let them go and then follow our plan to rappel to the lower level," 7096 replied.
"I think you may be—fek and all, what the hell is that?" CT-1004 changed gears mid-sentence. He pointed towards the opposite wall, seventy meters or so below the opening in which Echo Squad was taking cover.
Both men maximized the image in their HUDs. What they saw was more worrisome than the clones on the far side.
"Those look like the things Team B warned us about. Damn, there must be hundreds of them!"
"Let's get out of here. Back the way we came. We'll just have to take our chances in a side tunnel," 1004 said hurriedly, though his movements belied the fact that he was curious about the approaching danger. In fact, had he not feared for his own and 7096's survival, he would have loved to watch his former pod mate battle this enemy.
But discretion won the moment, and the two clones turned and retreated from the chasm.
"I don't see them anymore," CT-8448 announced. "They're not even trying to shoot at us."
"Did they leave?" This from CT-8462.
CT-7567 raised a hand. "Hold your fire." Then to CT-1550, "Activate your auto-viz. Link 7567 hash 77HZ3."
CT-1550, being a communications type, knew immediately what his squad mate had in mind. He did as instructed and removed his helmet without being told to do so. He knew what came next.
He placed it on the ground and shoved it out into the open with his blaster.
The optical features inside the helmet, normally activated when the helmet was put on, remained in operation even now, due to the auto-viz function. The image from the helmet was linked to the HUD in 7567's helmet. It was a safe way to "stick your neck out" without getting your head blown off. It wasn't always a feasible option in the fast pace of battle; but it was perfectly reasonable under these circumstances.
CT-7567 activated the infrared in the linked helmet. There were no heat signatures coming from the mouth of the opposite tunnel, not even on the fringes to reveal bodies concealed behind the rock walls.
"They're gone," he stated definitively, stepping out to survey the chasm directly. He slowly holstered his pistols, then retrieved 1550's helmet and handed it to him. "It's all clear."
No sooner had he spoken than down he went. Something had him around the ankle and had pulled him right over the side of the lip upon which he had been standing. Now he was dangling by one leg, looking down into the endless black depths below. He twisted to get a look at whatever had hold of him.
For a moment, he wasn't sure what he was seeing.
Chaos had erupted. There was so much movement around him, strange clicking and gurgling sounds; his body was being swung and shaken . . . the side of the chasm, the area below where they'd been standing appeared to be roiling and pulsing.
But no . . . that wasn't it . . .
It was a swarm.
A swarm of . . . skeletons?
No, impossible.
Skeletons were dead, inanimate. Nothing could induce them to function as living creatures.
He struggled to keep his vision in one place long enough to get a closer look.
Yes, yes, they looked like skeletons, but not human bones. Humanoid, but not human. They had the bipedal construct and an easily identified skull, but that was all he could make out. So intertwined and numerous were the attackers that he could scarcely tell where one began the other ended.
One thing he knew, though: the one that was holding him wouldn't be holding him much longer. He drew both pistols and from his awkward upside-down position, began firing. The bolts made contact. Bones and bone fragments went flying. He was free and falling, but that was no concern. He reached a finger to his wrist to activate the jetpack. But his effort was thwarted when another skeleton snagged him around the arm and slammed him into the wall, where he was engulfed in a sea of moving, tittering bones.
He might have some difficulty getting himself out this predicament; yet his thoughts went to his three squad mates, two of whom were Shinies. "Get out of here!" he shouted into his helmet comm, not knowing that it was already too late, that his squad mates were every bit as engaged as he was.
Receiving no response other than the grunts and gasps of fighting men, he began shooting again, hearing the crack and splitting of breaking bones. But every time he thought he was making headway, more of the skeletons would appear to bury him against the chasm wall.
He could not figure out if they were trying to crush him or tear him apart. For the moment, they seemed intent on rendering him immobile, and Force only knew what would come then, when he could no longer move.
Something narrow and hard clamped down around his throat, like a long, spindly finger.
If he lost consciousness, it was over.
The hell if he was going to let that happen.
He gathered every bit of his strength and pulled his hand towards the ignition switch. He knew the weight on top of him would be too much resistance for the jetpack, but he had already thought of an option.
Using the toggle switch, he opened the vents and flooded the afterburners. If the initial ignition didn't result in an explosion that killed everyone in the vicinity, it might be enough to propel him to freedom. It might work. Then again, it might send him to trace-tracker oblivion.
"What—what is he-? He's flooding the—" The junior controller for Echo Squad could barely get the words out.
"Shut him down! Shut him down!" The senior controller commanded.
"Shutting down," came the terse reply as one clone among the battery of technicians worked furiously to stop the buildup. He had to override the electronic mechanisms within the jetpack rigging itself, for the actions of the jetpack were not subject to the trace-tracking system. Unlike the synthesized blaster bolts and plasma recreations of living beings, the fuel powering the jetpack was real. The ion sparks that would ignite that fuel in the afterburners . . . that was real, too.
Although they had run jetpack scenarios before and were well equipped to deal with them—much like the detonation of the jetpack at the start of Echo's test, never before had they had a trainee attempt to explode a jetpack through the combustion of the afterburners.
They knew what the results were in a real-world environment. They had no desire to find out what the effects would be in a training environment. At least, not this time around.
"Raise a containment field in case—" Colonel Claw began, but he cut off abruptly as the training platform was shocked by a flash of light and the sound—not of an explosion—well, yes, an explosion—but not the sort of explosion that marked devastation; rather, it was the sound of a maximized output, a burst of power, the perfectly timed eruption of released energy.
The shock wave that followed was miniscule, not the sort of bombardment that follows the detonation of supercharged propellant.
"I'll be damned." Major Tides sounded like he was speaking the words of a prayer, despite his choice of words. "That son-of-a-bitch did it."
As the smoke and rubble cleared within the scenario and the chasm became visible again, there was CT-7567, hovering in mid-air, the jetpack still in one piece of his back, pistols in both hands blasting away at the skeletons still attacking his squad mates.
Colonel Claw let the smile spread across his face. He clapped his hand on Commander Steed's shoulder. "You were absolutely right about him, Steed. He may end up being the best to ever come through here." A chuckle. "Or the worst."
"Well, he's a risk-taker, that's for sure. Let's hope Commander Cody rubs off on him," Steed replied. "Based on what I've heard from my friends in the 729th, CT-7567 is always up for a challenge. Where he's lacking is in the . . . reasonable consideration area."
"He's hasty," Claw presumed.
"And prone to being anxious," Steed added. "Always wants to rush in and get down to business. Gets a little carried away with his enthusiasm." A pause. "I never served with him, though. Everything I know, I heard from the men who have served with him."
"Judging from what I've witnessed so far, it appears your contacts were right," Claw noted. "Look at him. He's singlehandedly blowing the bones to smithereens."
"But will it be enough?" Major Tides asked thoughtfully. "He can't overcome the whole swarm on his own. I want to see how hard he tries to save the rest of his party. Or will he abandon them and go on after the others to reach the objective?"
The senior controller cleared his throat. "Hmph! Does that answer your question?"
Claw, Steed and Tides turned their attention to one screen, tightly drawn in on CT-7567's right hand.
"He's going to do it again," Claw chuckled. "Blue steel, I'll give him that."
Steed and Tides both exchanged subtle grins at the bawdy remark.
"You watch: he's going to swoop in there and give 'em a blast of JP*," the senior controller said with surety.
"If he miscalculates by even the slightest degree, he can do some serious damage," Tides said as an unnecessary reminder. "Are we still shutting him down?"
"I've got the override routed," the junior controller stated. "Just give the word."
"Is the containment field in place?" Claw asked.
"Around him, yes," the junior controller replied. "Any explosion would probably tear him to pieces, but everyone else should be safe . . . unless he gets too close."
"Keep the field active. Let him continue."
Commander Steed and Major Tides exchanged wary glances. This was a considerable risk, and it was only the first day of training.
"Are you sure you want to do that, Sir?" Tides asked. "This could turn out badly."
"If it does, I'll send my apologies to the 729th," came the falsely flippant reply.
"He's fekking crazy!" This from CT-5052. He wasn't the only one who felt that way.
"He could have blown up the whole place," CT-3636 added.
Commander Cody was more sanguine. "I'm sure the cadre has contingency plans in place for just this kind of scenario. It's unlikely that CT-7567 is the first wildcard they've ever encountered." But even as he said the words, he knew he was not speaking his own mind. Quite the contrary: he was becoming ever more convinced that his room-mate was such a departure from the norm that there could be no one like him among the entire clone army, much less among the ARC trainees.
Where did such daring come from? And what outfit could possibly tolerate such borderline-insane behavior? The 729th was full of tough characters, certainly; but Cody had never heard that they were fond of pushing the boundaries of reason. He began to wonder if the 729th commander hadn't simply sent 7567 to ARC training in order to get rid of him with the hope that he'd be reassigned afterwards.
But that possibility didn't ring true.
Cody knew he wasn't looking at a cast-off. He was looking at a man—a clone, an officer—who had bluster and confidence, possessed of a strange charisma that attracted others to the same extent that it repelled them. A man who was willing to take the risks no other right-minded man would even consider.
Unbidden, the image of General Skywalker wafted into his consciousness. He could picture the youthful face, cocksure and eager to prove his skill. He could hear the voice, deep and commanding, encouraging his men on towards victory.
And those men trusted him implicitly. No matter how dangerous the mission, they would follow him unflinchingly. They took him at his word when he promised them he would protect and lead them. There was no Jedi they revered more. No Jedi they would want clearing the way. No Jedi they would rather die for.
Cody's thoughts turned to Captain Stamp.
General Skywalker had insisted from the first moments of command that his troopers would be more than numbers. They would have names. And if they didn't have the creativity to name each other, he would be more than happy to indulge his own inspired genius.
Captain Stamp had been an easy one for the general. CT-430 had been groomed for command from his days on Kamino. He was the general's first "first-in-command", and he had done a creditable job of keeping up with his commanding officer's penchant for hard-charging. He had an uncanny early warning system seemingly built into his physical makeup – a sixth sense, as it were. He knew when trouble was coming, and he would send out the danger signal with the rapidity of a Valusian Hare stamping its foot on the ground. The idea of his quick warning, though not physically resembling the action of the hare, nevertheless gave him his nickname.
His fellow clones often ribbed him by pounding a foot on the ground in his presence, to which he reacted with amicable indifference. He'd grown used to it; and it didn't bother him, for his general had given him a name. General Skywalker had cared enough, been observant enough to come up with a name that suited him just perfectly.
Cody knew that name was a point of pride for Captain Stamp. As it should be.
Truly, Stamp was an ideal match for General Skywalker.
Yet, as the commander stood on the observation ring, watching his room-mate redefine what it meant to be a risk-taker, a faint yet persistent parallel was forming in his mind. He had seen this kind of flamboyant audacity before, and he knew where.
"It's like watching General Skywalker," he said out loud, though whether he meant for the others to hear was uncertain. It had come out of him without deliberation.
"Are you serious?" CT-3636 asked incredulously. "I know Skywalker has a reputation for being a dare-devil, but this . . . this is just craziness."
Cody gave a one-sided grin. "General Skywalker can be pretty crazy himself."
"I just wonder if it's going to work," CT-5869 remarked. "He's broken loose, but what about the rest of his team?"
Cody found himself wondering the same thing. Surprisingly, he found himself hoping, wishing, "Don't leave them behind."
He wanted some proof, some example to show that his room-mate was not just a very skilled egomaniac. He wanted to believe that he placed a premium on the lives of his fellow clones.
He wanted to believe that his room-mate was a good man and not just a strong man.
CT-7567 crashed into the crawling morass of bones with enough speed to scatter them for the short few moments needed to free CT-8462 and sling him over the edge with the shouted instructions to "light it up!" He didn't wait to see if 8462 followed his order before returning to the ledge where, now that he had a bit more room to work with, he could ignite the flooded afterburners once again.
Before, with three men on the ledge, the risk of any one of them getting caught in the direct path of the fire flash was too risky. Even his own body had not escaped unscathed from his initial burn. His armor was scorched, especially the back of his legs. He could feel the body glove had been superheated; and he imagined, when the exercise was over, that he would discover some surface burns to his skin.
But now with CT-8462 off the ledge—and tumbling down into the chasm but with a chance of saving himself—there was room for another afterburner ignition.
He could see his two remaining team mates struggling under the never-ending tide of skeletons, and using his infrared, he could make out CT-1550 without his jetpack near the back of the ledge where it entered the tunnel. CT-8448 was barely visible and being dragged towards the edge.
"I'm coming in for a burn!" CT-7567 shouted into his comm. In the blink of an eye, he had swooped into the tunnel, and less than a second later, a flash of light and energy erupted from the opening, blasting not only the skeletons over the edge but the two clones as well.
"There they go! He's just killed his own men—" 5052 hissed, but 3636 cut him off.
"I don't believe it—look!"
He was looking at CT-8462, whom 7567 had earlier thrown from the ledge, and whose jetpack was now propelling him upwards just in time to snag CT-1550 as he careened off the opposite wall in the wake of the blast.
That left CT-8448, who, within seconds, had ignited his own jetpack and was flying up towards a higher opening.
All three of them had lost their blasters in the struggle, and now they had apparently lost their team leader.
"Where's 7567?!" CT-8462 asked as he gave full power to the jetpack to carry the extra weight of another man.
"I don't see him—" CT-8448 replied anxiously. "I was buried under those things. I couldn't see a thing."
"The blast came from the tunnel," CT-1550 announced. "He flew over me and into the tunnel, then the burn—fek, we have to go back and look for him—" He and 8462 alit on the lip of the higher opening with CT-8448.
"We can't stay here," 8462 stated emphatically. "Those things haven't given up yet. They're going to find a way over to this side, and we have to be out of here when they get here—"
"We can't leave him behind! He's the only reason any of us are still alive!" 1550 insisted.
"Look, that explosion—he's probably dead—"
"No, it was a burn—just like the other burn he did," 1550 protested. "We have to see if he's still alive!"
CT-8462 looked to CT-8448.
CT-8448 nodded.
CT-8462 conceded, not as reluctantly as might have been expected. He had wanted to go back and see if 7567 was okay, but he'd not wanted to run the risk of making the call that cost them the victory in the scenario. But now that it seemed they were all in agreement, he was as eager as the others.
"Okay then . . . 1550, wait here. We'll go back across and check—"
But CT-8448 was already shaking his head. "Too late."
The skeletons were swarming back to the opposite ledge and into the tunnel.
"We won't be able to get to him," 8448 lamented, "Even if he is still alive."
Cody's shoulders tensed.
From the moment of the explosion in the tunnel, he'd felt something cold and vise-like grip his gut.
He could not see what was going on inside that cave, and suddenly all the safety parameters of Range 9's training platform were meaningless.
The afterburner blasts had been palpable even on the observation ring. Whatever manipulation the tracetrackers might render, they couldn't possibly dampen the effects of such explosions.
Beside him, CT-5869 spoke soberly. "I hope the controllers know what they're doing."
CT-5052 added with a sneer, "I hope CT-7567 knows what he's doing."
Cody nodded soberly. "So do I."
*JP - jet propellant (fightline lingo)
Blue steel . . . well, use your imagination!