“So Blackjack actually got a ship,” Abalar mused to herself.

The Royal Flush was quite an attractive ship, if you liked space vessels. Abalar had no desire to know about them other than their reliability and speed. If it got her from Point A to Point B in one piece without disintegrating, and took the a decent amount of time doing it, then she was happy. Abalar was no pilot, and took no interest in that kind of thing. However, she was sure that she was going to meet a few new faces on this craft that would more than love to talk her ear off about its hyperspace capabilities.

Her thoughts flicked to the ex squad leader Tanus for a moment. He probably had something to do with this. She saw her squad leader Garryll a few metres ahead and speed walked to catch up with him. Her civilian clothing allowed a lot more movement. She learned a long time ago that it was important to travel comfortably. Abalar would have a lot of time to change on the jump over.

“Quite the fitting name,” Abalar said to her new SL.

“Yes, I thought so.”

“You named it?”

“Yes I did.”

Abalar nodded, and started thinking up names that she would have called it, had it been up to her. Since her lack of interest in space travel corresponding directly with her lack of imagination for ship names, Abalar was coming up with names like Blasty and Shipy; none of which were particularly tasteful. However, there was one name that she probably would have called Blackjack’s new ship: PEWPEW. As much as she would have been hated, that would have been the name. Mentally, she made the decision to call Royal Flush PEWPEW instead, but only in her head. She didn’t want to be removed from the Corps due to her unstable mind. Abalar had already had one of those scares, right at the beginning of her career. She had no desire to repeat that joyful experience.

Before long, Blackjack had boarded their new vessel. New craft, new position. Abalar still couldn’t believe that Garryll had chosen her to be his assistant squad leader. It was up to her to set the example, not that Jager would follow it. He was his own person, as annoying or mentally insane as some saw him. If anything, no one was going to follow her example. They were all head strong men, with their own personalities, which were remarkably similar, even though they didn’t them. Abalar’s only hope in influencing someone would be the addition of a new recruit. She crossed her fingers. She loved new recruits.

“It might be a long trip Blackjack. We’re looking at a ten hour journey,” Garryll said.

“Get settled, and make friends with the crew. You’re going to be seeing them almost every mission, so please, don’t harm anyone, Jager.”

Abalar tacked his name on the end only because she knew him. She knew him more than anyone in Blackjack, much to Jager’s distain. She flashed him a friendly smile. He could probably harm her if he wanted to. As that thought flashed through her mind, she became slightly worried. Jager most likely wouldn’t do anything to her. She believed that he loved his life in the Corps too much to risk it, but still, it was a sobering thought. He had everything against her; size, weight. The only thing Abalar had going for her was her training in unarmed combat, but even with that, Jager would win.

“Well,” Abalar said breaking the silence once again. “I’m going to explore.”

“ETD ten minutes,” the pilot called after her.

“Sounds good,” Abalar replied over her shoulder.

She really wasn’t going far, just a couple hallways and back. As if by fate, one of the new crew approached her. Of course, he was male, and of course, the first thing Abalar caught him looking at was her chest. However, his glance only lasted for a mere second. She liked him already. He was tasteful.

“Ensign Thomas Korvu, at your service,” the man said, introducing himself. “I’m the Copilot of this great vessel. May I ask who you are?”

“You may. I’m Corporal Fyre Stone, but I prefer to go by my callsign, Abalar.”

“Pleased to meet you. I trust you’ve already met the pilot, Matthew Godby.”

“Yes, he met us and led us here.”

“Very good. I’m sorry if I’m being rude, but are all of Blackjack are short as you?”

Abalar did not find this rude at all. She was comfortable with her height. It had its benefits. If anything, she laughed a little.

“No,” she said with a smile. “The rest of my squad are men, so they’re quite a bit taller than me.”

“I’m sorry, you’re squad?”

“Well, Blackjack isn’t really my squad. I’m the assistant squad leader.”

“I see…”

His facial expression said that he didn’t.

“Were you expecting a male assistant squad leader?”

“Yes, I was. Not that I’m disappointed by your presence,” Thomas said with a smile.

Abalar mentally rolled her eyes. Great, he was hitting on her.

“Are you aware of the squad change? Tanus Solvona was our squad leader, but he was promoted to a higher position. Garryll Gates, who was his assistant, is now our squad leader. Garryll chose me to be his assistant.”

“I was unaware of that change, but, I believe congratulations are in order. Is this your first mission as assistant squad leader?”

“Yes, so I’m hoping nothing goes seriously wrong.”

“Yes, it would be a shame if something happened to you.”

Again, Abalar mentally rolled her eyes. It was quite a nice change though. No one in her squad treated her like a woman, in the romantic sense. She was sure they saw her as female, but duty always came first.

“Ensign Korvu, please report to the bridge,” said a male voice over the PA system.

“Looks like we’re about to take off. Have you ever been on a bridge?”

“Only of a sentinel,” Abalar said truthfully.

“Well, let it be my pleasure to escort you there, and afterwards, show you the rest of the ship,” Thomas said.

“I shall, Ensign,” Abalar said with a smile.

“Please, call me Thomas or Korvu. Ensign is so formal.”

“Very well Korvu,” Abalar said, as she was led towards the bridge.

All her disinterest was still present towards the Royal Flush, but there was a new interest, one that was slightly refreshing. She felt young again. It was scary.

OOC:

That's the copilot down. That leaves the Gunner, since Jager's claimed the engineer.

And if you must know, yes, I got bored, so Abs has a date :P

Corvin stared at the ceiling. Like the rest of the ship, every part of it still shone as though it had come off the assembly line, including the exposed power cable running across it and disappearing into the opposite wall. It made for an interesting contrast.

Corvin wondered how long it would take for the Royal Flush to lose her fresh-off-the-assembly-line shine. Not long, he suspected.

The ship hummed to herself, the noise intensifying for a moment as the crew fed more power to the engines. Any moment now, they'd make the jump to hyperspace, and to Najiba.

Corvin closed his eyes and rested his head against the head of his bunk, trying to relax. His feelings were a strange mix of glee at the prospect of bringing a traitor to the Empire's justice and cold, unyielding fear of the creatures the squad might be facing again.

Creatures were what he had called them, or hostiles,or even just "them". Never "reanimates" or corpses. For him to acknowledge what they were would to be risk succumbing to fear. He knew his fear was irrational. Compared with stormtroopers or even mercenaries, their threat was minimal.

They'd had no concept of tactics, had no commanders or sense of self-preservation, and had charged blindly into the barrels of the squad's guns with their arms flailing. By all rights, they should have been wiped out in moments.

What scared him was that none of this had seemed to matter. The creatures had forced the Blackjacks to flee, then overrun their position and sent them running again. They'd come closer to bringing the Elite Squad down than Thrawn had.

The way they simply shrugged off volleys that would have brought down squads of stormtroopers, the way they ignored hits that left fist-sized holes in their bodies, the way they had poured over the tomb moon's surface in hordes of hundreds...it had left Corvin spooked.

He just hoped they'd apprehend the traitor (never ex-Captain Brents to Corvin, just "the traitor") before he could find the damned things. The prospect of another last stand was more than enough enough incentive for Corvin to look forward to the boarding action.

He heard a thump and a bitten-off curse and glanced over the side of the bunk. On the other side of the room, Loran was half-out of his bunk, hand holding the top of his head. He looked at Corvin and winced.

"Kriffing ceiling's too low."

Corvin shrugged.

"Could be worse. At least it has bunks. And its boarding prongs might come in handy when we reach Najiba. It's actually quite roomy, all things considered. Have you seen the cargo bay yet?"

"You're babbling." Loran muttered irritably. "And it's giving me another headache."

Corvin shrugged again, but stopped talking. Sitting up, more carefully than Loran had, he started to clamber down to the floor. He needed something to do, and running an equipment check was a reasonable thing to do.

Corvin walked across the room, picking up his datapad as he did so. Come to think of it, Loran did have a point. It couldn't have been a third the size of their barracks's room. Never mind that now; they probably wouldn't be spending that much time in there anyway.

It was time to find the armoury, he decided, and take a lot at its inventory.

He waved his hand in front of a wall panel, and the doorseal slid open. Stepping through the doorway, Corvin took a step into the hallway...

and almost walked headfirst into Abalar. The Blackjack ASL seemed distracted, barely seeming to notice his presence.

"Sorry, ma'am." Corvin said quickly, stepping aside. Abalar simply walked past him, not even turning to look at him as she entered the barracks. Corvin noticed her hands were clenched as the doorseal closed behind her.

"All right, ma'am..." he muttered, then turned back around, and continued down the corridor. According to the deck plan on his personal datapad, the armoury was towards the front of the Flush, through the central space and just behind the left boarding-prong.

Corvin's boots clanged against the durasteel deck plates as he walked down the central corridor. It was cold, and lit by wall-mounted glow-panels. A compact holoscreen on one wall displayed status reports and feeds from holocams, flickering slightly every couple of seconds.

Corvin glanced at the holoscreen, then kept on walking. Most of the squad was in the meeting room, talking to each other or just sitting around. A casual game of sabacc was taking place in one corner, and one of the crewmen had joined in.

Passing the game just as the crewman bombed out,and stepping around the holoprojector that took up most of the room's centre, Corvin stepped through the left doorseal and into the armoury.

There was a crunch as he bumped headfirst into an-equally surprised crewman.

"Not again..." Corvin said, more to himself than to the engineer, then blinked.

"Sorry." he muttered.

"Suspension plugs." the engineer replied, quite clearly.

"Sorry?"

"Suspension plugs." the man repeated.

"What?"

"Suspension plugs! I need suspension plugs!"

Corvin eyed the man, not sure if he was taking the frak or not. The crewman, who was evidently the engineer if the orange highlights on his slightly gruby uniform were to be believed, was rather short. His nose seemed a bit small for his face, and his eyes seemed to bulge out slightly. A grime-stained name plate clipped to his equally filthy uniform read "Crewman Keith Genner".

"Crewman Genner?" Corvin hazarded, tensing slightly. He'd had enough of madmen on the last mission, and didn't want to end up being messily killed by some loony who'd somehow sneaked on board the Flush.

"Yep, that's me, Crewman Gener. Me, that is. Need suspension plugs, lots and lots of suspension plugs."

This last was mumbled in a rush, with an especial emphasis on the last few words. Corvin blinked twice.

"Right..."

He moved to one side, hands half raised, and the man rushed past him. Staring at the space where he had been for a long moment, and wondering what the frak had just happened, Corvin eventually came to his senses.

He pressed his hand against the wall sensor, and the blast door slid open.

Gates poked his head into the cockpit. The endlessness of space stared back at him through the front window. Godby was strapped into the pilot's seat, but the seat next to his was empty.

"Excuse me, sir," a voice came from behind him. Gates turned sideways, and a man whose shoulder insignia said "Ensign" and his bearing said "pilot" slipped past the veteran soldier and sat in the co-pilot's seat. Gates ran through the short roster of names in his head; Thomas Korvu, co-pilot and navigator.

A smaller form followed a few steps behind. "Abalar," Gates nodded to his new assistant. "How's the squad settling in?"

"Well, Garryll. Squad's filling in nicely. Jager's his usual self, Corvin and Mustang are settled. Hassar's set, too."

"Excellent; we're just about to jump to hyperspace," Godby said over his shoulder. "Gener, engines ready?"

"Aye, sir," the engineer's voice came back through the intercom. Another set of boots came clanking down the hall, and Gates turned to see the last member of the Royal Flush crew.

A short woman entered into the over-crowded bridge and sat in the gunner's chair. "Weapons are hot and ready, sir."

"Thank you. If you'll meet our weapons officer, Ensign Lauren DeAngelo," Godby added. "Give me a countdown to jump, Tom."

"You got it," the co-pilot replied. "Jump in ten."

The engines rumbled as they powered up for the jump to lightspeed. Korvu was counting down in the background. At "zero" the stars in space stretched as the Flush ripped through space at a phenomenal rate. The jump over, Godby unstrapped himself.

"That never grows old," said Korvu, staring at the flashing-by stars. "Hyperspace truly is beautiful."

"And in Hyperspace, the ship will fly itself," the commanding Navy officer said. "Come; it's my duty as the commanding officer to show the army about my ship."

* * * *

A largely uneventful 9 hours and 50 minutes later, they were reaching the end of their hyperspace jump. "ETA is ten minutes," Godby's voice came over the intercom, giving everyone another update. "All Navy crewman please report to the bridge. All crewman, to the bridge."

"That's our cue to get tactical," Gates called into the barracks, rapping a knuckle on the open door. "Come on, up and at 'em."

A chorus of groans and grunts came from the four troopers that had taken up sleep in the barracks. Abalar was already walking to the cargo hold where Jager had camped out. The three soldiers walked out of the barracks and headed for the squad armory.

Once everyone had reached the weapons-filled room, Gates gave them a final brief as they pulled on armor. "Brents is on this ship, sure as sure. And he's got some mercs to protect him, hired guns Intel has a nasty habit of hiring for wet-work. These guys are competent, but they're only hired muscle. We're looking at maybe a dozen of them, plus Brents and his loyal crew."

"We're going to board them? Why not just blow it to kingdom come?" asked Hassar, sealing his helmet.

"I don't know why, but they want Brents alive. Bastard might have hidden the intel, and if we kill him, it could just float to the surface somewhere inconvenient. Everyone but him is fair game, however. Shoot to kill, but expect a close-combat situation. Shotguns and carbines, no heavy weapons. I don't want to hit something important and get dead in space."

Corvin picked factory-mint M13 shotguns off of the rack and tossed them to the Blackjacks. EE-3 carbines followed, and the Blackjacks lined up to pick up ammo. The intercom crackled again: "We'll be dropping from hyperspace in one minute. Blackjack, standby at the boarding hatch. We'll take out the engines and get you close."

The Blackjacks marched through the tight halls, crimson armor resting lightly on their shoulders. They gathered around the hatch and Gates activated a nearby monitor. The cockpit camera started up instantly, showing a pilot's-eye view of the starstreaks of lightspeed. After a few second's watching, the streaks turned back into dots, and a large freighter appeared in their screen.

"Moving to combat speed. Weapons, arm and ready," Godby said crisply, activating the Flush's powerful engines. The ship zoomed forwards, and the freighter jumped closer and closer with every second of acceleration.

"Weapons maximum range reached, sir," the gunner's voice said. "Permission to fire."

"Granted. Take the engines out," Godby responded.

A proton torpedo flew from somewhere below the cockpit and took off, a burning missile flashing across space much faster than the Infiltrator could. Defensive turbolasers on the freighter came to life, trying to hit the missile with clumsily-aimed laser fire. The freighter's gunners failed miserably and the missile slammed into the ship. Its shields collapsed instantly.

"They're sitting ducks," crowed Korvu. "Take out the guns and engines and let's get close."

The freighter accelerated madly, but it couldn't outrun light. Laser blasts slammed into the glowing engines, exploding them into sparking flame. Other laser blasts blasted apart the laser cannons, ending the crew's futile resistance. Cheers came from some of the Blackjacks.

"Moving us in," Godby announced. "ETA thirty seconds."

A handful of seconds later, the ship rumbled as its boarding hatch kissed onto the freighter's boarding ramp. Orobos began to go at the freighter's door with a fusion cutter. A few seconds' work lit up the room with glowing, melted metal.

"Flash in," Gates ordered. "Then move in. Let's get it done."

“Just don’t take a shot like that again, Corvin,” Abalar said into the helmet mic. The last thing Blackjack needed was a downed trooper. That would take their already small number down, and would decrease their chances even further. “If you need to, double tap them. Pretend they’re the reanimates that we encountered on Kohlma. Shoot ‘em once more just to be sure.”

Abalar stopped there. She didn’t want to sound like a mindless preacher, or a mother. She shuddered at the thought of her own mother’s lessons. How useless those had been. They would probably get Blackjack slaughtered within ten minutes. Abalar had no idea how she had survived childhood, what with her mindless mother and murder-driven father. She forced her mind back to the present and those thoughts back to the darkest part of her mind. The last thing she needed was another of her mental episodes.

Abalar still hadn’t said anything to Jager since their confrontation. She knew she was going to have to. He hadn’t meant anything by it, at least, she believed he hadn’t, but it had caught her off guard. However, Abalar was an optimist, and always tried to remember the positive. Jager had said he trusted her, and to be honest, that was almost as good as friendship to her.

Blackjack advanced through the vessel, Corvin on point, much to Abalar’s displeasure. However, someone had to take point, and Abalar was just glad it wasn’t her or Jager. They soon downed the remaining three mercs. Abalar guessed there were going to be more. It wouldn’t make sense if there were only six armed guards.

“So, where do you suppose this traitor is?” Hassar said as Blackjack crept down one corridor.

“Bridge?” Corvin suggested.

“His quarters?” Loran said.

”Where ever the highest concentration of armed mercs are?” Abalar said.

Of course, when Blackjack rounded the next corner, they came face to face with about fifteen mercs. The mercs immediately open fired on Blackjack. The elite Blackjacks dove for whatever cover they could find, some even going back down the corridor they had just turned from. Abalar pulled Corvin with her, assuming he would have been the one to stand his ground. She was right. At first, Corvin offered a bit of resistance, but even he sobered up when a blaster bolt skimmed the right side of his helmet, leaving a pretty scorch mark.

It was then she noticed the alarm. It wasn’t the same as the one that she had heard when they had boarded this craft. It was louder, a different tone, and seemed to only come from their area. It was almost like a homing beacon…

“Damn it!” Jager yelled. “They’re behind us!”
Abalar resisted the urge to turn, knowing that there would be other heads doing that, and kept her attentions on the now six mercs that were trying to slaughter them.

“Jager, how many?” Garryll said.

“Not many, five, but I’m assuming there’ll be more.”

“Alright. Abalar, Jager, Corvin protect our flanks and rear. Loran, Hassar, Orobos, you’re with me. Concentrate fire on the mercs blocking our way,” Garryll said.

Abalar blindly threw a grenade from behind her cover, mainly just to protect herself when she and Corvin ran closer to Jager, and found their own cover. Abalar didn’t really know or particularly care if she killed someone. She was saving her own butt.

“Shall we then?” Abalar said to Jager and Corvin.

“Alright boss,” Jager said.

Abalar cringed again, but didn’t say anything. Abalar could feel Corvin and Jager’s eyes on her, even through their helmets. She actually had to make sure that neither of them died. Suddenly, the pressure of her position came crashing down on her. Abalar swallowed, and glanced from her cover, trying to find a target. She quickly had to spin back though, as several blaster bolts flew towards her head.

“They have the advantage,” Jager started saying, before a grenade skittered to a stop right beside Abalar.

Without thinking, Abalar picked it up and lobed it back. She would very much lose an arm than her life. Thankfully, the grenade didn’t explode until it was in mid air.

“Take this moment guys,” Abalar said, as she peeked from behind her cover, trying to locate the five mercs.

Jager picked one off, completely removing his head, when he glanced from behind his cover. That left four, and a dead lock.

OOC:

I hope you don't mind Garryll, but I changed the number of mercs to 17, just for a challenge.

Two fusioncutters hissed as their powerful concentrated plasma beams dug deep, glowing furrows in the inch-thick durasteel blast doors. Sparks flew as the two troopers crouched on either side of the door.

"Contacts, coming up behind us," warned Hassar, raising his carbine. Sure enough, the clatter of combat boots on metal grates came from around the corner.

"Alright, dig in," Gates ordered crisply. "Find some cover and sit there. Cover Orobos and Corvin."

The Blackjacks knelt wherever they could find some metal to put between them and the oncoming mercenaries. The first ran around the corner and was gifted with a one-way ticket to hell, gift wrapped in a burning laser bolt. Themerc, a Rodian , fell heavily to the deck, tripping up his comrade that was chasing behind him. The second fell halfway before catching himself.

The fellow's reactions didn't spare him from a shotgun blast that took his head apart, scattering brain matter and blood onto the man behind him. That one was wise enough to stop short and blind-fire around the corner. The Blackjacks didn't blink an eye as theunaimed shots sizzled into the blast door.

"Door's open, sir," Corvin said, tapping the heavy door. "One good kick and it'll fall in. Flash and smoke?"

"Flash in, smoke out here," Gates ordered. "Cover our backs with the smoke, and take anyone in there with minimal fuss. Take Brents alive."

Orobos nodded and planted a large foot on the center of the door, forcing it in. Corvin bowled a flash-bang grenade into the gap, and Loran dumped a smoke grenade into the hallway. Corvin's grenade exploded deafeningly, the intense bright light spilling back out into the hallway, which was filling with thick, gray smoke.

Gates ducked through the gap, leading from the front as was his wont. He straightened back up in openness of the freighter's bridge, and shot the first man he saw. Blue stun blasts erupted from hisEE -3's barrel, catching the staggering man in the chest and tossing him into his control station. A blaster pistol fell out of nerveless fingers, clattering on the deck.

A blaster bolt hit him in the hip, the laser cutting into the plate but dissipating before it could hurt him. Gates turned his rifle on the man and put a stun blast in him, too. Blaster and shotgun fire came from the outside of the bridge as the Blackjacks and the mercenaries exchanged gunfire. A door hissed shut on the other side of the bridge, and Gates cursed. It was marked "Emergency Exit - Escape Pods."

The Blackjack squad leader flipped his firing toggle from "stun" to "kill" and blew apart the control panel that sealed the door. The door hissed back open, and he charged through. The ship shook and the sound of engines firing came from down the hall, even through thick reinforced metal.

"Dammit!" Gates spat. "Royal Flush. An escape pod has just jettisoned from the ship. Track it down, but do not, repeat, do not open fire. Target isonboard."

"Copy that, Sergeant. Flush out," Godby replied calmly.

"Abalar, how's Blackjack holding up?" Gates said, flipping to the squad tactical channel; there was little chatter as troopers called out marks and opened fire.

"Good, Garryll," replied the new ASL. "You get him?"

"The little frakker had his exit strategy all lined up," Gates replied. "We're going to have to make a push out of here, pursue on the Flush."

"Little problem with that, or maybe a dozen."

"Any grenades?" Gates asked, ducking back into the firefight.

"Nope. No heavies either. We're going to have to do this the old-fashioned way if we want to do it hastily."

"Fine. Move now," Gates said, and raised his voice. "Up and at 'em, Blackjacks. We're taking them down by storm."

Already on his feet, Gates had a step on all the rest of the Blackjacks in their idiotic bum rush, but Corvin, loyal and steadfast, was charging a step behind, with the rest of the Blackjacks reacting slower. The smoke masked their approach, and the blaster fire drowned out their thudding footsteps.

Still, laser bolts found their way at Gates, one burning the crimson paint off of his hip and another hitting him in the shin. A second later, he was around the corner, pumping his M13 into the nearest mercenary. The others scattered for cover, some ducking into nearby rooms, others simply turning tail and running. Those stupid and brave enough to stand around and try to fight off men in blood-red armor died violent, quick deaths as shotguns shells ripped through them or fusillades ofEE-3 blaster fire tore into them.

"Go, go, go!" Gates yelled, shoving Corvin down the hallway they'd come from initially. "Get back to the ship. Every second counts!"

The Lance sprinted madly, the others on his heels. Abalar brought up the rear, shaking her head.

"You're crazy. And bleeding."

"Patch me up when we get to the ship," Gates said, pointing down the hall. "Go. I'll bring up the back."

His chosen assistant chased after the rear-most Blackjack, and Gates backtracked behind her, making sure the mercs didn't try to get one last shot at them. He ducked into the melted hatchway and slammed the airlock behind him.

"Godby, take us down. Break the seal, and let's get going."

The lieutenant didn't question Gates' unblinking execution of the remaining survivors on the freighter by explosive decompression, but he did remark on the escaped traitor.

"Sir, the traitor's escape pod was headed for a dense section of marshes, but it wasn't going quietly. Its comlink was screaming all the way down, all channels."

Gates removed his helmet and inspected a neat hole in his shoulder armor with the thin dribble of blood leaking out. Abalar moved forwards, nodding at the injury and looking for some dressings. "And what was our esteemed Mr. Brents saying?"

"Come and get me, Imperial Dogs," a recording activated. "And anyone on this rock, here's your chance to take your shot at the Empire and make some money in the process."

OOC:

"It's a marsh haunt!" someone yelled as Garryll fired.

The creature shrieked and fell as the blaster bolt hit it, leaving charred feathers behind it as it dropped from the sky and landing in the swamp with a splash. Corvin raised his left hand to cover his facevisor as the squad was splattered by thick, foul-smelling mud. There was a small hole in the sludge where the thing had fallen, its wings poking just out of the hole.  Wisps of steam drifted from the crater as the swamp slid back into the hole, covering the body in muck.

"Well, it's a dead marsh haunt now." Hassar commented.

"Mynock spawn." Abalar snapped. "It's not a marsh haunt. Marsh haunts don't have wings. For that matter, marsh haunts don't even exist. It's a local bird of some kind."

The Blackjack ASL wiped a layer of mud from her faceplate, and straightened slightly.

"Let's keep going." Abalar ordered.

Gates nodded, pushing a new ammunition canister into his Lucky Strike.

"The longer we stick around, the more likely it is that the captain's going to escape. Besides, if he's still around here, they'll have heard the shots."

Gates started to wade through the marshland, following the trail of faint footprints left in the ooze. The other Blackjacks trailed after him in a v-shaped formation, their weapons raised and helmet sensors sweeping the area. The muck dragged at the squad's boots, making an unpleasant squelching noise with each footstep. The screeching of the swamp-life echoed from all around the squad.

"This stuff smells like sewage." someone complained. "Kriff, I think it is sewage."

"Turn your filters on." Abalar replied testily.

"They are on."

"Then suck it up and shut up." the ASL snapped. "And keep scanning for the traitor."

"Yes, ma'am."

The squad trudged on in silence, with the squelching of the swamp and the whistling of the wind. It became harder and harder to find the tracks as the squad advanced; the sludge was becoming less and less solid, and was almost flowing now. Up ahead, there were stunted and twisted trees climbing from the sludge. Something seemed wrong to Corvin as he trudged onwards, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Silent." Jager suddenly said.

"Yeah, the noise stopped..." Hassar commented. "Why'd they-"

A blaster bolt slammed into the mud at the Private's feet, sending steam and superheated-water splashing into his leg plates.

"Contact." he calmly reported, and raised his carbine as more bolts flew through the air.

"There, up ahead!" Corvin yelled as four or five breath-mask wearing figures rose from the swamp, rifles held in gloved hands. They were covered from head to toe in the muck, and were mostly armed with long-barrelled slugthrower rifles, with two holding antique blaster pistols. Their first volley pinged off the stormtrooper's armour or went wide.

"Return fire." Gates coldly ordered. Corvin obeyed with a will, firing a three rounds burst which more or less tore apart a smuggler holding a scatter pistol. The others didn't have time to turn and flee before a storm of energy bolts and explosive pellets blew them apart.

As bits of smuggler sank into the swamp, the squad relaxed slightly.

"Frakking idiots." Corvin muttered. "What were they thinking?"

"Looks like some of the locals want that bounty Brents promised."

"They're fair game, then." Loran commented.

Garryll nodded.

"Cook the scum."

"Sir." Corvin replied with a nod.

The order was good enough for Corvin. If they attacked Imperial soldiers on the orders of a traitor, they were enemies of the Empire and deserved only extermination.

"No more tracks." the Blackjack ASL announced. "We'll have to do this the hard way. He must have headed into the trees."

As Garryll finished speaking, a slugthrower round slammed into his breastplate, causing him to stagger back a half step.

A mob of yelling thugs wielding melee weapons and primitive pistols poured from the trees, charging towards the squad.

"More of them." Gates said coolly. "Cut them all down."

"Die, Impe-"

The man's unimaginative warcry abruptly trailed off into a gurgle as Corvin jabbed his EE-3 into his throat. The weapon's humming vibrobayonet tore a jagged hole in his windpipe, causing droplets of blood as bright as Corvin's armour to spurt from the gaping wound. He hadn't even managed to swing the vibroblade he was still holding in one hand.

Grinning vindictively under his helmet, Corvin jerked the weapon to the right in one quick, smooth motion. There was a moment of resistance, and then the weapon was free. The water that lapped at Corvin's feet was quickly stained red as the man's almost decapitated body sank into the mire. Corvin felt only a moment of satisfaction, then raised his rifle as he heard the splashing of other locals fleeing in panic.

Jager's move with the grenades had broken the already limited resolve of the locals. Most had broken and fled, with the few exceptions being quickly cut down by the wrathful Blackjacks.

Red armoured figures emerged from the gloom, armour streaked brown and grey where it had been splashed by muck.

"Move."

Without any further orders, the squad ran into the submerged grove, crushing submerged branches and roots under their boots as they advanced. Corvin's panting echoed in his ears as he sprinted through the shallow water, carbine tightly clutched in his hands.

There was a splash from up ahead, too loud to be a branch or animal. Corvin stopped, opening up with his carbine. Short, twisted trunks and protruding roots were set ablaze by energy bolts, and the area was briefly shrouded in steam. There was a splash as the steam rose, and what was left of the Rodian that had been cowering behind a clump of trees fell slowly backwards into the water, sending up puffs of steam as it drifted underwater.

There were a series of splashes, and something ragged appeared through the mist. Corvin had his carbine trained on it in an instant, as did the rest of the squad, and would have fired if Garryll hadn't raised his hand.

"Don't shoot! Please don't shoot!" the figure shrieked, its voice wavering from fear. As it came closer, Corvin saw that it was a human, wearing the stained and mix-matched clothing. "I'm sorry, I surrender, just please don't shoot me!"

Garryll raised his weapon.

"Give me a reason."

There was a crackle as the Blackjack SL opened a com channel to the squad.

"Don't shoot until I give the say-so. He might be useful."

"Yes, sir." Corvin replied, lowering his own weapon so that it was no longer pointed at the smuggler. There were affirmatives from the other Blackjacks.

The man, completely unaware of the private conversation, dropped to his knees and started babbling about his gratitude. He had soiled himself, Corvin noticed distastefully.

"Shut up." Garryl said flatly, jabbing his carbine's barrel into the smuggler's chest to emphasize his point.

"Please don't kill me!"

"Shut up and listen." Abalar put in, stepping forwards until she was standing next to Garryll. The other Blackjacks moved into a semi-circular formation around the trio, covering the surrounding area.

When Garryll spoke, it was quick and to the point.

"The man who hired you, which way did he go? Tall, thin, black hair, yellow teeth. He'd be wearing a uniform of some kind."

"I....I saw him! We passed him when we came here, to...you know...Please, don't hurt me!"

Corvin watched as the man started pleading incoherently again, and curled his lip in disgust. Pathetic. The only threat he posed was that of his screams attracting more locals.

"Kriff, he babbles more than you do." Loran commented to Corvin. Over the squad com, he said. "I don't think he's going to be of much help..."

"Quiet." Abalar snapped into the com.

"Which way did he head?" Garryll asked, seemingly completely calm. "Come on, tell us."

"That way." the smuggler replied, seeming to calm down as he gestured. It was ninety degrees off from where the Blackjacks had been headed. "He told us we'd be rewarded, then ran that way..."

"You are sure, aren't you?" Garryll asked, her voice menacing. "You wouldn't be lying to us now, would you?"

"Orobos, Jager." Garryll muttered over the com, and the two troopers stepped forwards. The Whipid in particular was a fearsome sight, with his gore-stained vibroaxe held in two massive paws.

"No, no, no! I live here, I know which way, sure as Seredonia!" the prisoner yelled.

"What's your name?" Garryll asked.

"Um...Gregor." the man replied, completely nonplused.

"Thank you, Gregor." Garryll said, turning around and starting to walk away.

The man stared after the squad leader for a moment, then grinned wildly, breaking out into hysterical giggles.

Garryll nodded, the gesture almost imperceptible.

There were cracks from six carbines.

"Move, move, move!" Garryll yelled, and Blackjack Squad left Gregor's body behind them in seconds.

Blackjack surged forward. Their quarry was not too far now. They tasted victory and bounded after Brents. They could just make out his back through the dense muck and foliage. So far they had been attacked by worthless dregs and untrained civilians. Nothing worth the skill and efficiency of death that Blackjack could dish out. They had cut through swarms of the inept scum with ease. Eventually, Loran surmised, they would meet an enemy worth their time to kill.

They continued to run after the traitor. An occasional slug thrower or blaster or two would open up on them as they chased after Brent. And the Blackjacks would light the area up as they ran through.

Blackjack was leaving a trail of corpses behind them, as they always did. Which was ok. The jungle would recycle the corpses, adding nourishment to the jungles ecosystem. Loran smiled to himself. Even in the thick of battle, he could hear his wife's voice.

She was a Doctor by trade. But she had done an undergraduate stint as a botanist, and it was somewhat of a hobby for her. He could hear her berating him, for allowing himself to be wounded, as often happened to him. Loran brought his mind back to the jungle. Thoughts of his absent wife saddened him and lowered his morale. He concentrated on the jungle.

Loran checked to make sure his comm wasn't broadcasting. “I hate this jungle already” he said as he stomped through a particularly deep pool of muck.

He continued bounding after Brents with his squad. All the while muttering to himself. “Just wonderful. Fracking mud. Fracking water. Fracking jungle. Fracking scum!”

A couple thugs opened up on them with slug throwers from ahead. Blackjack returned their fire, not missing a beat.

Loran was on the far right edge of the Blackjacks advance. Which, to his way of thinking, could be either bad or good. On one hand, it meant that his squad leader trusted his skills enough to allow him to protect the squads flank. On the other, they wanted him there so he could die faster.

Such thoughts were going through Lorans mind as they passed the steaming corpses of the downed thugs. Loran glanced at the smoldering bodies sinking into the muck and as he ran past, Loran noticed his clip was empty. He tapped the ambidextrous mag release and drew a new one from his belt.

Loran was just about to slam the fresh pack into his weapon, when he was suddenly slammed hard from behind and sent flying face first into the the mud. Later, he would note the muddy sets of sprinting foot prints in his peripheral vision. How the thugs had managed to surprise Blackjack, he would never know.

But apparently the single bull rush from behind was all he would get from his attacker. Apparently they thought he was out of it.

Amateurs.

Loran looked up and couldn't believe his eyes. His entire squad was now engaged in a melee fight. Outnumbered by what seemed to be a three to one margin. And it was also apparent that they had been caught flat footed by the charge. His gaze fell on Corvin who was closest to him. He was engaged in a death grip by a burly looking Trandoshan.

Loran exploded into action. He withdrew his vibro daggers and rolled over onto his back. Just then a bellow drew his attention and he saw another thug leap towards him, a vibro dagger in his own hand. Loran was ready for the attack and caught the attacker with his feet sending the thug flying past him straight into three of his fellows. Loran used the momentum of the move to roll backwards onto his feet. He lunged for the Trandoshan and drove one his blades into it's skull. The thug crumpled to the ground and Corvin was free.

“Thanks Mustang” he said.

“No charge” he replied. “Let's get in there and help the others.”

Corvin had already started in that direction and yelled over his shoulder, for they had both lost their helmets in the struggle, “You're too slow!”

A minute later, the fight was under the Blackjacks control and no one had been seriously injured. Loran was looking around for someone to kill with his already blood smeared blades, when he noticed another group of thugs charging towards the battle with blades drawn.

“Frak!” Corvin shouted.

“Yeah I see them” Loran replied. “Well we seem to be out of it. What say we take theses guys and let the others handle the rest?”

“Sounds good to me” Hassar said from Lorans right.

The thugs were charging at a point where they could attack the others still engaged and take advantage of the situation. Actually, their own squad was between them and the thugs. Corvin, Loran, and Hassar could never get around them in time to intercept the incoming threat. Their comrades could be slaughtered.

Apparently the same thought had occurred to Corvin. “You know Loran, this seems perfect for that move you and Orobos have been practicing.”

“You're right.” Loran thought a second. “You remember how it's done?”

“Yeah.” Corvin said. “But I think Hassar'll have to supplement Orobos on this one.”

“What?” Hassar asked.

“We're on relatively flat ground here. Hassar, we're going to run straight at the others over there. You first and then me and Corvin right behind you. When I tell you too, drop to your hands and knees and brace yourself. Me and Corvin are going to jump off your back over the others and land in the middle of those thugs.” Loran explained.

“Oh!” Hassar exclaimed. “It's got possibilities.”

“Sure does.” Corvin stated. He and Loran had already removed their heavy gear.

“Let's go!” Corvin yelled.

They ran towards their squad mates, Hassar in the lead, and Loran and Corvin following behind.

As they were pretty much point blank to their squad, Loran yelled, “Now Hassar!”

Hassar dropped to the ground. Loran and Corvin had fanned out to the right and left as they ran and they leap off Hassars back to the left and right. They flew over their team and slammed into the charging thugs line. Loran with far more grace and practice then Corvin who pretty much just landed in the middle of a couple knocking them to the ground. But Corvin was adequate to the task. No sooner had he landed then he was already back on his feet thrusting, stabbing and slicing with his blade.

Loran had better training in blade combat and martial arts and flew into the thugs with his blades drawn, slicing two throats and burying one blade into a thirds chest. He withdrew his dagger and continued to systematically end the thugs existence with Corvin. They worked well as a team, even though Corvin lacked as much skill with a blade as Loran in close combat. The rest of the squad had finished with their thugs and were assisting the pair now and very soon it was all over.

Several of the Blackjacks were gasping for breath as their adrenaline receded and still others were holding out limbs with cuts on them so Abalar could administer antiseptic. Each Blackjack had suffered wounds but none died, and no injury was serious.

“Hurry up Abalar.” Garyll said. “We have to catch Brents”

“Yes sir.” she replied testily. “Let me spray this antiseptic or we're gonna have troopers down because of infection”

“Right” Garyll nodded.

Troopers checked their weapons and replenished  their ammo. Loran and Corvin put their gear back on. By the time they were finished, Abalar had also finished and Blackjack stormed after Brents.

“Royal Flush to Blackjack lead” came the call over the comm.

“Gates here” the squad leader replied.

“Thought you should know sir. We're reading no more major pockets of contacts with the sensors. Looks like you got them all. We're just reading Brents now, and a couple others paralleling him. Should be easy going from hear on out.” Godby stated.

“Roger that. Gates out” and the comm clicked off.

“Easy going my fracking a-!” he heard Corvin start to say.

“Cut the chatter and get after that traitor Blackjack!” Gates said, cutting Corvin off.

There was a chorus of acknowledgments and Blackjack seemed to run just a little faster.

"Flush, what was that?" Gates asked as he jogged. "Sounded like someone just kicked their way into my comm channel."

"Roger that, sir. There's a light shuttle going to your position," Godby's voice crackled back. "Scanners picked them up, but they were a ways away. Comm silence and our higher-priority scrambler chewed up any transmissions they might have sent us."

"Ping them. Figure out their intentions," Gates ordered.

There was a brief pause as the pilot punched at keys and received a reading. "Imperial Shuttle out of Tadath; out to one Sergeant 'Slick' and Private Second Class 'Specter.'"

"What are they here for? Delivering that pizza I ordered?"

"They've been assigned to Blackjack."

"Oh. Have them set down on the far side of the smugglers' freighter and move in from there."

"Copy that. Latest scans show only a handful of contacts and Flush out," Godby said, closing the comlink.

"A handful of trash against the Stormtroopers," Corvin said offhandedly. "No contest at all."

"A blaster bolt fired by a piece of scum can kill you just as dead as one fired by an elite soldier," cautioned Orobos.

"Well said; keep it frosty, Blackjacks," Gates added. The troopers quieted down, focusing on jogging through the muck of the swamp. Their HUDs showed the distance to the major heat source, the smuggler's ship.

"100 meters," Hassar whispered from point. The Zabrak was a capable pointman and hadn't led them wrong yet. "Four contacts around the ship based on thermal imaging. The freighter is hot and ready to run."


"Move it, now! Take Brents!" Gates barked, and the Blackjacks surged forwards. They splashed loudly in the swamp. Overhead, a shuttle screamed over. One of the smugglers turned to look at the shuttle speeding by and spotted the Blackjacks. A shouted warning, and blaster bolts were fired at the Blackjacks.

The light pistol blasts weren't enough to even heat the underlayers of the Blackjacks' armor, and at most could wind them. The same couldn't be said of the smugglers' leather jackets to the Blackjacks' heavy carbine fire.

Three bodies fell with dozens of smoking holes. One man in gray quivered in the hot, humid air, as if he had a chill. Swamp water swirled as the Blackjacks moved forward slowly, guns covering the now-captive Captain Brents.

"Captain Brents," Gates said calmly, shoving a carbon-burned body aside with the toe of his boot. "You are under arrest for the capital crime of stealing classified materials and attempted treason, as well as conspiracy to harm soldiers of the Vast Empire. Usually, these crimes would be accompanied by a death sentence, but the officers in charge of this pursuit have deemed it necessary that you be returned to Tadath Fort Sexton and the data you stole returned."

"I don't have it," murmured the ashen-faced Imperial officer. "She does."

"Who the hell is she?" Gates asked curiously. Any following questions were interrupted by the hiss of escaping gas as the freighter's cargo ramp and main entrance ramp lowered.

A fat man with a thick cigar clamped in the corner of his mouth stepped out, a grenade launcher in hand. More men in dirty clothes and with heavy arms dropped into the muck, and made for the Blackjacks.

The VE Stormtroopers raised their rifles into menacing positions, and time seemed to stand still for a moment as the two sides sized one another up. Silence was only punctuated by shifting feet stirring swamp water and the clicking of safeties to the preferred rate of fire. And then it was entirely broken by a feral animal's snarl.

Abalar was on the far end of the Blackjack formation, and turned quickest to face the snarling beasts.

"A Marsh Haunt," she breathed before the half-dozen swamp-born things lunged at the two groups and the shooting started.

Red-eyed creatures with blast-resistant hides loped at either group; two tackled Abalar, who went down under the weight of the two huge creatures, her blaster fire blasting into the things' faces but doing little. Gates grabbed the stock-still Brents by the scruff of his neck and threw him behind a tree, and then stunned him there.

The other Blackjacks had started shooting. Blaster fire rippled between the two groups of soldiers and splattered against the Marsh Haunts. Abalar was yelling something awful, and Jager was shooting the eyes out of the Marsh Haunts that had tackled her.

"God dammit," Gates cursed, and pulled his shotgun off of his back. He took a running jump and landed on the back of a blinded Marsh Haunt attacking his assistant. The thing sensed his weight on its back and tried to slap him off. He barely dodged it, but was thrown off by a sudden change of momentum.

He rolled into the mud, and got a great view of the Marsh Haunt's teeth. He jabbed the shotgun's barrel in and blew its brain apart.

Jager had taken the other down, his powerful trademark revolver's solid shells having come in handy with putting down the things.

Abalar was lying in the mud, crimson armor splattered brown and black. Gates dropped to a knee and checked her vitals. They weren't fantastic; heart rate was erratic, blood was being lost somewhere, and her breathing wasn't great.

"Emperor's blood," Gates cursed when he found the injury. Abalar was missing a her arm from the middle of her bicep down, and the injury was leaking blood into the mud. Gates blinked for a moment. He wasn't a doctor; he was a barely qualified as a basic field medic. He thought for a moment, licking his lips nervously.

What was the first step? he wondered. Stop the bleeding, prevent infection...right?

The swamp had already seen to it that she would die of infection if drastic steps weren't taken.

"Cauterize the wound," he muttered to himself. It'd kill the infection and stop the bleeding. Only thing was, he didn't have any superheated laser. Oh wait. Yes he did. His rifle.

"Can't believe I'm trying this," Gates mumbled, and turned up the EE-3's power rating to its highest. He moved the barrel of the carbine a few inches from Abalar's bleeding stump and cursed softly, before tightening his finger around the trigger and letting loose and powerful blast of energy. The round kicked up superheated swamp water, clogging his vision for a moment. When it cleared, he could see that the injury was burned shut and blackened. No bacteria would get in there for the moment.

Quickly, he unrolled a bacta patch, woefully inadequate as it was, and slapped it onto the Abalar's stump. He raised his head, the task complete. Blaster fire was still being exchanged between the Blackjacks and the mercs, but the sudden attack of the Marsh Haunts had caught the mercenaries totally by surprise and  they were all lying face-down in the mud. Gates checked on Brents, still unconscious. On the other side of the freighter, two white-clad Stormtroopers picked their way through the dead bodies.

"Slick and Specter?" Gates asked.

"Present and accounted for," the Sergeant said. "But it looks like we missed the fight, sir."

"There will be more," Gates replied. "For now, let's get back up to the Royal Flush."

OOC:

Story End. Next story will be up by Saturday.