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Topic:  Traitor II (Blackjack)
Garryll Gates
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Garryll Gates
 
[VE-ARMY] Platoon Sergeant
 
Post Number:  1063
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  Traitor II (Blackjack)
November 28, 2009 3:23:11 PM    View the profile of Garryll Gates 
He woke up. He cracked his back and joints, working out sore kinks. He reached up to wipe the sleep from his eyes, and met resistance.

His eyes snapped open, and he blinked rapidly. He was in a cargo hold of some sort; a ship. And the ship was in motion, judging by a rumbling that he assumed was the engines.

He looked around. He was seated on a chair, and he had shock cuffs on his hands and ankles. The chair was hard and straight-backed, explaining his sore back and legs. His head pounded like a bad hangover, but he wasn't a drinker. In his muddled state, he dragged together his recent history.

His name was William Brents. He was a captain in the service of the Vast Empire's Intelligence web. He was restrained because...

"Shit," Brents muttered. A movement caught his eye. A badly scarred man with what seemed like half of his face gone got to his feet, a cigarette trailing from his lips. The Intel man blinked in surprise at the sudden appearance of another person.

The scarred man opened the cargo bay door and left, closing the door behind him. Brents swallowed and fiddled with his restraints. His breath formed tiny clouds of steam in the cold air of the cargo bay, and he began to shiver in clothes that stuck to him wetly. The cargo door opened up again, and a different man walked in. This one had a uniform on and was a hair taller, and lacked the facial scarring.

The newcomer dragged another chair across the deck and set it down in front of the bound captain. He tapped his leg as he looked at Brents, and his face was set in a displeased frown. Brents gulped and licked his lips nervously. The man sat for several minutes calmly and quietly, almost unmoving.

"What do you want?" asked Brents eventually. "I demand to be released."

"I want what you stole," the man replied. "My name is Platoon Sergeant Gates, Vast Empire Stormtrooper. You are Captain William Brents. You stole classified documents from the Vast Empire Intelligence Agency, and they are rather keen to have it back. Where are is the information?"

Gates stood up, and clasped his hands behind his back. Brents followed the motions warily, his nervousness increasing.

The ex-Intelligence man swallowed. "I don't have it."

"You sold it? Lost it? Gave it away?" Gates asked. "Perhaps you did the dutiful thing and destroyed it before letting it fall into the hands of the Empire's enemies. But I doubt it."

"I was forced to take it," Brents mumbled back. "She made me. And then she took it."

"Who is 'she'?" asked the Blackjack squad leader. "And how?"

"She has my sister," Brents replied sadly. "I was promised her release once I gave her the data. She used the name 'Quicksilver,' I don't know why."

"So you don't have it?" Gates asked, lips pushed together with annoyance. The scrawny Intel man shook his head with feeling. This meant that the rather sticky intel was out in the open, and that was not going to please some people on Tadath. He could push the man, but there was no real point. There were many others in the Intelligence branch who would be more capable and thorough then Gates cared to be. He left without another word, closing the cargo bay door behind him.

He walked to the bridge slowly. The door to the cockpit hissed open as he approached, and the co-pilot Korvu turned and nodded.

"What's our ETA to Tadath?" Gates asked, leaning against a blank section of wall in the crowded cockpit.

"Another ten minutes," Korvu replied, inspecting his navigation screen. "Pretty quick. This ship's got some speed."

Gates nodded wordlessly and watched the streaks go by in front of the ship. Soon enough, the navigation console pinged softly.

"There's my cue," Godby said, and pulled back on the throttle bar. With a shudder, Royal Flush settled back into realspace. The rotating green and blue orb that was the heart of the Vast Empire dominated their view. Compared to it, defense stations charged with its defense were tiny.

"There it is," Gates said. "Tadath. Take us to the Steadfast Station."

Hundreds of pings came from ships in Tadath space; hundreds were returned, quickly filling the Flush's tactical screen with the classes, names, speeds, vectors and much more information than Gates could process.

"Auto-pilot, get us to the Steadfast, military classification," Korvu said to his computer. A yellow triangle appeared around a certain defense station, highlighting it for the crew. The engines pushed forwards, aiming at the station. Soon enough, they were docking with the defense satellite. Gates nodded to the bridge crew and left the cockpit. He walked down the hall to the cabins, and spoke to his charges.

"Alright boys," he said. "We're here. Jager, get Abalar to the docs. I'd like her to get a new arm before the bacta and painkillers wear off. Corvin, Slick, grab the prisoner and follow me.The rest of you, disperse across the base, but keep your comlinks on."

The troopers muddled around for a minute, gathering personal belongings off of their bunks and sticking them in their pockets before strolling for the exit ramp. Slick and Corvin left for the cargo hold and returned a minute later with a still-shackled Brents in between them. Jager was pushing a repulsorlift stretcher with Abalar on it; she wasn't yet awake. The chewed stump of her arm was a harsh reminder of the planet they'd come from. The surly Gunnery Sergeant disappeared down the ramp behind the stretcher. Gates waved Corvin and Slick down the ramp, and they pushed the unresisting Brents out of the ship. He followed a moment later.

Across the hangar was a pair of dark-skinned men in Intel Uniforms, with a trio of stoic MPs behind them. Corvin and Slick passed off their charge to the MPs. The intel men nodded to Gates and led their MPs out the door. Gates turned to his loitering troopers.

"Off you go," he said, shooing them off. "I'm off to make my report. You two go find somethin' to do."

Corvin and Slick shrugged and left out the door that the rest of the squad had disappeared through. Gates made his way to the communications center and activated one of the consoles. He input the Fort Sexton numbers and sat down in a chair. A few seconds later, an operator's voice came across the line.

"Fort Sexton Command line has been reached. Identify yourself and the officer you wish to contact."

"Platoon Sergeant Gates, contacting Wildcard Commander Platoon Sergeant Solvona," Gates replied.

"Connecting..." the operator droned and a dead air returned for a few moments.

"Gates," Tanus' voice came across the line. "Catch Brents already?"

"You bet, boss. Only thing was he didn't have the data," Gates said. "I turned him over to Intel, but I think he was telling the truth."

A muttered curse came back across the line. "Well, it's their problem now. I don't have anything pressing for the Blackjacks right now, Garryll. Hang around up there 'till I find something. I'll contact you."

"You got it, sir. Gates out."

The communications device shut off and Gates sat back into his chair with a sigh. Time to kill and on a space station to do it. At least they weren't being shot at.

OOC:
So we're on a space station. Socialize with the crew of the station, the Flush's crew, one another, whatever. I'll move us into the actual mission in a few days.
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ESL/PSGTGarryll Gates/4SQD/1PLT/1COM/1RGT/1BAT/Tadath/VEA/VE [RoM][ICE][IH][CCA][BC][SRP][AS-1][ES1][CoS][EW1] {RESx3} [ESC09] [RoT] [CRoS] [AoT]

God is not on the side of the big battalions, but on the side of those who shoot best.
For Tadath, for the Empire.
Corvin
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Corvin
 
[VE-ARMY] Lance Corporal
 
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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
November 28, 2009 10:56:52 PM    View the profile of Corvin 
Corvin shuffled through the well-lit corridors of the station, his helmet tucked under one arm and leaving a trail of dried mud in his wake. He looked straight down as he pushed his way through the hallway, ignoring the disgruntled muttering from the crewmen as he passed.

Duty be damned, all he wanted to do was drop his weapons, pull off his armour, and collapse. Preferably in somewhere out of the way.

He could make out some cursing through the haze that had settled over his mind, but ignored it in favor of focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

He was tired. So very tired. Images of the bastard Brents, of the waves of hostiles, and of the merry chase the Blackjacks had been led on chased one another through his mind. Muck-covered troopers moving through the slush, whisps of steam floating in the air. Abalar, covered in her own blood.

Najiba had been thoroughly unpleasant. Not quite another Felucia, but not far off. The only positive side to the mission was that the squad had completed its mission. They'd retrieved the target, eliminated his underlings, and taken out some traitors into the bargain. Mission accomplished. Fantastic.

Corvin blinked, shaking away the uncharacteristically cynical thought. Kriff, he was turning into Jager.

Corvin looking up as he found his way blocked. A control panel blinked on and off merrily. Behind the bewildered Lance Corporal, a line of confused crewmen was forming. None of them were quite willing to challenge a heavily armed, if exhausted stormtrooper though.

With a shake of his head, the Lance Corporal stepped to the left and walked through the doorway. The crewmen followed a moment later.

Keep it together until you reach the barracks... Corvin thought as he staggered towards the squad's designated barracks. Best to get there. Best.

One foot in front of the other. Then again. Keep moving.

Corvin walked through another pair of blast doors, and found himself in a turbolift lobby. The hiss of a closing doorseal managed to break him from his dazed state.

Tiredness vanishing for a moment, he sprinted across the lobby in moments, ignoring the shouts of protest and the clacking of his fusioncutter and carbine as they bounced off his leg plating.

He squeezed into the turbolift as the doors closed, earning himself a glare from the lift's other occupants. They were wearing blue-black uniforms, and their upper faces were obscured by curved helmets and polished visors.

Corvin almost groaned.

Of all the lifts, I had to pick the one packed with naval troopers.

The relationship between the stormtroopers and their naval counterparts was questionable at best. There were exceptions, of course, such as the platoons of Imperial Marines the Blackjacks had fought alongside during the defense of Tadath, but on the whole they didn't get along.

The next minute was mostly awkward silence.

There was a ping, and Corvin quickly strode out of the lift before the doors had even completely opened. The squad's allotted quarters were just ahead.

Maybe he could finally get a bloody rest now.
ETRP/LCPL Corvin/4SQD/1PLT/1COM/1BAT/1RGT/Tadath/VEA/VE[ESC09][AoT][IH][HotC]
~BLACKJACK~
*Vehicle Pilot*
Read the bloody manual!
"Never believe a rumour of my demise. I have as many lives as a cat. Also as many teeth, as many claws, and the same cheery, cooperative disposition." Peter Wiggin, Xenocide
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"The Committee has also voted to change the name of the position, simply because no one liked the fact that its accronym spelled out Noo. "
Mustang21
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Mustang21
 
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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
November 29, 2009 12:03:10 AM    View the profile of Mustang21 
Everything was ready. The emergency prep room was stuffed with personnel. The surgical instruments were set up and sterilized. The B-1 surgical droid was in attendance in case of a mishap.

And so it was that Malaena had just finished scrubbing in when the assistant nurses barreled into the bacta tank room with the unconscious form of Abalar.

“What've we got?” she asked immediately.

Malaena received a chorus of medical terminology and immediately went to work stabilizing and prepping the elite trooper for submersion into the bacta fluid. Imperial doctors and physicians rarely used B-1 droids. They preferred human means to artificial ones in repairing wounded comrades. But there were occasions were the expertise and precision of a surgical droid were necessary. Fortunately, this was not one of those often fatal injuries.

After inserting the patient into the bacta tank, Malaena studied her chart readouts on her datapad. She nodded in a positive manner. This patient was a prime candidate for an artificial limb. If she was willing and accepting of course. Of course no patient had ever refused the implant. But it was still their choice. If they were to refuse, they would be out of the military.

Malaena frowned and continued reading the chart. That was, unfortunately, something the B-1 would have to take care of. Humans lacked the necessary skill and expertise to mesh a human subject with an artificial limb. One human styled mishap and the patients entire nervous system could be compromised, rendering her comatose and causing her to fall into a vegetative state.

Malaena replaced the datapad on the table. She subconsciously placed her hand in her coat pocket, as she often did, and fingered the holo frame there. It was the last holo she had taken with her family as a whole. She was without her husband, and her daughter, without a father. She bit back sudden tears and returned her mind to the task at hand.

A sudden thought occurred to her then and she turned to regard the slender figure floating in the healing fluid. She wondered, why in the name of the Empire, a woman as obviously attractive as her patient, would chose to be an Imperial Stormtrooper. She was a typical sized human female but with attributes more suited to a modeling or dancing career. Not one meant for the rigors, tragedies, and sadness of the battle field.

The Doctor moved over to the bacta tank readouts and checked the patients status. Everything was positive and the unit projected an immersion time of just under a standard day. Quick thinking on the squad leaders part had saved her from infection. Malaena made a mental note to speak with the Blackjack squad leader and commend him for his quick action. An action which saved the life of his squad mate. She turned and headed out of the bacta chamber.

The prep and subsequent supervision had lasted longer than expected and Malaena was tired and hungry. She reach the station turbolift and keyed for the the galley deck. She fancied herself some Bruallki and hastened to the galley.

-----

Loran, was hungry. He was really hungry. And after having to subsist on ration packs and protein bars, he jumped at the opportunity to eat at the station galley. He had heard that the galley on Steadfast served unnaturally good food and wanted to find out for himself. He assumed this was due to the fact that the best medical department in the Vast Empire was aboard the station. He was sure that the doctors and nurses required good food to do their job right. Well, Loran thought to himself, it was high time he enjoyed something good as well.

However, he decided to see if there were any messages for him first. He found his way to the comm center and after some lost hours he sighed sadly when he learned there was nothing for him. He then found his way to the ship board trooper barracks and availed himself of their hygienic facilities. Loran then decided it was time to hit the galley. He replaced his battle armor with a duty uniform and strapped on his sidearm. Being an elite trooper had its benefits and Blackjacks were allowed to be armed aboard station. On his way out he grabbed the freshly rested Corvin and they proceeded to the galley.

They arrived to find the galley sparsely populated. He acquired himself a hearty meal and received a perplexed expression from the cooks. Apparently, his trooper appetite wasn't something they were accustomed to. Loran whirled and scanned the seating arrangements and spotted a group of his Blackjack fellows already eating.

As he neared them he heard a lively conversation and was startled by a hearty bellow from Orobos, nearly dropping his plate. “Ah, Loran, come join us. You have to hear this story Slick is telling us! It's hilarious!”

“Oh yeah, I could definitely use some comedy in my life” Loran responded, letting out a chuckle and sitting down between Hassar and Orobos.

Then Slick continued “So, as I was saying. I was sitting in the back of this speeder, wondering how I was going to explain to the city Mayor, why I was so late returning his rather pretty daughter to him after the conference...” he broke off as Corvin let out a low whistle.

Corvin nudged Slick and spoke, “Whoa, check out the tail that just came in. That skirt definitely isn't regulation.”

Except for Loran, they all turned and looked. The last thing he needed was a reminder of his years missed wife. He purposely mashed food into his mouth.

“Yeah”, Hassar replied. “Must be a civilian.”

Corvin noticed Loran wasn't looking at her and gestured at him, “You know Loran, a woman like that doesn't come along everyday. Your lack of interest worries me and if you don't join in the fun, I'm going to have some questions for you later on.”

They all regarded him and he sighed, “Oh fine, but I'm hungry dammit!”

Loran turned to look in the indicated direction. The woman was standing in the food line facing away from him. His gaze drifted down and he noticed the non regulation skirt and shapely legs that came with it. She was standing with a somewhat familiar pose, one foot propped on the toes behind the other. She was holding what looked like a holo frame in her hand and was looking at it. But Loran could not make out what was on it.

Just then Corvin stood up, “I think I'll go introduce myself and see if she would like to eat with us. Heroes of Tadath and all, we are”
“Whoa there Corvin, she's way out of your league buddy.” Hassar said.

Corvin waved back over his shoulder as he headed in her direction.

“Besides” Orobos added, “You're far too ugly for a woman of such stature.”

Apparently Corvin did not hear this comment.

Then after a few moments of silence Loran looked at Orobos and added, “Have you looked in a mirror lately my friend?”

Everyone burst out laughing just then and Corvin and the woman looked over at the group of Blackjacks. Corvin gestured towards them and she seemed to make up her mind and walked to the group with Corvin.

They walked up behind Loran and Corvin introduced her, “Gentleman this is Doctor Rayia”

There was a chorus of greetings from the fellows and a growled hi through his food from Loran. He was in an eating mood and didn't want to be interrupted. His squad mates shot annoyed expressions in his direction and he shrugged.

Then Corvin continued, “The large one there is Orobos, next to him is Slick, then Specter, and Hassar.” He gestured in turn to each. “And the disgruntled rude one there stuffing his face is Mustang”

Loran whirled and regarded Corvin, “Hey, that's not fair Corvin, I'm more of a gentleman than you are. But where are my manners.” And he turned to finally look at the woman Corvin had brought over and froze.

Like wise the smile from her face vanished and was replaced by a sudden teary eyed expression. She dropped her tray and Corvin leaped back as some of her meal splashed on his uniform, “Hey! Watch it.” This drew the attention of the other crew members sitting at their tables. But they quickly lost interest.

Loran stood slowly, as if in a daze. His meal and his comrades forgotten. Then Corvin spoke up,”Hey Mustang. What did you do to her? She's about to cry.”

“No” said the woman ignoring Corvin, taking a step backwards. “It can't be. They told me you were dead. I saw the death certificate. I got your flag.”

“I'm not dead” Loran said stupidly, a thousand thoughts, memories, and emotions flickering through his mind.

“But I, Loran...” and she faltered.

“Malaena...” Loran began and was interrupted.

“Wait a minute” Hassar said. “You two know each other?”

“And he's not dead” Corvin said. “At least, he doesn't look dead to me” he added sizing Loran up.

Just then Loran seemed to notice his squad for the first time. They were all on their feet with puzzling expressions on their faces.

“Of course I know her” Loran replied looking at the love of his life with longing. Suddenly he didn't care about regulations or the military or being embarrassed in front of his squad. He quickly closed the gap between them and took her into his arms. Malaena Rayia Aramis then put her head into his chest and started weeping, clinging tightly to him.

Loran placed his head against hers and spoke, “She's my wife”.
ETRP/PFC Aramis/4SQD/1PLT/1COM/1BAT/1RGT/Tadath/VEA [LoR][CPC]

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Slick
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Slick
 
[VE-ARMY] Sergeant
 
Post Number:  624
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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
November 30, 2009 4:03:01 AM    View the profile of Slick 
Although he hadn't been with the squad all that long, Slick's eyes widened in surprise. He looked at all the others around him, and they all wore the same expressions of shock and disbelief.  As they watched Loran embrace his wife they slowly looked at each other.  All of them wanted to say something, but none of them knew exactly what to say.  Shrugging to his mates, Slick let out a nervous chuckle.

"Well... ummm... I think this is my cue to bow out gentleman." He turned on his heel, and marched away.

Slowly he made his way to the door, and he was oblivious to almost everything.  He had no idea what had just transpired, and he didn't want to get involved.  Something big was coming Loran's way, and the young sergeant had enough to deal with.  His own return to active duty was riddled with doubt, and the drive to prove himself.  Walking the passageways of the station he relished the sound his recently shined boots made on the floor.  The click of his boot heels echoed down the corridor, and he smiled.

He had left the service of the Empire when he married.  His wife had talked him into it, and he had stepped down as the Raiders squad leader, and tried the civilian life.  He grimaced as he thought back to those days.  He had worked as a teller at the Imperial Bank, and he had dreaded going in everyday.  The hours, an idiot for a boss, and the lack of respect from his coworkers had made it impossible to adjust.  The Imperial Army was just his calling.

He thought back to the brutal divorce.  It had happened because he had rejoined the ranks of the army.  No great loss Slick thought to himself, and laughed.  The other people in the corridor glanced his way, and he smiled at them.  They lowered their heads, and walked away as if just by looking at them he could read their minds. 

Finally torn from his dazed walk he glanced around.  He was in the shopping district of the station, and he almost backed away.  One of the few things he hated in life was shopping, and dealing with the spastic crowds that always wanted the lowest prices.  Taking a shot from a blaster was preferable to an hour of shopping.  He looked around at the crowds, and felt the sweat building on his face.

"Would you like to try our new cologne? It brings out the animal in you?" Came a voice to his left.

The young sergeant spun into a half crouch, and reached for his sidearm.  Luckily he stopped himself just as his hand reached the butt of his pistol.  A young woman holding a bottle of cologne stepped back, and her eyes widened in terror.  Standing back up straight, Slick apologized.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but you startled me.  I'm not used to being caught off guard." He smiled at her, and she relaxed a little.

"Are you here long soldier?" she asked.

"I don't have a clue." Slick replied as he wondered how to get out of this awful place.
Sergeant Slick
    BlackJ
   
ack Squad

TRP/SGT Slick/3SQD/1PLT/1COM/1RGT/1BAT/VEA/VE/Tadath[LoR][CoR][CoH]
Jager
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Jager
 
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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
November 30, 2009 5:30:46 AM    View the profile of Jager 
The medical bay conformed stringently to the norm. Matte white, sterile walls edged by strip lighting and decorated with utilitarian furniture and a pot plant sulking in the corner to break up the scenery. He'd always found they'd exuded a passive aggressive vibe. Not welcoming, but not outwardly hostile. Like running into an old friend you stole money off of, or meeting your girlfriends parents for the first time.  The awkward, deafening silence, the occasional in-obvious stare of the attendant, the distant beep of a monitor or screen somewhere off in the distance. It put him on edge.

The conforming monotony of the room was broken up by a wall-mounted holo-screen. The news was on. Coverage of the rebuilding of Tadath, human interest stories. All garbage for the most part. Nothing short of propaganda, but it was propaganda the people needed. It was easier to buy into the soft and welcoming bullshit then face the cold hard truth. They were bad, we were good... Black and white. 

He let out a sigh of relief when the daily coverage changed to something more benign. But it wasn't long before his mind wandered back to where it left off.

Was there ever a black and white to begin with? No. Never had been, never will be. Good and bad where artificial constructs. A sort of unwritten law that varied from person to person, from group to group. The man they had been sent to capture. William Brents. The entire reason they had been sent down to Najiba. The entire reason Abs, Fyre, had lost an arm. Was what he did 'bad'. In the eyes of the Jacks' superiors, yes. Perhaps that was all the only opinion that mattered. If the man paying your wage said it was so, then it was so. Leave the implications and connotations to the scholars. They weren't paid to think.

The attendant behind the plasti-glass screen stifled a cough as she flicked disinterestedly through her magazine, occasionally stealing a glance up at the only other occupant in the room. It was a slow day on the station.

He pondered as to how she would deal with the loss of her arm. It could have been worse, but no one ever said that everyone was going to return home in one piece. Out of all the people, it shouldn't of been her. She deserved better. His mind wandered back to his past experiences in the tanks and in medical wards. The grim faces of the doctor telling him that they couldn't save the eye, that the hand had to be replaced, that the arm was going to have to come off. Medical technology meant that it could be replaced with something new, something better. The human body was weak and spongy. But with each replacement a person lost a little bit of themselves.

At first it was alien, the loss of feeling. The things people took for granted. Eventually it became second nature, like the beating of ones own heart. Some replacements where a little more obvious then others. A cybernetic hand didn't stare its own back in the face every time they looked in the mirror, or give off a feint, gentle buzz in their skull on cold days.

How much could he, or anyone lose before they stopped being a person. An arm one day, an eye the next, maybe a leg a few weeks after. Bit by bit, until one day you wake up and realise you've forgotten what it was to feel with your own fingers, to see with your own eyes, to smell, to hear. If there was a hell, that would be it.

The gentle hiss of the waiting rooms door opening broke the silence. In its absence stood a modestly dressed, well featured man.

"Mr. Luth." he stated in something a little louder then a whisper as he got within a few feet of the Sergeant.

"Gates." His counterpart replied, nodding slightly in acknowledgement though his eyes were fixed on a point on the opposite wall. Jager had little interest in small talk, not that he had anything against the man, but he didn't see the point in wasting words.

"How is she?"

"She'll live." he stated gruffly, leaning forwards in his seat as his squad leader sat across from him. "Brents?"

"Intel picked him up a few minutes after we landed. Didn't say much, but thats how things go. You been to see her yet?"

The change of subject was bad news. "No. She's in the tanks. Did he have what we were after?"

Gates shifted uneasily in his seat and shook his head. Jager sighed with frustration. Another wild goose chase with no pay off. Story of his life. Story of the corps.

"You should have let me talk to him..." Jager mused idly, his voice pensive for his usual deadpan grunt.

"And you would have gotten more out of him then me, I take it?" Gates smirked, the man had clearly never experienced a Jester-style interrogation.

"Maybe..."

Jester would have done things different. If this was a Jester op, Brents would be milked for everything he knew, then killed. Then it would they would be hot on the trail of their next lead. Intel would have been left out of the loop, after all i was Intel's mistake that had them on this mission. The inability to spot a rouge player in an organisation was a trait the intelligence service had demonstrated quite well in the past few weeks. This wasn't Jester. Gates was Angel or Jegora. Times had changed... yet he was a constant.

With an abrupt sigh, Garryl got to his feet. "Places to go, people to see." he stated optimistically, "Give me a call the moment she comes to." Jager simply nodded as the man left the room. The gentle hiss of the waiting rooms door finalising his departure. Again the waiting room returned to its mute, passive aggressive self. The attendant continued flicking through her magazine, still stealing glances at him. The holo-screen still continued its glossed over version of the truth.

With a sigh he leant back on the seat and shut his eyes. He'd already been there for a handful of hours. Chances where he'd be here for a few more. He rarely slept anymore, at least not well. But the nature of the waiting room seemed to have lost its edge, or maybe he just payed it no heed. Either way, he need rest.
Scout/Heavy weapon specailist

http://www.vastempire.com/wiki/index.php?title=Jager_Luth
Gunnery Sergeant J. Luth/Echelon/STC Academy/Tadath/VEA/VE
Hassar
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Hassar
 
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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
November 30, 2009 2:56:53 PM    View the profile of Hassar 
The room seemed to stand still as they all watched Loran and Malaena embraced each other. The compassion and love that flowed between the two long lost pair was so strong it seemed almost a tangible feeling in the air. Kyrus felt a small pang of sadness pass through him as he enviously watched the couple. Strong emotions began to well up inside him, and along with it an array of memories; memories which he did not particularly want to remember, for he was still unsure of how he felt about them...

Slick was the first to break the silence. "Well... ummm... I think this is my cue to bow out gentleman." He turned and left, leaving the rest of the squad standing there.

"Come on. Let's give them some time." Kyrus told the others still staring perplexed at the scene before them. As he stood up, he motioned them to an empty table across the room. Slowly each of his companions pulled away their attention away from Loran and Malaena and sat themselves down at the table Kyrus had indicated.

"Wow. Since when did Loran have a wife? He never mentioned it to me."

"That's because he thought she was dead, Corvin." Kyrus reminded him.

"Besides, of all people, what reason could he possibly have to tell you?" Orobos teased. Kyrus chuckled at this, and the others simply laughed.

Kyrus glanced back at Loran. He and Malaena were talking softly to each other, piecing together the times that they had missed with each other, but from the looks of it, mainly just enjoying each others company. This was the happiest Kyrus had ever seen Loran, and that alone was enough to make him happy for his friend.

"How about you, Hassar?"

Kyrus turned back to face his table. Corvin was looking at with expectantly.

"Hmm?"

"Do you have a special lady waiting for you back home?"

He chuckled then smiled mischievously. "It wouldn't be much of a secret if I told you, now would it?"

"What?" Corvin asked incredulously. He seemed slightly taken back. "What secret? Why does that have to be secret?"

Kyrus didn't respond, but instead took a drink from his ale he'd ordered, a grin plastered to his face.

"I bet you he does." Specter chimed in. "She's probably just real ugly, so he keeps her a secret."

"Nah, the only woman waiting for him back home is his mom." Orobos said laughing.

Kyrus smiled and sat back in his seat, nursing his drink. They continued their banter, cracking obscene jokes about each others love lifes, or lack thereof. He quickly lost interest in the conversation and started looking around he room. Much to his disappointment, there weren't any female Zabraks around, but there were plenty of fine looking human females. Unlike some of the more traditional Zabraks he had known, he had long learned to appreciate the beauty in human females. While their heads were smooth and hornless, Kyrus couldn't deny the universally attractive curves of the female figure.

Finally, he finished his drink he set his cup down on the table before standing up.

"Where you going?"

"Just going out to check out the station."

"Alright. See ya later, Hassar."

Kyrus gave his signature lazy, two-fingered salute before he turned and left.   

Outside, he spotted a protocol droid standing politely next to a transit station. As Kyrus approached it, it looked at him and said, "Good evening. How can be of service?"

"I need to know where I can find the medical bay."

"Of course. If you look to our left, you will see a corridor. Simply follow it down and at the end you will find the medical bay. Are you in need of further assistance."

"No, thanks." he said, turning to leave.

"Have a good day, and enjoy your stay."

It didn't take him long to reach his destination. He found it right where the droid had told him it would be. He approached the front desk. Sitting behind it was a female human, dressed in a white nurses outfit. Looking up at him she smiled amd asked, "How can I help you?"

"Could you tell me what room private Stone is staying at?"

"Let me check," she said as she typed on the keyboard. After a moment, she looked back up at him and said, "I'm sorry, she is currently resting in a bacta tank, and can't take any visitors right now. However, she should be healed within the next couple of hours at most, if you would like to return later."

"No don't worry about it," he said. "Thank you, anyways."

She smiled and said, "My pleasure. Have a nice day."

"You too." he responded. He turned back and left the building. He stood standing outside for a moment, letting all of the recent events soak in: the Brents situation, Abs' hand, and Loran's reunion with his wife. He smiled thinking of how overwhelmingly relieved and happy Loran looked when he embraced his wife. One day... he thought to himself.

Sighing, he wandered aimlessly down the way he came from, allowing himself to be distracted by the different stores and scenery that the station had to offer as he walked past, lost in thought.
ARC 6 Hassar  Combat Engineer
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[This message has been edited by Hassar (edited December 1, 2009 2:06:59 PM)]
Specter
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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
November 30, 2009 10:15:00 PM    View the profile of Specter 
Ryan grimaced as he chewed the food in his mouth. Well, today had turned out to be interesting. In fact, the whole week had been interesting. That bleak smile swept across his face like a fog covering over a grassy landscape. Not many people liked to see him smile. It was grim, mirthless and full of apathetic carelessness for the worries of the world. So many people ranted about love and hate, anger and affection. But they weren't opposites. Love and anger ran in the same vein. Apathy was the true opposite of love. The utter lack of it. Oh yes, there was anger in Ryan. But there was no love. That love had been stripped from him when he was just a child. Murdered in cold blood. His only family. It had become worse after that. The death only numbed him, but years in smuggling and mercenary work hardened him. The only emotions that ran through him now were self serving desires and hatred towards the galaxy in general.

That was why it pained him to see those two. They had love. Something that he had once known, but had lost. A deep thorn of sorrow pierced his heart. It threatened to overwhelm him. He wrestled with it, subdued it, and tried to eliminate it....but was not completely successful. So much death in this life.....and yet there was still some love. Ryan raged in his mind.

" It was not kind to me! What has life given me except sorrow and misery? Everything I ever cared about died. Some in war, others tragically. Why should I start to care now? The galaxy harbors no love for me. It is as uncaring as a rock. I hate it! Curse it! It can burn while I watch it and laugh on. I fear nothing now....nothing. But the galaxy will learn to fear me. I will make it suffer as it has made me suffer. Curse it!"

While Ryan seethed he had not gone unnoticed. Corvin raised an eyebrow. " Whats got you, Specter?"

Berating himself for not guarding his expressions more carefully, Ryan turned his green eyed gaze upon the man. From what he had seen and heard of the man, he loved war and he loved to joke and fight and he LOVED. Ryan hated war, hated jokes, hated fighting. He did not love them, Ryan relished in them. When he held sway over another being's life he felt such immense pleasure. When he joked it was more for his own pleasure than out of seeing the other men laugh. When he fought it was to teach the other being pain and suffering. To make them understand what he had felt. What had him? Ryan laughed. Cold and mirthless. A laugh that was high and cheerless. Icy as Suddenly, Ryan stopped laughing.

He growled out. " Nothing, or rather something, but nothing you would understand."

Corvin shrugged and turned back to his casual conversation. Something that Ryan did not feel the inclination to join in. All the men here had different personalities. Gates may have been the leader, fearless and cocky. Corvin was reckless and talked overmuch. Hassar was... unreadable and yet loyal. Loran was elegant and virtuous. Abalar was calm and patient. Orobos was a whipid. Jager was different....colder, harsher. He seemed disconnected. Much like Ryan. And yet....that man still appeared to have the ability to love.

The only one Ryan cared for was himself. And he did not think that that would ever change. At least, not unless it was over his dead body.

'Specter' finally shook off his morbid mood. Sometimes he could become lost in his own anger. He turned to Corvin. The man amused him. The nonstop chatter from his mouth provided a constant source of merriment for the squad. And Ryan was in need of a little humor, in light of the black fog that he had just come through.

He was about to say something, when Hassar stood up and left the table.  Ryan waited a while and then followed him out. Perhaps humor was not what he needed after all. Some uncrowded air would do him a little better than merriment.

The world around him was merry and laughing while he stared around. His eye picking up the small details of those who were out. One seemed sorrowful and was staring at a sign. The sign was for jewelry. Ryan surmised that the man had been about to marry someone, but had been denied...or perhaps someone else had come along. His conjectures proved right when the man withdrew a ring and with a heavy sigh and a tear rolling down his cheek walked into the store. The women was most likely better off without him. Any man who returns the ring he had bought for someone is a miserly soul that cares more for money than most else.

Ryan chuckled to himself. For wasn't that what he had been? The past five, ten, years his soul purpose had been to reap in money. He had thought it would fix all his problems. And in some ways it had. But not enough. There was nothing for him to live for except that. Now...he was supposed to have found a purpose. What that was he didn't know exactly.

The former merc leaned against a wall and closed his eyes.
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Mustang21
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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
December 1, 2009 2:08:56 AM    View the profile of Mustang21 
Loran waited for his sobbing wife to finish. His pride alone dictated that he not do the same. Especially in front of his squad mates. He would never live such an occurrence down. He held Malaena out away from him looking her over. Loran stood there dumbfounded, seemingly still in disbelief.

“You look good” was all he could manage to say.

“And you look like you've been through hell and back” she replied, noting the lines and scars running across his face. Just then she seemed to notice his uniform for the first time.

“And you're in the military too?”

“Uh,” and Loran faltered. It seemed now that his wife was the one who was composed. Loran felt like a little boy. He knew not what to say or do. The shock of seeing his wife again after three years was still hitting him.

“Perhaps we should go somewhere where we may talk in private, my dear?” Loran asked her.

“Yes, there is much we need to talk of. You've been a long time away from me and I want to know how my husband acquired such dreadful scars.” she said tracing the lines across Lorans face with her fingers.

Aware that his squad mates had left, Loran suddenly felt as if he had abandoned and ignored them.

“My squad, we were...” he was silenced by a finger pressed to his lips.

“They have sense enough to know when we need a moment alone together. But this galley isn't private enough for me. Do you have quarters aboard the station?” she asked him.

Loran noted that they had not let each other go. Even though it had been over three years since they were last together, his wife still knew him well. She sensed his embarrassment and finally released him. However she had placed her arm in his and would not release it. Loran knew this wasn't proper as he was in uniform. Protocol be damned! He was holding his wife in his arms again and there wasn't a power in the universe that could tare her from his grasp.

“I've been assigned berthing space in the station barracks.” he replied. Not taking his eyes off her.

“My quarters then.” she stated. She started for the door out of the galley.

Loran stopped her. He noticed that there was a service droid cleaning up the spilled tray. “Neither of us are going to be very good conversationalists unless we sate our gullets!” This elicited a giggle from her.

He gestured to the droid, “Excuse me.”

“Yes, How may I help you sir?” asked the droid.

“Could you please pack my tray to go and make another one for my wife. What was it my dear, Bruallki?” he nodded as she responded positively. He looked back at the droid ”Yes Bruallki”.

“Of course sir. It will be just a few moments.” and the droid scurried off with the empty tray and Lorans. It came back a few minutes later with two packaged meals. Loran took them and thanked the droid. Then the pair moved towards the door. On the way Lorans squad mates tossed a salute to him and he returned it.

Loran spent the rest of his day telling his wife about the past three years of his life. His trial and tribulations. She reacted appropriately to the parts of his story that required her to. All the while her face was aglow with a smile, so infused with love and tenderness that Loran knew it only for him. His heart was once again warm and full. He was whole again. He was complete.

Loran than toke a deep breath. He was coming to the mission to the ice planet and he knew his wife would over-react when he told her he had almost died. And indeed she most certainly did. She insisted, on the grounds that she was his one and only lover, that she give him a medical 'once-over'. Loran acquiesced to her ministrations and grateful for the gentle hands he had so sorely missed.

Loran awoke the next day during ships morning. He was now torn between his duty as a Stormtrooper and his duty as a husband. Well Loran would report for duty. Abalar was sure to be out of the bacta tank, and he was certain Garryll would have received new orders for Blackjack by now. Reluctantly, he left his sleeping wife and headed for the station barracks.

Loran arrived to find most of Blackjack sitting in the common area having a conversation. He sat down among them and received some smirks.

“What?” he said shrugging his shoulders holding his hands out palms up.

“Had a good night, did you?” said Corvin raising an eyebrow.

“What makes you think I had a good night?” Loran replied sitting back in his chair.

“Maybe your long lost wife returning from the dead. The fact that you didn't spend the night in your bunk.” Corvin pointed out.

“Yeah, you never told us you even had a wife” Hassar said, seeming a little put out.

“Wow, I didn't know this would such an issue for you guys” Loran remarked. He thought that maybe he should have stayed in bed.

Besides,” he said eying Corvin. “What I do in my off time is none of your business!” he added a smirk to take the sting from his comment.

Orobos let out a hearty bellow and Corvin clapped him on the shoulder.

“And what was all that about you dying and her getting a flag and all?” As far as I know, you've never been reported as KIA.” Corvin then continued.

“That's a sort of private matter I can't explain to you guys. At least not yet.”

“My friend” Orobos started. “You cannot keep secrets from us! We're Blackjacks.”

“I know, I know. But this is something private between me and my wife.” Loran replied. He was starting to feel like he might need a day off or two.

“That's fine then, I guess.” Hassar said. “Congratulations by the way Loran. I've never seen that particular expression on your face before!”

Loran thought of his wife and the moment they were reunited.

“That's the one!” Corvin cried aiming a punch at the now red PFC.

Loran composed himself immediately rubbing his shoulder. “Anyway, has there been any word on the ASL's condition? Do we have any new orders yet?”
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Specter
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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
December 1, 2009 11:02:04 AM    View the profile of Specter 
" Not yet." Said Ryan as he slid into a seat at the table, next to Loran. " Can't really expect to be up and about the morning after you get your arm lopped off. Then again, I haven't checked." He turned his green eyes upon the man sitting next to him. " You people seem to love getting yourselves into the most heated situations. Though I guess I am one of you people now." Then his eyes fell on the squad as a whole. " Anyone know where the man called Jager is?"

Corvin was ready with an answer. As he always seemed to be. " Jager is probably down by the tanks."

Nodding slightly, Ryan raised an eyebrow. " Thats where he was all yesterday too."

Laughing, Corvin replied. " Why are you so interested? Got your eye on the ASL?" Then, leaning in closer he said " By the way, thats probably a bad idea."

The squad chuckled and Ryan's face fogged over with his mirthless grin. The laughter stopped. " No. I was wondering why Jager is so interested."

Scratching his head, Corvin replied. " Well, uhm, Jager's business is his business."

Orobos laughed and smacked Corvin on the back. " Corvin here is just afraid that he'll get his ears ripped off."

Bristling, Corvin said " Am not!"

The whipid shrugged and turned back to his food. Leaving the Lance Corporal to continue the conversation.

" Whats your story then Specter? Why'd you join the corps?"

Shrugging, Ryan said " Why not?" The former merc was not about to give away the details of his life to someone he had just met. But the fact was...he didn't know why he had joined."

" Not going to reveal any of your past are you, Specter?" Said the Lcpl

Looking up from his plate of food Ryan's green eyes fell upon Corvin's. The gaze was so full of hate for the world, self pity, and so absent of love that one of Corvin's eyes twitched and the man's mouth pulled back in a slight grimace.

Ryan said coldly. " No."

Orobos spoke up this time. " Where were you last night?"

This caused Corvin to chuckle and a bleak smile to come over Ryan. " I was outside. Getting some air. Would you rather I had been somewhere else?"

The Lance Corporal burst out laughing as did most of the squad. Ryan leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, the mirthless smile still upon his lips. What would have been the purpose of doing anything else? Then he stood up. He actually did have something better he could do. 'Specter' went and found Gates. Action was something he needed, and he wanted to know how soon it would be.

He had barely been in the last fight. In fact, he had only just arrived when the fighting ceased. The red armor that each squad member wore was supposed to be one of the finest in the galaxy. Even capable of withstanding a verpine shattergun, who's armor piercing rounds made them a terror on the battlefield. Or from a sniping position. From everything that Ryan had heard, this squad was supposed to be a smash and grab type. Specter's own style of fighting was more based on stealth. As a bounty hunter it was almost imperative that your bounty not know of you, until they found themselves in a stun net. As a smuggler, lying had been his primary means of getting by. He had had to develop a smooth tongue and the fact that his adopted father had been grooming him to be an aristocrat helped him along that route. No one could guard against stealth. It was the ultimate killer. Someone may be the most powerful being in the universe and yet they have their throats slit by a silent killer. And so Ryan would have to adapt to this new way. As he had always had to adapt. The galaxy had forced him to. To survive he had had to comply.

The former merc found Gates discussing something with the pilot of the Royal Flush. Ryan walked up and stood at parade rest until the men were done. After a little while, Gates turned to Ryan. " Yes 'Specter'? What is it?"

" Sir, any word on how much more time we have to kill?"
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[This message has been edited by Specter (edited December 2, 2009 10:06:59 AM)]
Abalar
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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
December 2, 2009 2:12:45 AM    View the profile of Abalar 
Abalar should have seen the attack coming. She should have. She let her guard down. It was her fault. And now she was paying for it. The pain affected her in a strange way, not the way she had read about in the datapads, or seen in the holovids. Pain was supposed to sharpen the senses, not send the wounded into a dream like state. For Abalar, the later happened. It could have been the amount of pain, or it could have simply been the blood loss. It didn’t really matter the reason though.

Abalar just floated in her subconscious for what seemed like eons. The pain subsided almost immediately, but so did her vision, hearing, and motor skills. Words that should have been heard normally were heard in long, drawn out phrases. People were red, dark, or white blobs, varying in brightness. She didn’t even notice when she was thrown in the bacta tank. The wetness didn’t even register. However, she slowly came back to reality when the bacta started working, healing her entire body. Eventually she could feel the dull pain in her arm, or her shoulder, as she had no arm. Abalar wasn’t consciously aware of this fact, but, she was soon to find out.

Abalar was pulled out of the tank, and revived.

“We have some bad new, Sergeant Abalar,” a doctor said as Abalar was recovering. “Your arm. It was unrecoverable. We saved what we could, but that wasn’t much… the infection… Again, I’m sorry.”

The doctor left her alone. Abalar laid there for several minutes, trying to process the fact that she was missing her right arm. She couldn’t even look to see if it was true. The thought was too awful, too depressing. Abalar needed someone, but she didn’t want to let anyone see her like this. Eventually, the doctor came back in.

“I’ve been instructed to inform you about your situation Sergeant Abalar. You’ve been screened for a cybernetic arm, and I’m please to let you know that you’ll be an excellent candidate. As to whether you accept this cybernetic arm is up to you. However, if you refuse, you’ll be terminated from the Corps immediately. There’s no use for a one armed…” he didn’t finish his sentence.

It then struck her. The Corps was her life. Dancing had been her only passion, but the Corps had strangely become her life. It wasn’t the killing, it wasn’t the chance of dying, and it wasn’t seeing comrades fall. Abalar couldn’t place it, but there was a reason she couldn’t turn her back. Her thoughts were interrupted though.

“So, I have to ask you, will you accept this cybernetic transplant?”

Abalar didn’t answer for some time. She knew the answer, but she couldn’t verbalize it. She struggled as her voice failed her time and time again. Eventually, Abalar just ended up nodding and squeaking out a yes.

“Very well. I’ll have a nurse come and prepare you.”

The doctor left, and once again Abalar found herself alone with her thoughts for a while.

“Excuse me, but there’s someone here to see you. He said you’d know who he was.”

Abalar’s thoughts flicked to Jager. “Yes, I know who he is. Pass me that blanket will you?” Abalar said to the nurse as she sat up slowly.

The nurse passed her the blanket, and Abalar wrapped her body in it, which was surprisingly difficult without two arms. Jager walked in, and Abalar just looked at him. He glanced at her eyes, then her right shoulder, then down at the ground. Abalar too looked down, and a silence ensued.

“They said you were awake,” Jager said after a time, keeping his head down.

“Yeah,” Abalar said weakly. Man, her voice sounded weak, even to her.

Another silence ensued. This time though, it was Abalar who broke the silence.

“How… how long have I…”

“Two days, not including the time it took us to get back. We had to stop off at another planet to get you stabilized.”

Abalar exhaled roughly. “I’m going to get the cyernetics.” Her voice still sounding weak. She glanced up and noticed Jager was looking at her. Their eyes met for a moment, and Abalar saw something in his eyes. What was it though? Pity? Concern? Abalar couldn’t tell. “How long were you here waiting Jager?”

“I didn’t have much to do…”

The nurse interrupted Jager’s answer. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to interrupt your reunion. The sergeant need to be prepped for the surgery. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” She spoke to Jager.

For a moment, Jager looked liked he was going to defy her.

“Go Jager, I’ll be fine.” Again, the two exchanged glances, and again that, thing, was in his eyes. “No, really, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you after the surgery.”

Jager didn’t say anything. He just lowered his head, spun on his heel, and walked away.

“Don’t worry deary. Men react differently to this kind of thing. He just doesn’t know how to speak his mind.”

Abalar just nodded. She guessed the female nurse was right. Jager had always seemed to be that guy with the emotions of steel. However, there had to be other emotions under there, there just had to be…

“Now, just watch me, and this’ll all be over soon…”

“How are you doing sergeant? Awake yet?”

Abalar grunted and opened her eyes. She immediately regretted it though, as there was a bright light shining right in her eyes, and instantly shut them again.

“Now, come on and be a trooper. Open those pretty blues of yours.”

Abalar made a face, but opened her eyes slowly and painfully.

“There we are,” a male doctor said. “That wasn’t so difficult now, was it?”

Abalar just grunted as her answer. The doctor laughed lightly.

“What a pleasant mood you’re in, but I guess my news will cheer you up more. Your transplant was a complete success, and the bacta worked wonders on the rest of your body. You can leave today.”

Abalar blinked in confusion and sat up. She glanced down and saw two arms. Even more confused, she moved both of them. Both responded. She pressed the fingers together, and while she felt the pressure in both, she did not feel the skin of the other hand in one.

“That’s completely normal. We assumed you’d want to have the metal and technology covered. All should be in working order. Your clothes are on the end of the bed. I’ll leave you to change.”

The doctor left, and Abalar got dressed slowly. She then walked out of her room, and down the hall, heading to the place she thought was the exit, half heartedly following the signs to the waiting room. Eventually, Abalar pushed through those doors, and glanced around. Her eyes landed on Jager, who stood when he saw her. Abalar didn’t care what he did, but she strode over to him and hugged him, trying not to cry. She felt his body tense for a moment, probably in surprise, but Jager relaxed, and he even awkwardly placed an arm around her.

Jager mumbled something inaudible, and maybe it was Abalar's unconscious mind seeking comfort but she could have sworn he said "It's going to be alright Abs."
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Garryll Gates
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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
December 2, 2009 4:16:23 PM    View the profile of Garryll Gates 
There was a loud knock at the door. Gates looked up from his after-action report and said "Come!"

Abalar walked in. Her new arm blended in almost seamlessly, and Gates nodded. "Ready for action, Abalar?"

"Ready," she replied. "Where are we up next?"

Gates slid a thin manila folder out from below the half-completed brief. He gestured to the single, spartan chair in front of his temporary desk. When she sat, he handed the folder to her.

"I've been waiting on you to get out of the bacta tank," Gates said. "Can't got to war without my assistant, can I?"

"This promises to be interesting," Abalar said, scanning the documents inside the folder. "When are we briefing?"

"ASAP," Gates said. "Get 'em together in a briefing room."

* * *

The troopers of Blackjack took seats around the cramped briefing table. It was a rather miserable briefing room, with one sputteringholoprojector and coffee stains all over the table. Several of the troopers were withdrawing their elbows with distaste, only to realize the cramped room didn't allow them much room to lean back.

"How come the Navy has such crappy rooms?" Corvin complained.

Hassar snorted softly. "Each cubic meter in space costs more than we all make in a month. Space is a premium."

"Can it," Gates said, tapping the holoprojector. "Ah, screw it. I'll just give the briefing verbally."

"But I wanted to have a nap through the pretty lights!" Corvin mock-complained. Gates rolled his eyes and looked down at his folder; he cleared his throat.

"Intel's gotten something out of Brents, or so they think," Gates said. The holoprojector decided to kick itself into shape and the first image popped up into space, albeit rather fuzzy. Gates took it in stride and pointed out a yellow and white portion of the planet that was shown on the projector. "This isTadath , as I hope you all know. This particular region is desert, mountains and really rough terrain. And of course, it's really bloody hot."

The troopers watched the rotating representation of Tadath with rapt attention. Gates continued: "The 14th Brigade is deployed in this area, playing 'extreme peacekeeping' with dissidents."

"Dissidents?" Slick asked, raising his hand.

"Violent protesters of the Vast Empire control of the planets we have command over. Stormtrooper intelligence places their number at several hundred, drawn from across VE space. They tried to protest in Sinat, but they realized that there was just a little too much law-and-order there for their liking. They torched a few military bases and fled to the desert. We have no idea how they've held on so long against a force eight times their size, but it's expected they've hired mercenaries and have New Republic or Imperial support - if not both. This brings us back toBrents."

A new image appeared, that of a small freighter and a sketch of a gaunt woman. "This is the Sneak Thief, and its captain, Quicksilver, according toBrents ' description of her and her ship. A freighter slipped past our orbital grid; at the time we didn't really care, as it went down in the wastes. Unfortunately, it was within walking distance of the hotbeds of dissident activity, and they think that this "Quicksilver" was looking for amnesty and a covert way back into NR or Imperial space."

"Why not just soak the entire area with turbolasers?" Specter asked. "Seems the easiest way."

"That would likely create a media feeding frenzy," Gates replied. "'Unstable Empire spinoff eliminates hundreds of its own citizens.' It wouldn't go over well at all, so we and the army get to go down and dig them out of their caves and their holes and their trenches one by one."

He waited a moment. "Any questions?"

No hands were raised. "Get to it, then. Suit up on the ship."

* * *

Nine Blackjacks suited up in the cargo bay; the ship shuddered as it dropped into the atmosphere. Nine crimson-clad Stormtroopers took rifles out of the holders; ammunition was tucked into belts and backpacks. Grenades and canteens followed.

"A-280s, pistols, and heavy weapons," Gates said. "Explosives, and make sure you've got plenty of water. I'm not carrying someone who's dehydrated."

There was some light chuckles and the troopers adjusted their gear and got ready to go. The intercom crackled. "ETA to ground twenty seconds. We'll stay on station if you need air support."

The ramp descended and the heat rolled in. Various moans of discomfort came from several of the troopers who preferred cooler climates.Abalar hummed at the heat wave; it was obvious she preferred hot over cold. Gates stepped into the dry dust of the desert.

"This entire area is hostile," Gates said. "The VE's main base is five kilometers from here, and it's all through hostile area. Keep tight and move it out."
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ESL/PSGTGarryll Gates/4SQD/1PLT/1COM/1RGT/1BAT/Tadath/VEA/VE [RoM][ICE][IH][CCA][BC][SRP][AS-1][ES1][CoS][EW1] {RESx3} [ESC09] [RoT] [CRoS] [AoT]

God is not on the side of the big battalions, but on the side of those who shoot best.
For Tadath, for the Empire.
Corvin
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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
December 2, 2009 6:34:31 PM    View the profile of Corvin 
Corvin grinned as he stepped off the ramp and onto the barren sand. The heat washed over him, seeping into the gaps in his armour and making the air seem to ripple all around him.

Corvin was delighted. He'd serve wherever he was assigned, but this...this was great. No muck to sink into, no snowstorm to stumble through...If he closed his eyes, it was almost like a summer day back home on Verdan.

Verdan was warm, the life-nurturing heat from its star making it one of the most productive farm planets in the sector. The air here was far too dry, of course, but it was a far cry from the past few iceballs he'd served on, and the bodysuit more than took care of that.

The desert was not a friendly place, he reminded himself. The environmental survival training had made that quite clear. He had to remain on guard. The sands could be as lethal as any rebel with a blaster if he wasn't careful.

There was a crackle of static.

"Welcome to the Southern Wastes," Garryll said dryly. "As you know, it's a long walk, so we'd better get started."

With that, the Blackjack SL strode past the troopers, rifle held in hand.

"Move out, Blackjacks!" Abalar echoed, and the stormtroopers sprung into action. The squad broke into two groups, with Garryll at their head.

Taking a long breath of the dry Wasteland air, Corvin started to march.

At first glance, Corvin would have been hard pressed to find a place more different from his homeworld. Instead of fields and plains, here there was only the endless sand. The yellow dunes seemed to stretch on forever in all directions.

The Blackjacks had been marching through the desert for roughly an hour, and Corvin was starting to change his mind about the Wastes. There was a slight breeze blowing now, and sand grains were flying in all directions as the gusts tossed them around. They pinged off the stormtrooper's armour, etching lines into the reinforced plastoid.

Blaster-proof, slug-proof, but not sand-proof, Corvin thought glumly.

The ground they were passing though was changing. The colour of the dunes was darkening, and he saw the occasional crusty lichen among the sands. The wind intensified, and the scritch-scratch of sand on plastoid grew louder.

"Check your weapons." Garryll said suddenly dry from lack of use.

Corvin obeyed, activating the safety flipping his A-280 over so that he was holding the grip and stock instead of the handle. Quickly, he scraped away the grains of sand that had somehow found their way onto the oiled barrel, then cleaned the trigger guard.

The sand was getting everywhere, sticking to the freshly-oiled guns, accumulating at the bottom of supply pouches and holsters, and even finding its way under the armour plates. Corvin could feel it grinding against his left shoulder where it had gotten under the plate somehow.

The wind was getting worse. Thick clouds of sand were whipping around the squad, and the ping-ping was constant now, almost rhythmical. Corvin was finding it harder and harder to see through the growing storm. It seemed the Blackjacks were going to find out what a sandstorm was like the hard way.

There was a red flash,blurred by the grains of sand covering the air. and a buzz as an energy bolt flew through the air from the squad's left.

"Contact." Ryan announced. "Two of them, blaster pistols."

A second later, there were a series of high-pitched shrieks and quick flashes as the stormtroopers fired in bursts.

"Both hostiles downed." Abalar reported.

"We keep moving." Garryll ordered. "Their friends might come looking for them once the storm dies down."

The Blackjacks intensified their pace.
ETRP/LCPL Corvin/4SQD/1PLT/1COM/1BAT/1RGT/Tadath/VEA/VE[ESC09][AoT][IH][HotC]
~BLACKJACK~
*Vehicle Pilot*
Read the bloody manual!
"Never believe a rumour of my demise. I have as many lives as a cat. Also as many teeth, as many claws, and the same cheery, cooperative disposition." Peter Wiggin, Xenocide
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"The Committee has also voted to change the name of the position, simply because no one liked the fact that its accronym spelled out Noo. "
[This message has been edited by Corvin (edited December 2, 2009 6:50:25 PM)]
Specter
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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
December 3, 2009 1:29:25 PM    View the profile of Specter 
Sand.

Ryan hated it. The stuff got everywhere and caused minor irritation that could be the death of you on a mission like this. Tatooine had been worse, but this was still not one of his favorite planets. If the armor he was wearing did not have cooling systems he was sure he would either be dead or too weak to move from heat exhaustion. Even the cold was more forgiving than the heat. At least the cold let you die sleeping. The heat would beat down on you, wearing away at your bodies defenses, parching your mouth, and rendering you in agony for days before you died.

The former merc rechecked his A280. It was one of the best guns in the galaxy for durability. The weapon's ruggedness and the fact that it was armor piercing made it an excellent option for this mission. Although Ryan would have preferred a slug thrower to a blaster in a wilderness environment. A slug thrower was immune to many of the malfunctions of a blaster and in general was usually more sturdy. However, if he could have chosen one blaster, it would have been the A280.

Thankfully, the blaster was still in good shape, despite the sandstorm now blowing in the squad's faces. " We make very fine targets right now. All in our red shining armor." As the thought past through his head, a blaster bolt did as well. Ryan's vision, enhanced by the helmet, picked up the two hostiles.

" Contact. Two of them, blaster pistols." Before Ryan had a chance to say more the entire squad opened up on the two men. They didn't stand a chance and fell to the sand swept ground riddled with smoking holes. The yellow sand began to turn red. He swore inwardly. " Stang! What are they thinking?!" If it had been up to him he would have either captured them, or chased them back to their friends. Two men with blaster pistols hardly qualified as a threat to the armored squad. Ryan decided that he would have to talk with Gates about tactics. The Squad Leader seemed a very capable man. But even the best of men make mistakes. And even a PSC could be right sometimes.

The sandstorm began to pick up as they trekked through the barren land. The occasional rock cluster dotted the land. But then the rock clusters began to grow thicker. And as the rock amount increased, so the wind died down. Finally, the reached an impasse. A series of large rocks blocked their way and stretched to either side, surrounding the entire area in large stone formations. Gates looked around.

" Alright squad, we are going to have to go through this area, but keep your eyes open and your weapons ready." The man looked around warily before saying a hoarse voice. " move out."

Eerie silence pervaded the landscape. Broken only by the sound of the wind howling through the rocks and the soft tramp of armored boots. Ryan stared around at the surrounding rocks. Something...didn't feel right. He had this strange feeling. Almost as if...the hair on the back of his neck stood up. High among the rocks came a soft thwump. Everything began to move in slow motion as Ryan did not have enough time to react to the MM9 rocket burying itself in the sand a couple feet away.

KRAKA-BOOOM!

The MM9 was one of the most deadly guerrilla warfare weapons made. Many terrorist groups and rebel factions used them because of how easily they could be carried. Though the weapons typically came with a ten thousand dollar price tage, a desperate organization with some of them could be a deadly threat to anyone.


The air thrummed as Ryan tried to get to his feet. His armor had shielded him from the shrapnel and most of the sound. But his hearing felt fuzzy. Someone was screaming into the com.

" We have multiple contacts on several levels! Need covering fire for-AH!"

The com turned into people shouting orders and the screams of someone panicking. Then that noise came again. Thwump thwump thwump
There was a hissing noise.

KRAKA-BOOM
KRAKA-BOOM
KRAKA-BOOM

Everything was exploding, everywhere there was a contact. They needed to get to a defensible position before they were cut to pieces. Ryan aimed his A280 at one of the hostiles and opened fire. The hostile fell from his position, clutching at a gaping hole in his chest. " At least they don't have snipe-" A red bolt hit the ground centimeters from Ryan.

" STANG!"

He rolled behind a rock pillar and began to open fire. They were in a tight spot. The former merc unclasped one of the frag grenades from his utility belt and slung it towards a cluster of rocks where several of the resistance fighters were. There was an explosion followed by screams and then a dull groaning.

The air was streaked by the rocket trails of the MM9s as the men continued to rain hell fire down on Blackjack. Several snipers were somewhere among the rocks as well. Ryan saw Corvin take out one of them with a lucky hit. There were too many of them. Far too many. It was an ambush. " Curse this red armor!" A blaster bolt pinged off the damned armor. Ryan looked at the scorch mark where ordinarily he would have had a hole in his body. A change of color then.

Bolts flashed back and forth over the expanse as the firefight continued.
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Mustang21
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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
December 3, 2009 2:41:49 PM    View the profile of Mustang21 
The sand was unforgiving and relentless. It got into everything and filled open pockets. Loran was once again thankful for the standard sandtrooper gear. His poncho did an admirable job of keeping the sand out from under his armor. Loran could not help but feel comfortable. As a result of the poncho he was free of the chafing that the now aggravated Corvin had to endure. He had tried to convince his squad mate that the poncho was a good idea.

But Corvin had said, “Nah, we don't need em'. It's not like we're going to Tatooine or anything. Plus it restricts you in the middle of combat, if you need to move around.”

Loran had to agree with Corvin there. The poncho did a good job of restricting movement. It was one of the better pieces of equipment, Loran thought. Sleeveless, split up the front almost to the belt line, and coming down to the ankles, it resembled an archaic surcoat more than a modern implement of battle. One would only need a cloak of some sort and the ensemble would be complete.

Now, as Loran found himself suppressed by an unknown number of hostiles on multiple tiers of rock out croppings, he was beginning to regret choosing the poncho. Sure it worked well for traveling, but it was pretty much worthless in combat.

Loran aimed his rifle at one of the targets he could see and squeezed off a triple burst of laser bolts. The man fell screaming to the dirt and lay still. He than saw a group of hostiles approaching from a different direction trying to flank Blackjack, and dropped a grenade in the middle. Several cries and screams later that threat was eliminated

Just then a blaster bolt slammed into his shoulder and was deflected. Squad leader Gates than came over the comm, “Gates to Royal Flush. We need some air support here dammit! We're getting pounded to hell! We've got snipers all over us and we can't see them all.” Loran heard an acknowledgment and the channel clicked closed.

Several minutes, grenades, and screams of agony later, he heard engines roar by over head and looked up to see the Royal Flush scream by over head. Strafing the rim of the canyon they were in and sending bodies hurling down into it. The ship made one more pass and then called an all clear to Gates. After a few more tense minutes of blaster fire, the battle was over. Squad Leader Gates then ordered a check for survivors and it was soon found that there were none.

Loran was returning down the crevice he and Corvin had taken to the top when a single merc launched himself from a hidden nook. He waited until the last second and used the mans momentum to swing him around and send him flying the rest of the way down the canyon. Mercenary training and all, these men were not very bright. The other Blackjacks were standing at the bottom and watched the man roll down the rocky slope and end with a resounding thud at the bottom. Gasps and cries of pain issued back from him and Loran contented himself with a smile.

“Found one” Loran called into the comm.

“Yeah we know” Gates replied. “Good job Mustang. Good thing he's still alive” and Loran winced at this remark.

“Abalar, check him out. Get him stabilized so we can interrogate him” he said ushering Abalar forward.

She knelled down with a med kit in hand and began treating the broken man.
ETRP/PFC Aramis/4SQD/1PLT/1COM/1BAT/1RGT/Tadath/VEA [LoR][CPC]

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Mustang21
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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
December 3, 2009 2:41:50 PM    View the profile of Mustang21 
OOC:
Sorry. Clicked the button twice by mistake.
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[This message has been edited by JaxTheReaper (edited December 3, 2009 2:42:39 PM)]
Slick
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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
December 4, 2009 3:30:58 AM    View the profile of Slick 
"Well THAT was interesting..." muttered Slick as he looked around.

He took a quick head count, and was pleased to see everyone uninjured. It could have been alot worse, and all of them knew it. He checked the power pack on his rifle, and noticed that it was at a half charge. He quickly swapped it out for a fresh one. He hated going into a battle without a fully charged power pack. It made him feel like he was unprepared, and he had come to far to die now. He quickly brushed off the accursed sand that clungr to his weapon. He hated the sand. It reminded him of his own grueling basic training.

He looked up in time to see sergeant Abalar bend down next to the grunting prisoner. The man had ceased his shrieking thankfully.  Slick looked at the assistant squad leader, and frowned beneath his helmet. He felt sorry for her in a way, but he had been a stormtrooper long enough to know that with duty comes sacrifice. He slung his rifle across his back, and took a knee beside sergeant Abalar. He quickly began to help her with the prisoners arm.

"I don't need your help sergeant." she stated as he began to help

He smiled under his faceplate. "I never said you did. But if he decides to struggle then it's best I'm here.

She nodded slowly, but she glared at him as well. "If I think this is because of my..."

He raised a hand, and cut her off. "About your surgery? I could care less sergeant Abalar. You're a soldier." He lowored his voice. "You're my equal no matter what."

"As long as it's understood... sergeant." Abalar finished sarcastically.

Between the two of them the man was mended quickly. He had done some medical training earlier in his career, and he had just proven that he was more than just a ground pounder. He reached down, and grabbed the man by the neck of his dusty jacket. With a quick pull the man was jerked to his feet. The prisoner began to struggle until Slick brought his boot down on the inside of the man's left knee. With a yell the man's leg gave out, and he began to go down to a knee.  Before he could, Slick jerked him back up.

"Play nice now... I'm in a good mood." the sergeant scolded the man.

A few members of the squad laughed, and the others simply shook their heads.  The squad leader approached, and Abalar quickly took to his left side. Impressed by the discipline, Slick stood a little straighter. The squad leader glanced at Slick, and gave a small nod. Sergeant Slick quickly released his grip on the man, and took up a covoring position behind the man. Corvin took the other position, and the two troopers glanced at each other. The tension in the air was like a physical presence. They all hoped this would be a straight forward mission, but they all doubted it.
Sergeant Slick
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ack Squad

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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
December 5, 2009 10:11:44 PM    View the profile of Corvin 
There was a rattling noise, almost indistinguishable from the rustling of wind blown sand.

Then Corvin saw the hand grenade.

"Grenade!" he yelled, a moment before it went off.

Corvin found himself thrown off his feet, flailing wildly as he flew through the air. He landed heavily, and his shoulder went numb as he slammed into the sand. In a strangely familiar scenario, his forehead slammed against the inside of his helmet. Corvin's temple stung as the metal bracing of the helmet dug into his skin. Lights flashed in front of his vision as the helmet HUD flickered, then stabilized and started to display readouts. Dazed, Corvin lay still for a moment.

His thoughts were strangely disjointed, flowing one after the other for no clear reason.

Fraking grenade...how many times is it now? Arm feels odd. How did these traitors get this kind of tech anyway? What's that ringing noise?

Yelled warcies and the whine of blaster fire broke him from his trance. Corvin saw something glint to his left in the corner of his eye, catching the light from the sinking sun. It was his A-280, half buried in the side of the sand dune.

Corvin reflexively reached for the weapon, only to jerk back instantly with a hiss of pain. His arm suddenly felt as though someone had impaled it with a stake.

"Frak, frak, frak." he hissed, clumsily pushing himself up with his good arm. Staggering to his feet, the stormtrooper took a half-step forwards, swaying slightly. The pain lessened slightly once he stopped moving the arm, letting it hang limply at his side.

There was a hiss, and a blaster bolt exploded into the sand at Corvin's feet. Clumps of half-fused sand pinged off Corvin's leg plates as the trooper spun around.

The Blackjacks were scattered across the area, exchanging fire with indistinct figures. The traitors were dressed in the same ragged robes as their prisoner, but were also wearing what looked like Army-issue breath masks and goggles. There were easily a dozen of them, most of them wielding E-11 carbine.

Corvin saw a familiar figure lying on the ground, riddled with shrapnel and almost cut in two. The lack of a gas mask gave its identity away, despite the fact there was no face left to make sure. The prisoner wouldn't be answering any more questions.

With the other Blackjacks occupied and no orders, Corvin did what came naturally to him.

"For the Empire!" he roared, charging towards the nearest traitors.

Halfway there, he remembered that his rifle was lying in a sand dune behind him and his left arm was dislocated.

Too close to turn back. They'd noticed him, thanks to his yelling, and the other were busy. May as well keep the element of surprise. Maybe he'd surprised them.

Blaster bolts puffed into the sand around Corvin as he continued ran forwards, drawing his pistol as he did so. The nearest masked traitor turned, finger tightening on his rifle's trigger. His comrade was slightly slower, fumbling with a power cell as he tried to reload his blaster.

Corvin's SE-14 barked again and again, sending bolt after bolt into the traitor's goggles. The man twitched, then fell over, his mask bubbling and hissing as it melted.

A second later, Corvin heard the click of an E-11 trigger and the shriek of blasterfire as the other traitor fired.
ETRP/LCPL Corvin/4SQD/1PLT/1COM/1BAT/1RGT/Tadath/VEA/VE[ESC09][AoT][IH][HotC]
~BLACKJACK~
*Vehicle Pilot*
Read the bloody manual!
"Never believe a rumour of my demise. I have as many lives as a cat. Also as many teeth, as many claws, and the same cheery, cooperative disposition." Peter Wiggin, Xenocide
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"The Committee has also voted to change the name of the position, simply because no one liked the fact that its accronym spelled out Noo. "
Specter
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  RE: Traitor II (Blackjack)
December 5, 2009 10:53:13 PM    View the profile of Specter 
As Ryan stood next to Abalar and Slick something came flying out of the air and landed with a ping in the soft sand. A grenade burst somewhere near him. Where it had landed he did not quite know. What he did know was that he was now lying against a rock with a pice of shrapnel stuck in his chestplate. He pulled the hot metal from his armor with a grunt and tossed it into the sand, before standing up. Wobbling on unsteady legs, Ryan took in the situation around him. The view through his helmet did not afford the all around spectrum as his natural vision, but it wasn't so bad that he couldn't fight in it. Although it had taken some getting used to.

His first thought as he surveyed the landscape was " Where in the blazes do these guys come from?" Then his vision steadied and the feed from his helmet showed him the firefight that was raging. On the sand a couple meters away lay the body of the captured dissident. The man's unprotected stomach was covered in blood and he clutched a gaping red wound. Three nubs stuck up from the dissident's ribcage. Ryan saw by the rise and fall of the prisoner's chest that he was still alive, but barely. However, the former merc didn't have time to help the wounded.

The rest of the battle was scattered out where various blackjacks had landed from the explosion. A few were already on their feet and firing back at the dissidents. Two or three lay on the sand. Either unconscious or unable to move....or dead. But Ryan doubted that a simple hand grenade would have been able to penetrate the red armor that they wore.  How many of the hostiles there were it was difficult to say. There might have been ten, or twelve. Ryan counted seven up and moving.

Suddenly, a trooper rushed sprang up from the sand and rushed towards a cluster of the hostiles, while screaming through the com. " FOR THE EMPIRE!" Ryan's heart turned to stone as he watched the man run hopelessly towards the group...without any rifle. The trooper pulled out a pistol and began to fire at one of the masked men. He hit him several times in the face. But that didn't stop the man standing next to the downed hostile from opening up on the trooper with his E-11. Two blaster bolts pinged off of the trooper's armor.

Ryan raced towards the group, flipping the safety off of his A280. Suddenly, another trooper leaped into the fray. As Ryan neared the group he saw that it was Corvin and Loran. Loran had sprung out of the sand from where he had fallen and was filling the air with red bolts from his blaster. The hostile aiming at Corvin fell to the ground clutching at his leg. The dissident nearest him found its own blaster shot out of its hands by Loran, but that didn't stop the hostile. He, or she, leaped towards Loran and grappled with him for control of the trooper's blaster. With a quick jab to the throat and then a leg sweep, Loran had the man on the ground, fist raised for a killing blow. But the man hesitated. As he hesitated another dissident leapt on top of Loran and then all three sprang to their feet and began to fight it out, hand to hand.

The former merc cursed as he lined up the sights on his A280 and blew a hole through the head of the dissident who was clutching at his knee. Two more of the group rounded on Ryan, blasters raised. He depressed the trigger and red bolts streamed towards one. Korr stared through his helmet with cold indifference as the man choked upon his own blood and stared down at his broken body, littered with holes from the armor piercing blaster. Ryan turned the stream of fire on the other enemy and gunned him down amid a spray of blood. Then the former merc directed his fire upon the two dissidents grappling with Loran, only to find that one was already dead, while the other lay with his arm grasping at his dislocated shoulder. Ryan aimed and fired. There was a spray of blood and bone as the man's head exploded.

Swiveling back towards the men he had just gunned down, Ryna found that the man whose chest he had riddled with holes was still clinging to life. He walked over to the man, who lay gasping out his last breaths on the reddened sand. The man stared up at him with eyes filled with terror and a hard pride. Ever so softly, the man spoke, gasping through the blood in his throat.

" I....I was ju-...just defending...my home." The man said, clutching at Ryan's arm as he kneeled next to him, taking off his helmet.

The former merc nodded. " I know. You do not die a coward, you die bravely. You did what you thought was necessary. Rest in peace."

A smile crept across the man's bloodied face as he stared up into the sky. " ye-yes...now...now i can rest....in peace." With the last word the man gave up his last breath, shuddered, and died. The smile still upon his lips. They were not so different, thought Ryan. Not so different at all.

Ryan stood up, helmet in the crook of his elbow. All the other dissidents had been killed by Blackjack Squad. He remembered the prisoner and rushed over to the man, only to find he was already dead. Ryan gave a mental shrug. Such was the way of life.
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