"Please tell you got all that..." Her camera man gave a thumbs up and grinned. Nothing boosted ratings like a gun battle. She could see the tag line now, 'Veteran correspondent's brave the badlands of downtown Tadath'. Award winning material, maybe even worth a promotion to an anchor position. She was sick of doing all the leg work for those talking heads, sitting content there with their capped teeth and hair plugs.

"You wanna do another quick blurb?" Davrik her camera man queried, she wasn't the only one eager to milk this for all it was worth.

"How's my hair, good? Alright, on three."

The red light below the lens stopped pulsing and became solid, show time.

"This is Katie Coleman reporting to you from war ravaged Tadath." She played the part of hardened reporter well, keeping her pace and focus calm and direct. "We have just witnessed a brutal exchange between Imperial troops and remnant forces. From what we're seeing its clear that things are only escalating with Imperial forces vastly out numbered by their remnant opponents but still putting up a valiant effort." Pausing for a brief second to allow for editing cuts she continued, touching on the reconstruction effort, again on the bravery of the armed forces. It was all garbage, aimless and mundane but with some help from stock footage of the invasion thrown onto the screen it would keep the viewers interested.

"This has been Katie Coleman, on the ground here in Tadath for Holonet news." The red light began to pulse again "How was that?"

"Perfect. If only we could get this stuff off world sooner."

A lump formed in Katies stomach. "What?"

"Imp's have locked down all off world traffic. Restricted it to military only."

Her mind began to race. She knew full well that they were not the only team covering the conflict, dozens, hundreds were and who was to say they didn't have better footage or a sharper angle. She was screwed if someone managed to get a touching social interest story off world before she could. Sure images of conflict got the viewers, but it was always shadowed by those sappy stories about loss and sacrifice. The struggle of a people in times of great hardship, in particular human-centric stories sent the ratings through the roof. She needed a plan, something, anything. Surely there was a way for her to get her piece off the planet, but how would she convince the military to give her access...

A sharp clatter from a back room caused both reporters to jump. She knew taking refuge in here would be a mistake. 'An all-mart' Davrik had said, 'We're safe and we can get a little something to eat. Two birds, one stone'. The idea was too tempting, it had been far to long since she'd had anything decent to eat. The reprocessed slop they were doling out to the refugees tasted like Styrofoam and left her feeling sick.

"Kate, hold the camera, I've got this" Davrik whispered in a hush as he placed the holocam on the ground and drew a civilian-model holdout blaster. If they were looters, a few shots would hopefully scare them off. If they were remnant she hoped Davrik was a good shot, and by the way his flabby arms drifted and his labored breaths

Davrik began to slowly inch across the linoleum floor, the blaster fixed firmly on the doorway. The power was out, like much of the city. With a little luck they might be able to get the drop on whoever was in the back.

Another clatter. The two froze. Frantically Katie started recording. Why, she didn't really know, but it felt like the right thing to do.

Suddenly there was an almighty bang from the front of the store as the door was knocked off its hinges. Instinctively Katie dived for cover, still holding the camera, while Davrik spun, letting fly a few shots towards whoever or whatever was there.

Whoever it was replied with a flurry of shots and string of metallic curse words. The shadows had done their part in concealing the two but the flash from Davriks blaster had given their attackers a point of reference. She heard him cry out in pain as he collapsed back, knocking a shelf over in the process.

She was alone now. Unarmed. There was no way she was going to die in ilse seven of a convenience store. Maybe they would go easy on her if she surrendered. She was press after all and if there was ever a profession that opened all the doors, that was it.

"Non-combatant! Non-combatant" she cried, raising her hands and slowly getting to her feet. The consultant who had accompanied them on the flight over had laid out a few ground rules that he claimed would keep her alive. Quickly she ran through them in her head

'Be submissive. You're there friend. They'll be less likely to harm you if you play the part of scared reporter'

Her attackers began to circle. One began to approach her with a torch, blinding her, whilst another circled around to where Davrik had fallen.

"I-I'm not armed" she stammered, "It is against sector law to fire directly at a non-combatant" She had no idea if such a law existed, it sounded like it should, but with a little luck her attackers didn't know either.

'Act like you're worth more to them alive then dead.'

"I'm a field correspondent for a holonet news group. My superiors will pay for my safe retu-"

"Clear." A voice called from across the room with the same metallic sting from earlier. The flash light switched off, leaving her bleary eyed and blinking as she tried to regain her natural night vision. A hand took a vice-like grip of her wrist and violently twisted her around, forcing her up against the stores wall. She whimpered involuntarily, trying desperately to remember what else the consultant had told her.

She felt a hand move across both her hips before running the course of her legs. Any attempt at resisting only caused her attacker to twist his grip on her wrist.

"You know if I didn't know any better I'd say it was a little suspicious that you're hanging around here."

The voice was familiar.

"Private, how's dumbarse over there"

"You winged him. Nothing too serious."

"Shit." The man hissed in disappointment, "You're friends one luck sonnvabitch, I'm usually fuckin' surgical with this thing. Guess I'm just havin' an off day."

She felt the hand release allowing her to spin around.

"But I digress." The man continued.

She spun and came face to face with a one eyed, scarred man in crimson armor. The Imperials from before. A wave of relief washed over her, for a second there she had watched her whole life flash in front of her. At least now they were safe.

"Why the FUCK are you still around here!" the man bellowed, slamming a fist into the wall. Perhaps she wasn't as safe as she first thought.

"W-w.. What do you mean?" she managed to spit out. Still shaking.

"Alright let me spell it out for you. We pick you up, we get ambushed, you run away, we find you hiding down the road. Now from that I figure you're helping them, but that might just be me..." he stated matter-of-factly, "I'm gonna give you one chance to convince me otherwise."

For a second Katie didn't know what to say. It was all to much, she could barely keep herself from crying out and curling up into a ball let alone answer the menacing looking trooper. So she didn't. She simple stood there and trembled.

This wasn't what she wanted. Just a few shots here and there, a story or two. Nothing else.

"Count of three. Answer or I'm gonna get violent."

She cursed her boss for sending her here. The whole spiel about how valuable a reporter she was to have on the ground, about how her stories always got the ratings. About how it was going to be a walk in the park. Easiest paycheck she would ever earn. She knew now, as she had known then, that he was just talking her up. But she still said yes.

"One."

Even if she could bring herself to say something. Anything. What would convince this man that they were on the same side. Even if she managed to talk some sense, what was to stop him simple shooting her. Nothing. No one would know. She would end up lying dead in the store for days, weeks, until a reclamation team moved through and found her.

"Two."

Lying in a puddle of blood in the canned foods isle. She had never figured it would end this way. It gave new meaning to the phrase 'clean up in isle four'. Maybe she could run. Catch the trooper by surprise and make for the door. Davrik was dead, she still had the camera. It wouldn't be a total loss... What was she thinking. There was no way she could get past the man. He had a good four inches on her. She couldn't even look him in the face. That milky eye, cut with the fissure sent a vile shiver down her spine.

This was it. She was going to die.

"Thre-"

"Stop!" A voice cried out from a few isles over, "For the love of... Stop, please"

Davrik.

"We just took cover in h-... in here. We had no idea."

The crimson clad trooper snarled and turned his head slightly.

"Yeah, and I suppose the blaster just went off by itself too."

"Sergeant." That same metallic voice chimed in again, "Corvin and Aramis are on there way back now"

"Bout' time. Tell them to hurry up."

"Will do."

With that the man swung his gaze back towards Katie. Immediately she averted her's to the ground. "Where were we. Oh yea-"

A cry from Davrik cut him short. The shot had cut a deep chunk from his shoulder. "Oh, stop you're crying." The helmed trooper who knelt over him sighed as she began to patch the wound "Its only a scratch".

"As I was saying" The sergeant continued, "Why'd you shoot at us then, huh?"

She had almost forgot what had brought them to this situation. The noise from the back room. "We thought your men that had entered through the back was a looter"

The Sergeants face twitched as his eye's shot across towards the back of the store. "He was with you... right?"

Cautiously he drew his revolver from its magnetic thigh holster as he inched down the isle. Katie took the opportunity to move as far away from him as possible. The mans subordinate had taken notice of the lack of interrogation and gotten up to see what was happening, she too drawing her weapon and covering off on the rear door.

An eerie silence had fallen over the shop front. The breeze softly whispered through the missing front door, bringing with it the sounds of the city, the distant crump of artillery, the low whine of a shuttle taking off, the occasional mute crack from a rifle.

Then footsteps and chatter. Two crimson clad troopers appeared at the door way to the store.

"We came as soon as we could, Sergeant" One called, "What's going o-"

A bellowing warcry came from the rear of the store, followed by bursts of sporadic weapons fire that raked the tops of shelves, smashed windows and whizzed overhead. The female trooper who had been tending to Davrik fire wildly as she dived for cover, the condiments on the shelf behind her exploding as they were shredded by gunfire. The two troopers at the door dived too, one swearing aloud in surprise.

The one-eyed sergeant didn't duck. The familiar crack of his weapon accompanied a hoarse cry. Katie watched as a flurry of rounds ripped through his right arm causing him to kick and buck to one side. He remained standing.

Their attacker had come to a halt behind the counter, Katie could hear his almost insane cackling from where she lay as well as the sound of his weapon being reloaded for a second volley. Within a heartbeat he rose again, swinging his weapon to bear.

The crimson clad sergeant already had his drawn, held now in his left hand. His right arm hanging limp, sparking occasionally.

One shot.

He hadn't been lying when he said he was surgical. The round tore through the mans lower jaw, continuing on through the back of his neck. Like a ragdoll he crumpled to the linoleum floor. The silence had returned.

It took a second for the other troopers to get back to their feet. The Sergeant had slid down against a wall. The female trooper who had tended to Davrik rushed over to him while the others moved to check the body.

Katie slowly got to her feet. Her legs were shaking along with her arms. Too much, it was all too much. She shuffled uneasily towards the Isle where the trooper had fallen. He looked almost peaceful, sprawled up against a shelf of sauces. His right arm had taken the brunt of the attack. It lay to the side, twitching and leaking a dark translucent substance. His subordinate fussed over him, muttering under hear breath as she examined the man for any other wounds. She shot an icey look towards Katie before returning to her work.

"Shit, Jager... You're such a dumbass..." Her attempt a reassuring humor seemed hollow, though it didn't stop a grin from forming on the side of the Sergeants lips. "We gotta get you to back to base, or maybe an auto-shop."

"Anything go through?" he rasped,

"No, no, thank the stars. But you're gonna be sore in the morning." she jibbed, "Can you walk?"

He nodded reassuringly as he hoisted himself up with his good arm. His dead arm acted like a weight, limp and useless now that its servo's and actuators had been shredded or shorted out. Occasionally he cringed as a nerve receptor was zapped or pinched.

"Its not far back to base. You sure you're gonna be alright?" She queried as she moved in to help support him. He shoo'ed her away hastily,

"Peachy. Aramis is point"

"Right." She acknowledge, "Private, Corporal. We're leaving." 

The icy stare returned to her face as she turned towards a still shaken Katie, "You can come too, I suppose. But you're carrying your fat friend."

Katie nodded quickly and waited for the two to pass her before she moved off towards Davrik. Within a few minutes they had left the store and none of them looked back.

The camera sat on the floor, its lens smashed in the chaos. Its red light pulsing rhythmically.

A black-and-white Sinat Police speeder, requisitioned by the Stormtrooper Corps coasted into the Stormtrooper barracks compound. Five red-clad Stormtroopers piled out, three with slight battle damage. Gates had been waiting for any sign of the first fireteam, bored out of his mind and so pumped up on adrenaline he couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t cleared it with Tanus, but he figured he ought to take the initiative and take his patrol out, seeing as Rogueboy had disappeared (apparently to find a functioning bar), leaving Tanus in a fireteam on his lonesome.

Gates nodded to the three Blackjacks he knew – Corvin, Abalar, and Loran.

“Where’s Jager?” he asked to Corvin, senior trooper as due his recent promotion to Lance.

“Got hit, sir. I’d imagine he’s pretty happy about that,” Corvin said, grimace on his face. “Damn journalists threw him off.”

“Eh,” Gates replied. “He’s a tough SOB. He’ll live. Get inside, catch some sack time or something.”

They nodded and passed him into the building. Gates glanced at the last two. They were new comers; both took off their buckets and Gates was greeted with two alien faces, one a Zabrak and the other a Barabel.

“Alater?” Gates asked. He only knew one Barabel that used to be a Blackjack, and he returned with amazing alacrity.

The Barabel hissed out its species trademark laughter, and Gates realized he’d somehow amused it. That was good, considering the average Barabel could usually beat the snot out of you.

“Names and ranks, troopers,” Gates said.

“Private Hassar, here sir,” said the Zabrak.

“Private Second Class Faridoon, sir,” the reptilian trooper added.

“Excellent. You two are with me,” Gates said. “Got a fresh weapon? Excellent. Let’s go.”

The speeder had taken off while they were talking, and Gates hoped that the driver was looking to help the cause and not get himself some coffee. He began a light jog towards the entrance to the base, the two new Blackjacks easily keeping stride behind him.

On their way out, their blood-red armor stood out quite blatantly. People’s eyes were drawn to the Elite color of the Stormtrooper Corps; some had expressions of disdain and outright hatred, like disgruntled Army troops and raggedy civilians, but others looked and smiled, or nodded. Garryll’s mouth tightened as he saw that many of the civilians were of the former, and his mood blackened worse when one old man flipped them the bird and a scrawny youth spit in their general direction.

“Save the planet’s collective ass,” he mumbled. “Get nothing but distrust and spit.”

“What, sir?” asked Hassar hesitantly.

“We save the world – I am not exaggerating – and these people can’t treat us with respect,” Gates said. “Don’t worry about it. And put your helmet back on.”

The Zabrak shrugged and replaced his faceless crimson headpiece. They made good time, and were soon talking to the gate guards.

“Patrol going out,” Gates said. “Blackjack Squad.”

“I didn’t notice, sir,” the Corporal said straight-facedly. “I was wondering what the bright red armor was for.”

“Yeah,” Gates said, and waved his two new comrades through. “Have a good night.”

“Any night without shootin’ is a good one,” the Army non-com replied, lowering the roadblock behind them.

“Can’t say I agree,” Gates murmured in response. He glanced down at his datapad and memorized the route they had plotted - just a quick march around the base, a short excursion a little deeper into Sinat, and then back in time for coffee and doughnuts.

The first few hundred meters were easy, cleared roads and partially lit. Even some of the buildings were becoming more intact thanks to Army Engineers. Sinat was being rebuilt a few blocks at a time by the military.

Gear clinked against armor lightly, interrupting the local silence. They held their weapons loosely, though with their fingers inside the trigger guards and ready for anything that might come their way.

Sinat breathed; a heavy man-portable mortar fired somewhere in the red zone, and the explosion followed a few seconds later. Occasional laser or hard rounds would echo down the streets, fired by looters, troopers or the dangerous mercenary presence.

“Keep on your toes,” Gates said. “Watch for contacts and yell if you see anything.”

“Roger that.”

“Affirmative.”

“I mean, there’s not much trouble in the green zone, but someone hit Jager’s team. ‘Course, that might have been the reporter’s fault.”

They continued in silence for a little while until they had to make their first foray out of the green zone. Out of the immediate vicinity of Aurek Base, the rubble began to crowd the streets again. There was a little swearing as they stumbled over fallen and smashed cinderblocks and broken speeders. Gates almost didn’t hear the crunch of broken glass until he turned his head to the side and saw a mercenary crunching out of a storefront window with a shotgun in his hands.

“Contact!” Gates yelled, and fired at the merc, winging him and persuading him that now was not a good time to see if these Stormtroopers were as poorly trained as some of the old Empire’s. A laser bolt from a window above the store nearly blew Gates’ foot off, and the two new Blackjacks each put a burst into the window. The offender flopped out, a trio of smoking holes in his chest, but that only started the shooting in earnest. A window, miraculously unshattered from the invasion was unceremoniously smashed apart by a rifle butt and, before the shards even hit the ground, laser bolts were flying at the three Blackjacks.

“Get off the street!” Gates yelled, swapping his acquired A-280 for his flamethrower. “Building across the street! Move it!”

A torch of flame rippled from the barrel of the flamer, lighting up the street with a dull orange light. It also blinded the shooters in the upstairs windows long enough for the three Blackjacks to make an undignified scramble into a squad apartment building across the street.

“How you two holding up?” Gates called, slamming the building’s door behind him and looking for a window to shoot out of. “Never a dull moment as a Blackjack, no?”

How many times had he been here.

Eradiu. Baroonda. Vectra.

It was like an old friend that he was never too fond of, but who still came around every once in a while to chat. He didn't have many friends. The term had always seemed trivial to him. People changed, times changed, he changed. The idea of someone whom he could trust, someone who understood him and who he understood in kind, even someone with common interests. He could count them on one hand. A few had died, never grow too attached to a trooper they said. Some simply ceased to exist, vanishing from the very face of the galaxy. A few still hung around though, though he wasn't exactly on speaking terms with them.

Baroonda. Sometimes when he drifted off  he could still smell the jungle around him, feel the humidity and hear the gentle gurgling of the swamp they had landed in. He could never quite remember why they had gone, something to do with a scientist or something, the fact was trivial at best. They failed. The assignment had been doomed from the start. Too much new blood in both groups, his and the 82nd reconnaissance. They walked right into a kill zone and took heavy loses not five minutes after touching down. That's where he met her.

Angels, they called them. Beings from the far reaches of the galaxy that would appear at times of great need. He had heard the stories from drunken freighter jocks back on his homeworld. A freighter had crashed on an desolate outer rim world before activating its distress beacon, all but one of the crew were killed on impact. The crewmen believed his number was up when the water ran out but just before he punched his ticket a figure appeared before him. Porcelain skin. Soft, wavy hair. Draped in a comforting glow. The being offered him a hand and guided him through the desert to a small oasis where an old recluse lived. It would as rouse a few suggestive comments from fellow patrons, which in turn warranted a drunken cackle here and there. A nice little story, nothing more.

He had found one though, there in the mire of the swamp. Short brown locks, a hair short of six foot, soft emerald eyes and a smile that he could never say no to. An all-round picture of beauty if there ever was one. She was Private Sarah Koenig, a medic with the 82nd. He was quite the charmer back in his heyday. A devilishly handsome face coupled with a sharp tongue meant that she didn't have a chance.

It lasted a month shy of a year.

People changed, times changed but more importantly... he changed.

Words were said. Harsh, unforgivable words. She left, both the Corps and his life.

Like sand through an hour glass, his senses began to return. They had pumped him so full of stimulant packs and bacta that it was all he could taste. The cool, sterile air that filtered down from the ceiling and the general stuffiness of the room made it fairly clear where he was. Field hospital, supervision unit.

He hadn't been hit that bad, surely.

With a throaty groan he attempted to pull himself up, only to find that he had been robbed an appendage. The fact didn't worry him. It wasn't like it was his arm they took. He was, last time he checked, almost twenty percent imperial property. Resigning to his situation he lay back down on the bed. He needed some rest. Rest from the Corps, from Tadath, from everything. Problem was he was never one for idle time. When he got bored he drank, when he drank he lay around and ponder the the intricacies of life and the universe or just sink into a puddle of self loathing and wish for a return to action. It was a vicious cycle but he made due.

He could hear the dull moans from the general area outside his room. Anything that could be fixed with a bacta patch and some kind words went there. More of a quick stop then anything else, especially for the enlisted. If they were still fit enough to walk and shoot they were sent back out. The empire needed all hands. The lucky ones, if they could be called that, were either shipped back to sexton or the fleet that stood guard over the planet. He wouldn't be that lucky, lady luck was too much of a spiteful bitch to cut him that much of a break.

The next hourly round of checkups had begun. Again the empire had pulled out all the stops. Any and every registered medical professional on the planet was drafted and dispersed to the many infirmaries and casualty wards that had been erected.

It just so happened he knew a Doctor. Nice kid. Stubborn at times but well meaning. Quit the Corps a while back to start a private practice in Siniat with a little help from her sister and father.  A week or two ago she'd decided to take the day off and let her sister handle the place for a while, she always spent too much time working.

A thrawnist cruiser glassed the entire block a few hours later. Her sister, her colleagues, her friends. All gone in one horrifying instant.

A few hours into the attack she had managed to get herself picked up by a small platoon of beleaguered troopers and security officers that had setup a strong point in a strip mall. A few days later reinforcements arrived and they turned the position into a logistical hub, dubbing it 'Aurek' after the Major who was in command of the original group.

He could hear the soft clamor of boots in the next room. He was never one for small talk with strangers so he decided to fake a coma. With any luck they would increase the flow of the stim intravenous. Two medical personal breezed into the room and began checking monitors and charts, exchanging a few words here and there. A shorter, raven haired one quipped, hurtfully, about his unique facial 'characteristic's' though her colleague seemed preoccupied and distant.

"I'm marking this one as green. They're just patching his arm up now and he'll be right to go." she stated, returning a small slate to its position on the end of his field-cot before she moved towards the doorway. Her partner didn't follow.

"Sarah, Hun, you coming. We've still got five more to do." she pestered throwing a sympathetic "Take care now, Mr. Luth" as she stepped out.

The other nurse stopped dead in her tracks.

Jager, mostly out of curiosity, had his eye's fixed gently on both doctors six o'clock. He'd always had a thing for those in the medical profession.

The short brown locks, a hair short of six foot. She turned. Those same emerald eyes that were only capable of holding compassion, eye's he could never say no to.

"J-jager?" she stammered. Slowly she approached the side of the bed and took a closer look at him. The last time she'd seem him he still had both eyes and arms. He was still able to properly smile back then too, instead of the half smirk half grimace that he offered her now. She had changed too. She looked worn down, her once vibrant smile and carefree giggly where no where to be found and her eyes were different. It wasn't compassion they held, it was something else. Pity.

"Well." Corvin said with a sigh.

The nurse didn't appear impressed.

"You still can't see him."

Corvin sighed again. He seemed to be doing that a lot these days.

"So what's his condition?"

I need to know if he'll be in any condition to stab me in the back in the near future.

The nurse squinted suspiciously at him.

"Can't tell you." she grunted, suddenly gaining an uncany resemblence to a Gammorean. "Patient-doctor confidentia-"

"Look, ma'am," Corvin cut in, not wishing to hear any more of what was doubtless a memorized standard speech. Time for a little distortion of the facts. "That man's my fire team leader, a damn good Sergeant, and a good friend of mine." Those last two crossed the line from half-truth to blatant lies, but it might get the nurse to actually say something useful.

To Corvin's relief, the nurse stopped moving about for a moment as though she was processing the information, then tapped a datapad on her desk as she pulled up some information.

"He's doing fine." she finally grunted. "Stable, minor injuries but mending well. Should be out of here in a few weeks tops."

"Thank you, ma'am." Corvin said as politely as he could, doing his best to hide his dismay. He'd been half-hoping that the Sergeant would be stuck in the hospital for a prolonged period of time, forcing the HC to assign a replacement.

Such a desire seemed almost alien to Corvin, but it had a clear advantage: the Sergeant would be unable to carry out his threat, and Corvin could go about his business without the affair with the troopers coming to mind whenever he saw Jager's gaunt face.

"What are you waiting for then?" the nurse said after Corvin had stood there for another minute. "Don't you have somewhere to go?"

Corvin blinked.

"Yes, ma'am. Thanks again, ma'am."

The nurse grunted, then muttered something distinctly impolite under her breath as Corvin walked away. Corvin honestly hoped he'd never have to see her again.

As he walked through a doorway and into a central corridor, he almost bumped into Loran. The trooper was holding the side of his neck and wincing.

"Watch it!" the Private First Class snarled, then shook his head when he saw it was Corvin.

"Oh, hello." Loran said through gritted teeth. "They insisted I needed a shot. Sithspawn, it stings."

Looking at the bundle of gauze the trooper was holding against his neck, Corvin winced in sympathy.

"Looks painful." he commented, half jokingly.

"You're telling me. Come on, may as well get out of here and head to the range before one of the nurses decides to come at us with a needle again."

The two troopers jogged through the hospital's winding corridors. The camp had been built around the building, which had been a civilian hospital before the invasion. After the attack, the Army had taken over the structure and relocated its patients before setting up the camp around it. Corvin wondered what would happen to it once things returned to normal before his thoughts turned to other things.

Garryll's fireteam was one of those things, for example. They'd gone out a while ago and still hadn't come back. Corvin wasn't too worried: the Platoon Sergeant was as tough as they came, and had survived a frankly ridiculous amount of fire during the defense of Tadath. Granted, he'd had a flamer, but it was still fairly amazing. Gates would be fine, he was certain of it.

The pair of stormtroopers passed through the hospital's lobby, stretchers lying in heaps against both walls, and left through the revolving doors.

A team of medics rushed past them as they walked down their stairs, supporting a stretcher holding a moaning, ashen-faced Army trooper. The man's helmet was missing, and his fatigues were soaked with blood and what looked uncomfortably like his intestines. Corvin looked away as they passed. Neither trooper said anything.

"To the range, then." Corvin said at last.

Three pairs of combat boots crunched through burned human flesh and the ashes of paper and other flammable materials.

“You don’t mess around, do you, sir?” Hassar asked as they emerged from the destroyed building, leaving it and the stench of death behind them. Gates readjusted the flamer’s strap on his back so it hung tighter to his body and was easier to draw in case of enemies.

“That’s right,” Gates said confidently. “I never mess around.”

His HUD flashed a warning, and he glanced over at it. His comlink was active. He chinned the control and Tanus’ voice echoed in his ears. “Where are you?”

“On a relaxing stroll,” Gates replied nonchalantly. “Where are you?”

“Running from security officers. Can you believe they won’t let visitors see injured soldiers? Hurry up and get back to base; you’ve been out there long enough. Any troubles?”

“Oh, the usual, easily solved by the application of napalm and blaster bolts.”

“Fan-freaking-tastic. Just get back to base, got it? And no damn detours.”

“Aye, sir. Moving out. Make sure you have the waffles ready when we get there.”

Gates shut the link and waved the two new Blackjacks up. Neither had lost their head, despite being outnumbered and surrounded. They’d be good additions to the hard-hitting, hard-fighting Elite of the Stormtrooper Corps.

“What’s up, sir?” Faridoon asked.

“Tanus wants us back. I don’t know why, and nor do I particularly care; we’ve been given an order, so let’s haul ass,” Gates said. “It sounded slightly urgent.”

The two Privates shrugged and jogged after their ASL. The steady drumming of boots on unbroken asphalt was accompanied by the light breathing of the super-fit soldiers. They made up time admirably quickly, covering the ground they’d marched down in half the time. Soon enough, they were jogging in a straight line, unhindered by the rubble that crowded the streets in the red and outer green zone.

On their way, they passed a half dozen midnight patrols of all branches; the Stormtroopers would nod in respect at the Crimson armor, but many army troopers’ lips would curl and eyes would harden.

They passed everyone without comment, intent on getting back to base in a timely matter. They soon came on the final stretch and, as they turned the corner, nearly ran slap-bang into a squad of exhausted engineers. Some sported blaster burns and a couple had the trademark thousand-meter stare that came from traumatic combat.

The lead engineer looked familiar, and when the man saw crimson armor, he almost dragged himself to fully awake.

“Blackjack – you guys again. Thanks for the assist earlier today. Or would it be yesterday by now?”

Gates nodded. These had been the engineers that they’d met up with at the beginning of this little excursion into Sinat. “Holding up, sir?”

“I’ve got injuries all around, and we’re dead on our feet. How far’s the base?”

“About sixty meters,” Gates chuckled. “We’ll help you with your wounded. We need to swing by the base hospital anyway.”

Gates slung his A-280 and helped support and wobbling engineer with a cauterized blaster crater in his right shoulder. Hassar and Faridoon followed his lead, lending a hand or shoulder to limping engineers. The engineer squad leader – Kovar Tharq! that was his name - nodded absentmindedly to the Stormtroopers and made his way to the security checkpoint.

By now, the troops had seen the crimson Blackjacks a dozen times and waved them right through, quickly followed by the engineers, confident they were who they said they were. The streets were largely empty this late at night, as the civilians lacking military troops to jeer at or just watch had gone to sleep.

They made good time, and were quickly knocking on the combat hospital’s door. In reality, they didn’t bother knocking and just limped in. A prissy nurse looked at the new arrivals sourly.

“More damn Stormies in red?” the woman said. “I’ve had enough of your kind.”

Gates peered at the woman’s name tag and removed his datapad from its case on his belt and quickly jotted her name down. “Fortunately, we are not here to visit our heroic and gravely injured comrade – ” both stretches of the truth, but Gates could believe in the better half of Jager’s soul existing somewhere –  “we’re here to place some more troops under your care.”

“Go to room ten. There are some medics there that will help you.”

The engineers filed out, hoping for sleep.

“Thank you for your time, ma’am,” Gates said, sarcasm dripping off his every word. “I’ll make sure to pass my recommendation for immediate your transfer to front-line combat hospital work up the line.”

The woman grew pale and Gates chuckled as the three Blackjacks left the combat hospital.

The bar was packed, normally that would be a good thing at least for the owner. This was different, there were simply too many beggars and the punters had their hands full. Insomnia was a scary thing, particularly to that of a soldier, fatigue would wear you down and eventually you’ll crack under the pressure and either do something stupid, or be so careless you wish you did something stupid. Rogueboy knew that his insomnia was only temporary; mainly because he was fraught with worry about how the Vast Empire was going to hold up.

There were no available bar stools to sit on so Rogueboy was forced to grab a table. A barmaid approached him and attempted to hand him a menu. Raising his hand Rogueboy stopped her mid-movement. “I’ll have a pint of the red stuff.” He said as he put down ten credits.

“Price increase, it’s now twelve credits.” The barmaid said in a matter of fact tone before adding. “Supply and demand.”

“Must be great for business.” Rogueboy said as he dropped an additional five credits.

The woman scooped them up with one hand and twirled towards the bar. Looking around RB saw many patrons give him the once over; wearing his garrison clothes, a heavy blaster pistol, and a sheathed vibro-bayonet signalled him as an off duty soldier. Thunk! The sound of the mug hitting the artificial wood table interrupted Rogue’s thoughts about how whenever he arm wrestled he would always lose on his main hand but would often win on his left since most people were right handed and he was semi-ambidextrous, meaning that he was average with both hands. Before he could even say thank you the server was gone to another table.

The first sip of any drink is always the most important, it showed the character of the drink, the texture, the taste, whether the server spit in it, whether they have a cold, or even if there is urine in it. Why did Rogueboy care to know these? Was not ignorance blissful? Because anybody rude enough to spit or piss in his drink without him aggravating them deserved to die, or at least he thought so.

The ale was tasty that would be the word to describe it, it had slightly more carbonation then he was used to however the taste of the roasted hops was slightly stronger as well and that more than made up for the carbonation. Holding the mug up to the light Rogueboy saw that the ale was in fact a heavier one as the bubbles went downwards and not upwards. Satisfied with his drink RB was content to just sit and watch the room.

Not too long after there was a tap on Rogueboy’s shoulder. “Mind if I join you? There are no seats left and I would rather be drinking with a fellow trooper than alone or someone else.” A man’s voice said.
Turning around Rogueboy was created by a short stocky man wearing the insignia of a sergeant on his garrison uniform, his hair was cut short and dark brown, his eyes obscured by a pair slightly tinted glasses. “Yeah sure grab a seat, could use the company.” Rogueboy responded.

“Long day?” The sergeant asked in an attempt to make conversation.

“Yeah went door to door in a ruined apartment building, cleaned out some shit, yourself?” Rogueboy responded in an attempt to reveal that he contributed to trying to secure the city but not enough to reveal the possibility that he was a wearer of the blood-red.

“I have guard duty at the camp, making sure the knuckleheads don’t shoot themselves in the foot.” The man said before continuing. “Where are my manners? I had forgotten to introduce myself. I’m Sergeant Luthonil.”

“First Sergeant Gorjan.” Rogueboy said as he called over the barmaid. “What you drinking?” The Black Jack member asked.

“Same as you, Grun’s has decent red ale.” Luthonil answered.

“Another one, please.” Rogue asked as he dug up another fifteen credits. “First one is on the more senior.” He said with a grin.

They were there for perhaps a half an hour when the door opens and a scrawny trooper with blonde hair scurries in. The man quickly sees the two Vast Empire soldiers and makes a beeline towards them.  “Hi how are you guys doing?” The man said as he snatches a chair from a man about to sit down and spins it around so that it faces the table. There was a slight crash as the man without the chair hits the ground and looks around bewildered.

“The name’s Revle Tilkin, I’m a private stationed here, great to meet you guys’ acquaintances.” Revle said as he pumped each of their hands perhaps a half dozen times each.

Just then the door opened and Rogue watched as Revle’s eyes visibly opened, looking at the door Rogue watched as four heavies made their way over to the table where the three soldiers were sitting. Keeping his face calm and collective Rogueboy watched as one of the guys approached Revle.
“You owe me ten thousand credits Revle, where’s my money?” The man said.

Revle’s eyes bulged as he began to plead. “Bosk, I don’t have the money, you were supposed to give me a fortnight that’s two weeks man.”

“I need the cash so I’m calling in my markers early. Where the hell’s my money?” Bosk said as he overturned the table spilling Rogue’s and Luth’s beers.

“You mother lover.” Rogueboy nearly whispered as he lowered his shoulder and charged the man.

The attack surprised the man and he went down with Rogue landing on top of him. “No one spills my beer, but me!” Rogueboy yelled out his war cry as he began to pummel the man’s face with his fists.

Someone grabbed RB by the shoulder and pulled him off Bosk and in turn started to give him a bear hug. Rogueboy tightened his stomach and tried to backwards head butt his assailant but the man easily avoided the move. One of the heavies in front of Rogueboy punched him in the gut, knocking the air out of him and the bear hug made him squirm in pain. There was the sound of a glass shattering and fragments ended up going down Rogue’s garrison shirt. The grip was released and RB crumpled to the floor gasping for some much needed air. Looking up he quickly saw that the entire bar had begun to brawl, except for those who slithered towards the exit.

One of the bouncers took an imitation wood bar stool across the back, while the other bouncer landed a haymaker on a human female. “Help!” Luth yelled to Rogueboy. Turning around RB saw that the sergeant was in a headlock, quickly he grabbed the nearest throwing object he could find which was a porcelain ashtray and threw it at the man’s head. The heavy saw it coming and ducked out of the way, causing it to hit the person behind him in the back. The movement however allowed Luth to wrench free of the headlock and give the man a low blow.

That was when Rogueboy noticed the blood. Looking around the floor he finally found a body, turning it around he saw the cold face of Bosk. “Shit.” Rogueboy murmured.

Quickly RB grabbed Luth by the arm and together they headed for the door as fast as they could, as soon as Rogueboy opened the door he realized he was too late. A squad of stormtroopers were just about to walk in. A stun bolt hit Rogue square in the chest and knocked him unconscious.

Whyit Tines, Sergeant of the glorious Vast Empire Army, rubbed his aching eyes as he tiredly paced the main gate of Aurek Base’s entrance. His squad had been up for sixteen consecutive hours of on-and-off combat and guard duty. Nevertheless, his squad had performed admirably, helping out a dozen refugees and screening the base to the best of their abilities.

“Thank god that our shift is almost over,” muttered Corporal Ping. “I’m dead on my feet, sir.”

“Yeah,” Tines replied softly. “Guard duty’s a bitch.”

“Contacts sir!” called a young private acting as a spotter for E-WEB position number two. “Somethin’ big! Looks like an APC, sir!”

Tines had enough time to open his mouth for confirmation before the rookie’s green knowledge got him and half of his squad killed. Ping had enough time to look down at his feet and was quickly bleeding to death when he realized that he had no lower body and that a 2-M Saber tank was hovering down Broadway, lasers and missiles flashing out and killing the rest of the guard squad.

“This…is front door…perimeter breached. Contacts, lots of…”Ping got out before he passed out from the blood loss.

--- --- --- --- ---

Gates chased a glob of vaguely identifiable piece of his rations around the almost-empty carton with his spoon. Finally, he gave it up as a lost effort and threw the offending container and the disposable piece of cutlery into a nearby trash can.

He grabbed a cup of coffee off of the short table in front of him and took a sip. He was lowering it from his lips when he bumped his arm on the chair’s arm. He spilled boiling hot coffee on his pants and swore explosively. He looked up for someone to blame, but there wasn’t anyone within blaming distance. They were all at the front window.

“What’s up?” Gates asked, cringing as he wiped hot liquid off of his pants. “What’s so damn interesting I can’t blame anyone for this particular mess?”

“Sir,” Abalar said. “Why don’t you actually look out the window?”

Gates stomped over to the window, still muttering about the spill. He looked out the window and changed his priorities.

“Shit. Suit up,” Gates said. Flames were coming from the general direction of the main entrance into Aurek Base, and it didn’t look particularly like a rave or bonfire. As if echoing his thoughts, the VE radio channel started going crazy.

Gates pulled his helmet on and let the noise wash over him:

“Gawd dammit! Where’n’the hell’d they come from!”
“Backup in A-24! Gimmie backup! Heavy weapons!”
“Hostiles have breached the perimeter. This is the Colonel, declaring an elevation to DEFCON two. All VE forces stand by to repel.”
“You heard him, move it, move it!”
“Get those civvies to safety!”

“Doesn’t sound good, sir,” Corvin inserted hesitantly. Gates grimaced at the assembled Blackjacks – they were good troops, but he only knew Corvin had seen full-out battle before. With Jager in the combat hospital and Tanus out on an unfortunately-timed patrol, he was in charge and without a significant number of Blackjack’s battle-hardened troops.

“Alright boys and girls,” Gates said, buckling on his torso plate and pleased to see that most of the others were just now putting on their last piece of armor. “The situation isn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows right now, so stick close. Corvin, Loran, get the J-4s. If there are tanks, they’ll be a hell of a help. Everyone else, lock and load, get ready to make them bleed.”

The assembled Blackjacks nodded confidently and followed him out of the barracks building. Only a few steps out, and his comm. buzzed; it wasn’t a link he recognized, but it did carry a high-priority flag and had a military code overlaid. He quickly answered it.

“Blackjack squad?” asked a rough voice. “This is Captain Rogers. Get me Tanus Solvona.”

“I’m acting Squad Leader Gates here, sir. What do you need?”

“My boys tell me you’re all the talk up at Sexton. Elite, helped take out those two ImpStars. We could use guys like you right now.”

“I see our illustrious reputation has preceded us, sir. May I ask if you are a STC officer or Army?”

“STC and damn proud of the good name you guys have given us. Just get to co-ordinates A-3 ASAP. The situations seriously FUBAR and we need someone to hold the damn line.”

“Count on it, sir. We’ll be right on it, and we’ll bring part favors.”

Gates muted the general comm. and switched to the Blackjack tac-net. He brought up Tanus’ and Jager’s comm. channels and turned them on.

“Tanus here. What’s up, Garryll?” the SL’s voice came back quickly.

“Aurek base is under attack. We’re headed for the front door, by the looks of it. Get back to base, boss. It looks like they caught us with our pants down. We’ll need every man we can get. Jager, you good to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever have to be,” the Fireteam captain replied sarcastically, leaving off the “sir.”

“Right. A-3. That’s where we’re going. Bring guns.”

--- --- --- ---

Blackjack had slogged to a near halt in the streets, pushing against a tide of fleeing, frantic civilians. Gates could see an end to the crowd, and suddenly, the sea of humanity was broken, leaving just a few of the older, less fit to trail at the end of the panicked pack.

“Alright, move it, move it!” Gates yelled. “War’s not waiting for us!”

The VE presence was coming alive. APCs and infantry were seen on side streets, headed to firefights and ready for combat. Mortar teams and light mobile artillery boomed constantly, dropping explosives on command. A tank floated by, its crew captain scowling at the top turret.

They jogged quickly over familiar ground. The combat hospital was defended heavily by a trio of Stormtrooper Squads, ready to defend their wounded comrades from mercenaries and the Remnant forces they’d allied themselves with. One of the Stormtroopers was wearing fluorescent red armor.

The one red man jogged over to Blackjack. “C’mon, Jager,” Gates grinned. “You’ll miss the fun.”

Jager glared at him – or at least his helmet turned at him – and fell into line, somewhere near the middle. Blackjack turned down a street onto Broadway, the main drag of Sinat City, and into a warzone. The prized real estate of street-side Broadway stores would be much less coveted in the future, what with the tank corpses, destroyed shop windows, screaming soldiers and fire.

“Of course we get sent here,” someone muttered behind him.

“Contacts!” Corvin sang out. “Tank, but not for long!”

The declaration was followed by a corkscrewing rocket from his J-4, the lazily spinning rocket slamming into the ‘eye’ of a Saber hovertank and killing it. “Frak you very much!”

“Move it, Blackjack! Move to cover and set up a base of fire!” Gates barked, fitting action to words and firing at a squad of raggedly-clad soldiers with pristine Remnant-issue E-11s. One of his targets disappeared from the neck up, but the rest dodged for cover, showing off military training as they took positions and fired smartly.

A couple more rockets flew from the J-4s Loran and Corvin were carrying, exploding against the hull of another hovertank with the Remnant’s symbol hastily daubed over the VE one that used to be there.

“Traitors and Remnant forces!” Gates called, firing a three-round burst and eliciting a scream from an injured man. “Kill ‘em all!”

“What do you think we were trying to do?” asked Jager calmly from behind a collapsed building. “Send them love and flowers?”

A fireteam of Army troops fell back to the Blackjacks’ positions, falling over themselves to get into cover. “Shit!” cried one, his shoulder carrying a Sergeant’s chevrons. “You’re the god damn backup? You look like a baboon’s arse!”

“Red means elite, sergeant,” Gates replied, then cut into the artillery channel. “Fire support?”

“We’re a little busy right now!” an artilleryman called back. In the background, the man’s crew-gun boomed loudly. “What do you need?”

“Anti-tank and shrapnel shells in Sector A-2, Broadway. Infantry and mechanized units in the open, fire for effect. Please.”

“Since you said please…” the artillery man chuckled. “Alright, rounds coming in. Keep your heads down.”

The scream of artillery shells pierced the sounds of thudding missiles, blaster fire and explosions. A second later, the shells fell as if from god himself had cast down a lightning bolt.

“Thank you, fire support,” Gates grinned. “Move up! Let’s take it to ‘em!”