“What do you mean, ‘Phoenix Company’s whereabouts are not recorded’?” Raziel asked quietly. He leaned close to the junior officer and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s just that, sir, when we had the sabotage over Sullust at the same time as the slicing attacks we lost a lot of data,”

“You mean to say – when I ask you where my best SCOPE troopers are – that nobody knows?” Raziel replied. There was a long pause as he stood over the officer and his terminal.

“Ah, it’s ok sir,” The officer replied after short, uncomfortable wait. “One of the analysts reports that Dragon Battalion have in fact reported for duty. They’re actually with us in the fleet.”

“Excellent, arrange me a shuttle and tell them I’m heading over. I want to see Phoenix Company.”

~

“Sergeant Major Tricko of Raiders Squad presenting Phoenix Company for inspection, Sir!” shouted the burly soldier in front of Raziel. On the ship’s hangar bay the whole company was standing in formation patiently.

“Where is Captain Havock?” Raziel asked quietly. There were no soldiers in SCOPE armour on the deck and that concerned him.

“Don’t know her sir, not in the Company.” Came the reply. Raziel turned to his assistant and shot him an inquiring look.

“And this is Raiders squad?” Raziel asked, indicated a squad of men with the wave of an arm.

“Indeed,”

“Helmets off, everyone,” Raziel spoke quietly to the Sergeant.

“Hemlets Off!” Tricko repeated with a tenfold increase in volume. Raziel took a moment to look around the deck.

“This isn’t the Phoenix Company that fought last year?” Raziel asked, deciding he didn’t recognise a single man from the room.

“No Sir, during Operation Sabre a virus bomb decimated the Regiment and wiped out the whole Battalion. It was reformed shortly after.”

“No SCOPE squads survived? Storm or Wildcard?” Raziel asked.

“Not to my knowledge sir,” Tricko replied. Raziel didn’t respond, he stormed from the hanger bay and left without a word. Later that evening he asked if the families of the deceased had enough been informed.

~

“What do you mean you’ve found them now?” Raziel asked incredulously the next morning, when he was woken up by a communication from a staff member.

“Phoenix company were on leave before the start of ‘Sabre.’ They were never flown out to join in, but were redirected to Thyveck for a special operations directive.” Came the response.

“How,” Raziel paused for effect, “was this not known before?”

“As I said sir, a lot of the main records were lost when they targeted operations support with slicers and sabotaged our forward ops posts with explosives. The paperwork still existed sir, just not in the main records system.”

“Thyveck? That’s that rock with the naval base Praite made a hash of?”

“Indeed, the last report we got from one of his subordinates suggested he’d lost control of some of his units.”

“Get me a marauder corvette, we’re going to Thyveck!”

He watched the newly arrived Stormtroopers walk through the streets of Bastion. His anger was not completely directed at them, only some of it. Most of it was directed at high command, who decided now they would finally show up and remember they actually had troopers on the ground.

The dust kicked up by the marching troopers filled the air. Only a few looked at him, he doubted he looked very much like a squad leader. His hair was long, his eyes bloodshot, and his mouth held a sour twist that was hard to remove.

Six long months they were here alone, no backup, no supplies. Then they show up with shiny new armor, weapons, and support. He wondered if they really thought that would make it all better.

He walked slowly back from the command center, his commission as Squad Leader was confirmed from Raziel. No words regarding the squads returning home was given after he asked for it. I guess six months is not long enough to warrant getting to go home. The rather angry voice in his head echoed his thoughts after a moment. He continued walking, his new armor feeling strange after wearing the pieced together collection for so long.

The wind smelled stale to him, he doubted he could taste anything but bile and blood now. What they had done to those men had not settled in his mind for the four days they had been back. Four days was not enough to even begin the healing process, not after such an event. Coupled with the campaign itself, he doubted he would ever be the same.

They had still been on mountain moving slowly back towards Bastion when they heard the engines overhead. At first they thought it was the enemy, but then the ships banked coming over Bastion.

The markings were unmistakable on the sides of the dropships, it was the Empire, they had finally decided to come back. No one in the squad cheered, he even noticed a few gripping their weapons tighter. He was one of the latter. They had had a long time for the anger to fester, by the time the ships came it was well and truly set in their cores.

They walked slowly up the road to the main gates, by the time they got their the troops had  begun spreading out through the city. He remembered going to walk through the gates, even as one of the Stormtroopers moved to stop him. They must of been a site, rusted pieced together armor, a random collection of weapons, even their jetpacks strapped to their backs. Mercenary group for sure, a very bad one at that.

One man though, he stopped them from being questioned. The man stepped forward and put his hand on one of his troopers weapons lowering it slowly. "My gods, it is them. It's one of the squads out of Phoenix company." He said barely above a whisper.

Joamer kept the squad moving up the street as more words reached him "They survived... all this time." Not turning around and decking the man was hard. They survived, and many more did not. Little good it would do to tell them what had happened, they would of not believed it. You had to be there, you had to experience it yourself to truly believe.

They stopped in front of the command building. They squad taking up positions outside, no one talked to the newly arrived reinforcements. The squad was not in the mood to talk really. Bright and Joamer stepped inside, heads turned to look at them. He recognized Raziel, and Havock of course. They were both now part of high command, and equally part of his anger. Raziel for seemingly abandoning them, Havock was letting them think she had abandoned them.

"Squad Leader Sergeant First Class Reistlin, and Assistant Squad Leader Gunnery Sergeant D'Jonoc of RAIDERS reporting in." He said to everyone in the room, his voice was neutral but he saw Havock's eyes narrow slightly. She knew he barely held his anger in check.

What was said in that room would not be a wise idea to repeat. The squad was given new armor, weapons, and supplies. Then told to sit tight and wait for orders.

----- Four days later -----



He walked in the building the squad was using as a barracks and sat down. Everyone looked over at him but Karash spoke first "Are we going home?" He did not bother to hide the hope he had in his voice. Their spirits were lifted some, but the constant refusal to be allowed to go home nagged at them.

Joamer shook his head and said "No, apparently fighting for six months alone does not warrant being able to go home just yet. They want us to stay, and keep fighting. New armor and weapons should be all we need now though, we should instantly jump back into perfect fighting shape after all." He made no attempt to hide the disgust in his voice.

"I think you need to calm dow..." An explosion sounded outside cutting off Bright's words. Standing up Joamer snatched his A280 off the wall and ran outside. Sprinting up the road he heard the squad following him a moment later.

Skidding into the command building he saw everyone scrambling. The room was barely controlled chaos as they tried to figure out what had just happened. Radio chatter was heard over the speakers as the female in the center of the room began organizing everything.

"Outer guns not firing, controls not responding. Patrols alpha 1 and delta 5 not reporting in." One of the operators said a moment later.

"Where do they patrol?" Havock said to the room. Her tactical training instantly kicking in. She nodded once to Joamer as he came to a stop in the room.

"West side of the fortress." One of the commanders said as he scratched his head. Picking up on the idea he continued "Nothing of value over there though, just a small side entrance to the fort... "

"What could they hope to gain from getting into the fortress?" Havock said after a moment. She and Joamer shared a look for an instant before she said "The shield generators."

He about faced so quickly he nearly ran into someone else. Running out the back door he gathered the squad as they made their way to the fortress.

The LAAT was rumbling through the air, the shattered remains of the Republic attack force burning and retreating below them as the Bastion’s garrison pressed their advantage. Death and smoke rose from the battle field as the war continued below them.

Gates had closed his eyes as they buzzed through the air. The medics treated the injured troops; Corvin, out of it, jaw bleeding heavily. Fear, his spine severed by the other trooper who was injured, Beta. The man had a black-and-blue bruise that was turning an ugly purple.

Gates felt nothing at two of the injuries, but he felt for his ASL. He and Corvin had served together for several major campaigns and they had formed a good relationship as friends and comrades. Fear was just some veteran they’d picked up, but now he was almost certainly out of action for a while. His ‘replacement’ had been the one who’d nearly put Gates and Fear in body bags, but Gates understood Beta’s situation: hostile environment and questions better asked later. The rules of warfare barely applied on this rock.

“Contacts! What the hell?!” Isen suddenly yelled. The blast-doors on the LAAT slammed shut to prevent its passengers from falling out and dying miserably. “There’s nothing else flying in this hemisphere!”

“That’s what I thought!” Gates growled. “Are they broadcasting IFF?”

“This is Thyveck, man! No one broadcasts - uh,” Isen finished meekly.

“Imperial?” Gates asked a moment later.

“Aye. We’ll form up with them. I haven’t broadcast my IFF in...five months, I’d say,” Isen declared. The LAAT changed directions and the throaty roar of the engines increased as Isen moved to join the descending Imperial reinforcements.

*** *** *** *** ***

A half-dozen squads of Stormtroopers, armor gleaming white, E-45s at shoulder arms, and began to spread out across the Bastion. Havock had led some of the remaining Phoenix troopers from their barracks in the Bastion to greet the Imperial landing.

The battered LAAT that had served them so faithfully arrived first, and the Blackjacks and Eclipses disembarked. Gates opened a channel to his squad.

“Stick around or get back to barracks. Keep your armor on, though. We don’t know if there’s another attack coming, so re-arm and get the injured to the infirmary.”

Beside him, Skarr seemed to be giving similar orders. Gates nodded lightly to him; the Eclipse SL had arrived at a good time in the last battle, and had likely saved lives with his quick actions and timely attack. Six months of guerrilla warfare; six months of scrapping and skirmishing with all colors of Republican soldier - the professional, commando, citizen, desperate. Six months of hell - but finally, a real victory.

From the third lander, a heavy command model, a man in a black uniform and a double row of rank pips on his chest emerged, a trio of alert Stormtroopers in combat kit flanking him.

Havock, Gates and Skarr saluted the man, who returned it. “I am Lieutenant Colonel Raziel, Tactical Officer.”

The man had the look of a seasoned soldier about him; he hadn’t risen through the ranks based on birth or status, though few Stormtrooper officers did. Havock stepped forwards.

“It’s good to see reinforcements. Has High Command finally decided to get involved again?”

“I don’t know how it happened,” the officer said, overlooking the slight tone in Havock’s voice aimed at him, “but your men were deployed on this hellhole right from leave. It never showed up in the databanks. The only reason I’m even here is because my aides found hardcopies of the orders.”

“So no reinforcements, sir?” Gates asked, his heart sinking.

“I’ve put out a call, but they’ll be a while coming,” the Tactical Officer replied. “I brought what could be spared, but I doubt it’ll be enough.”

The man shook his head. “Captain, perhaps we could discuss these things in a more private location?”

As they moved towards the Command and Control Center, Gates walked beside Havock. “Hav. Corvin’s WIA, so I’m out an Assistant. I’d like to brevet Valthir up; he’s got command experience, and he’s a tough sonofa bitch.”

Havock only had to consider it for a moment; the man may have lost a squad, but everyone had lost men on Thyveck. She nodded.

*** *** *** ***

Gates, Skarr, Valthir, Havock and Raziel sat around a conference table. Gates, Valthir and Skarr were still in full combat armor, dinged, battered and dirty.

“So there’s a troop transport in space?” Gates sighed. “How was Bastion command not aware of this? Un-fricking-believable!”

Havock nodded in agreement. “No wonder attacks have intensified, and they could bring so many more troops to bear.”

Garryll settled himself in for a long slog, still. With those troops in orbit, they’d have no choice but to stay and hold this world, as long as their orders stood.

The door hissed open. An extremely bedraggled man with long hair and a sour look appeared, a shorter woman at his flank, red hair dirty with sweat and combat-smoke.

"Squad Leader Sergeant First Class Reistlin, and Assistant Squad Leader Gunnery Sergeant D'Jonoc of Raiders reporting in,” said the man. His armor gleamed, but anger and distaste on his face at the sight of Raziel and even Havock rolled off him, poisoning his words, despite their neutral tone.

Gates didn’t understand Joamer’s - for that was the man’s usual callsign - anger. He could understand the emotion, but not its recipients. Havock had fought and bled right alongside Phoenix; hell, in his case, literally beside him in Raiders. Raziel was more of an unknown, but he’d brought help when no one else even remembered them.

The real problem here was the Governor’s incompetence and pig-headedness, and the awful mismanagement of troops in the brutal Thyveck campaign. It’s why Havock had split Phoenix off from Thyveck command, and Gates stood by the decision as it addressed the basic problem. It didn’t look like Joamer agreed.

Gates shrugged mentally. The man was basically an unknown to Garryll; he’d rarely seen anyone but Havock in command of Raiders, and hoped he’d be able to count on him if it came down to it.

*** *** Three days later *** ***

Gates and Blackjack were sitting in the mess when the messenger came. The man wore a grey uniform and a Sergeant’s bars, and saluted Gates quickly before handing the SL a datapad.

Garryll speed-read the information on the device and sighed. “It’s what we’ve expected - the Republic’s launching an attack. Get kitted up and get to the LAAT.”

Blackjack was ready in seconds; they reached down and donned their helmets and picked up their E-45s. It paid to operate on a switch - always be ready for combat. Gates’ order was almost unnecessary.

They stomped out of the mess, and moved quickly to the landing zone. Isen’s chief mechanic and crew were finishing their final touches on the LAAT, its carbon scoring covered by quick-seal gels and paints. Its weapons had been restocked and it was ready to fly.

“Isen, good to see you’ll be flying cover for us again,” Gates said, linking into the comm-net. The veteran pilot was the best Phoenix had, and they’d served together during the previous battle and frequently in the early days of the campaign, when the LAATs hadn’t been broken.

Isen chuckled across the line. “We’ll get this done, Gates.”

The blast doors closed and the LAAT’s engines rumbled and spun up. Gates spoke into his helmet link quickly, explaining their mission to his troopers.

“There’s a Republic armored column moving in on the Bastion from the east. They’re taking the same damn route as the convoys usually do. I don’t know the theater situation, but I do know this: it is imperative that we slow or stop that formation at all costs. We’ve got an LAAT, a crap-ton of explosives, and we’re us, dammit!” Garryll punched his fist into his palm to emphasize the point. His troopers nodded; they trusted him enough with war. “We have to buy time for the Imperial fleet to show up and finish this.”

The swirl of emotions flickered through Valthir’s mind as he attempted to process the quickly unfolding chain of events. Shock at Corvin’s injury and subsequent removal from active duty. Confusion about the vacated spot of Assistant Squad Leader. Surprise at the implied compliment given to him by being elected to step up. Elation at his new position, tinged with a hint of doubt at his abilities and a touch of disappointment that he got the position at Corvin’s expense, even if it wasn’t his fault.

A brevet promotion wasn’t particularly uncommon on the battlefield, as men of every rank and position were mortal and completely susceptible to injury and death. He was second-in-command of Blackjack now. Despite the animosity between the two, Valthir wasn’t particularly overjoyed about Corvin leaving, even if it meant getting a promotion.

He sighed as he returned to reality. The thrum of the LAAT’s engines beat a rhythm into his back, outpacing his own heartbeat twofold. Sitting with his legs splayed out in front of him and his back against the back of the LAAT’s holding bay, he looked down at his armor, seeing the reflection of his helmet staring back at him. It was a strange sight. For months his armor had been scratched and pitted, stained green from his extended stays in the jungles. For the last few weeks, he had been travelling with Blackjack, usually in the deserts and mountains, which lent a bleached look to his former armor. And now the armor, which he almost considered like a home for the amount of time he spent in it, was gone. It had been replaced by the shiny new plastoid armor that had been offered almost like gifts, attempting to apologize for abandoning Phoenix on this godforsaken planet.

His fists clenched slightly. His anger was more directed at an imaginary person who had made the imaginary order to abandon them more than any literal being. Havock wasn’t to blame, he knew. Neither was Raziel. In fact, it was he that showed up on the planet in face of the gathering Republic forces, just to lend them aid. No, it wasn’t their fault, either of them.

Better to let the anger go than to hold on to it. Pent up anger could be . . . dangerous.

He attempted a meditation routine, matching the rhythmic tune of the LAAT. A breath for every five thrums. Soon, the anger that had reared its ugly head had been quelled and he was as calm as ever.

The hum changed pitch. Valthir looked around, noticing that few other troopers had picked up on the difference. He exchanged a nod with his Squad Leader, who was standing on the other side of the hull. They were landing.

----------

The wind picked up soon after the LAAT left, whipping up what little sand it could grab in mini-sandstorms. Their makeshift landing pad had luckily been relatively flat, with sparse shrubbery clinging to what it could. A rocky slab, it had provided a perfect place to set up a temporary base as they took stock of their surroundings. The ground surrounding the slab seemed to be fertile enough to support a few trees here and there, which would give them some measure of cover for the moment.

“Spread out guys and cover the area. We need to lay these explosives quickly before the Republic troops get here. Be careful. Intel said that there are already scouts in the area. Go, go, go.” Garryll spoke quickly, jogging away as he did so.

The squad exploded into activity, spreading out into the shallow valley. Valthir set out, attempting to stay near enough to his comrades in case of an emergency. This valley was the perfect place for ambushes. However, that fact held true for both sides in the conflict.

Valthir was primarily attempting to find chokepoints, so Blackjack could funnel the troops into a spot and trap them. He found his spot about halfway into the valley, where the mountain sides sloped towards each other, ending in a sheer cliff that made navigating around the chokepoint impossible. The cliffs were around thirty feet tall and the gap between them was around fifteen feet across at the narrowest parts. It didn’t take long for him to concoct a explosive-filled trap for the Republic troops.

Their hatred of Imperial troops will be their undoing.

Smirking, Valthir caught a few of his squadmates and enlisted them in building the trap.

----------

The tanks were slowly advancing into the middle of the valley. The troopers that were surrounding it moved forward nervously. The scouts that had actually returned had reported Imperial troops moving about with explosives. Unfortunately, exact details about where the explosives were placed was unknown. The scouts that had survived had been chased off before the explosives had been put in place. If there even was any explosives to begin with.

Captain Kye Trache was an officer with a reputation of being unafraid in even the most volatile situations. His courage and bravery were legendary. Even the mention of his name was enough to spread morale to desperate Republic troops. Yet somehow, troopers that were within ten feet of him were terrified, their eyes shifting back and forth as their hands tightened around their guns at every foreign noise that could be heard over the steady rumble of the tanks.

Trache was crouching on top of a tank, staring down the scope of his specially commissioned sniper rifle. One of a kind, it was unparalleled on the planet in terms of sophistication. Ahead, he could see the mountains on both sides began to move closer to each other. He even saw the chokepoint, and recognized the danger that it presented. A normal officer - nay, a normal being - would be cautious in such circumstances, but caution was not one of Trache’s strong suits.

The troops closed the distance, slowing as they drew near. There was something in the distance, just beyond the chokepoint. Something on the ground. Many somethings. Trache raises his rifle and peered through the lenses.

He scoffed, “It is a damn graveyard. Who the hell puts a graveyard in the middle of a valley?”

Unfortunately, intelligence was not one of his strong suits either.

A rational being would approach slowly, attempting to discern the nature of such an obvious trap. Trache opted to hop off of the tank and walk straight up to the end of the choke point. The troops followed him slowly. The tanks moved into a single file line as they reached the choke point, with the troopers moving in close as they squeezed through. Some even climbed up on the tanks themselves, mirroring Trache’s earlier position.

One of the troopers in front ventured forward hesitantly, glancing around with obvious fear, “Umm. Sir? I don’t think we should be this close. This is most likely a trap. The scouts said -”

“I don’t care what those blasted scouts said. I think those frakking Imperials were trying to trick us. They haven’t even been able to keep their troops supplied, much less get their hands on some explosives. They’re just trying to trick us.” Trache spat, letting loose a string of curse words, all aimed at slandering the Imperials.

“B-b-bu-” the trooper began again.

“Quiet. I know what I’m doing. Now let’s see. What is this?” Trache snapped, his attention moving to the graveyard.

The graves had been hastily constructed, with the “tombstones” consisting of nothing more than a circle of stones shaped in Imperial spoked wheel lying on a raised patch of fresh dirt.

Trache let off another bout of cursing, gesturing wildly at the graves. He stepped forward.

“That’s right you frakking Imperial. I’m alive and you’re dead. Who the big man now? Huh? Huh? That’s right.” Trache bellowed.

“Umm. Sir? I don’t think you should raise your voice. . .” the trooper spoke, still hesitantly.

His timid warnings were drowned out by the raucous shouts of his commanding officer. With a final yell, Trache raised his rifle and pointed it at the grave in front of him.

“How do ya like these apples?” he said, pulling the trigger.

The bullet exited the barrel of the rifle and ripped into the grave, entering the metallic body of a pressure mine. Trache died with a smile on his face as the explosion stole the air from his lungs, burning them beyond hope of recovery. He was catapulted back, pinwheeling comically through the air and landing on the hull of the lead tank. His unseeing eyes stared up at the darkening sky as his uniform ignited, burning his lifeless body.

Valthir watched his handiwork from a safe location in sight of the chokepoint.

A martyr for his cause. Fitting.

OOC:

Guys, you can post about events from your points of view. I tried to leave space for some expansion right after we get dropped off. Maybe take out some of the scouts?

The LAAT rumbled off, reaching for altitude. It would stay at a few hundred feet up until Gates or Valthir called for it. The E-45s in their hands clicked as they moved around the plateau, moving with purpose.

Gates sighed as he was presented, once again, with the high-tech display of the SCOPE armor’s HUD flickering as it drew up new data, jacked into the satellite feed and gave him real-time intel stream. He could see the armored Republic column moving up the valley. War made easy, he mused. Air cover at my fingertips, intel right in front of me. High-tech weaponry in my grip; how could we have been losing?

“Spread out guys and cover the area. We need to lay these explosives quickly before the Republic troops get here. Be careful. Intel said that there are already scouts in the area. Go, go, go,” Gates ordered, flicking his fingers into their hand signals automatically, despite the short-range comlinks.

Valthir walked over to the valley’s edge and stood there for a minute, thinking. After a few seconds, he waved the two nearest troopers over, who happened to be Beta and Aether.

Hostile contact icons appeared on Gates’ HUD. “Scouts moving in. THX, Lightray, on me.”

The two named troopers fell into step behind him, and Gates led them towards the enemy locations. Gates readied his E-45 and heard the clack of the troopers doing the same.

The forward scouts were moving quickly but quietly up the valley, their camo-cloaks and patch-colored clothes helping them blend into the stone and grasses that made up the steep valley walls.

Gates aimed his ‘45, the rifle coming up to his shoulder. “Sitting ducks. They never, ever look up.”

Three rifles spoke, rapid fire laser bolts spitting from all three weapons. Their first shots filled the point man with burns, and killed the man extremely thoroughly. The others reacted expertly, diving for cover from where the fire was coming from, but still, three were pinned to the ground by laser bolts before they reached cover.

“Spread out and keep the pressure on,” Gates ordered quietly. There was no need to shout in such a low-key battle; no tanks, artillery, or bombs; just a few blaster rifles exchanging fire. Low-key war. Gates hated it so; at least with large-scale, you always knew who wasn’t on your side, wasn’t a guerrilla with a rifle in his clothes somewhere.

These unfortunate scouts were following the rules to an ambush; get your head down before you start shooting. That was good policy - but there was a reason that ambushes always inflict casualties. The element of surprise always trumped everything; firepower, tech, armor. Add in superior cover and the high ground, and Blackjack’s attack on the scout squad was textbook.

Half of the scouts were already dead and cooling on the valley floor. The others were withdrawing further up the valley, their own blasters firing repeatedly. These men had good aim, and even under heavy fire, they formed an orderly retreat, their fire disciplined and accurate as could be under the circumstances.

Gates ducked and then went prone, bracing his rifle on the valley edge, where the steep cliff dropped off. From there, his position was stable and he glared through the scope, blasting away at the Republic scouts edging back. Another man fell, hit by a shot from Gates and Lightray simultaneously. The younger man chuckled at the coincidental shot, but Gates merely shifted targets.

The two groups exchanged fire for another minute until the last three unwounded scouts managed to drag a couple of their injured comrades around the bend. Lightray rose to his feet, intending to move further down the plateau and keep the pressure on, but Gates held up a closed fist. The man stopped.

“No point chasing them. They know we’re here, and they’re at best foggy on what our trap’s going to look like,” the SL said, rising to his feet. His once-unblemished armor was now marred by the red stripes that Blackjack bore as their mark of Elite, the dirt he’d just lied down in, and close blaster shots scoring carbon on it. The marks gave it character; now he was truly at home in it, convinced it wasn’t defective and unproven.

*** *** *** *** ***

Blackjack was crouched by their next trap, around the next bend. This time, they’d placed triggered explosives in a wide area that preceded a chokepoint, with addition explosives inside the chokepoint to create a landslide. Valthir and Aether were observing the handiwork, and a small image on Gates’ HUD showed him what was going on.

A large man with a sniper’s rifle and captain’s bars stomped up to Valthir’s trap. Gates was surprised at the sheer stupidity of the man as he first yelled a minute’s straight worth of expletives and Imperials in general, and then proceeded to fire his rifle into the dirt at his feet.

The results were equal mixtures of hilarity and maximum effect. With one swift stroke, Blackjack killed the leader of the formation, crushed morale with the prospect of a long, drawn out guerrilla fight, and slowed the Republic attack force down to a crawl as they wallowed in confusion.

“If this happens every time we set a trap,” Gates chuckled dryly into his link, “then we could hold them off until doomsday.”

OOC:

We’ve got bombs in an open area of the valley floor, but also on the walls of a chokepoint. The idea is to wait until we’ve got a bunch in the open, blow the open-area bombs, open fire, call in the air strike, whatever. After a minute of surprise, we blow the chokepoint and skedaddle to the next good location.

Graveyard minefield update: mines are all over that chokepoing, so it's likely that they Republic will trigger several more and explode some more.

OOC:

ECLIPSE

Anival stared at the troopers of Eclipse with a critical eye, over the last couple of months they had fought hard, they had fought against the odds, and they had made many mistakes. They should have all been dead. Anival could only think of two reasons, they were better than he gave them credit for, or, they had an abundance of luck. Anival was beginning to think it was the latter.  Anival was mentally taking notes of what Skarr was saying, a figure stepped into Anival’s field of vision, and he instantly recognized the species.

On his planet the military academy would routinely buy Cathar males and Juhani, let them loose on an enclosed space, and hunt the creatures down, whoever killed one in hand to hand combat was instantly added to a record log and promoted, Anival’s name was on it, a memory he now carried in shame.

By the little knowledge Anival possessed he could tell the Cathar was still young, he looked green, but determined. Anival let loose a rare smile, not a smile he used for public events, or when he had to charm his way out of a tight place, it was an actual smile, the Cathar reminded Anival of Zeshuan, a Trandoshan who had become Anival’s comrade, even though Anival had been a bigot.


He made a promise then and there to do everything in his power to help the Cathar survive, and even thrive in the corps.

“Sir, sorry to interrupt, but we have a new face, and he smells of cut grass.” Again, a joke, he hadn’t joked in what felt like forever.

“He does look green. Alright trooper what’s your name?”
“Private Thengal, sir.”

“Alright, private I would introduce you, but for now you go with-“

“I’ll take ‘im.”

Skarr looked skeptical. “Alright, go with Anival.”

“Alright, you have your orders go and do ‘em!”

“Come on Thengal, we have to watch over the damn wall. We get some charges, basically overgrown grenades.”

Anival led Thengal to a ledge overlooking the lower wall, it was a sniper, and counter sniper position, Anival nodded at some of the men around him. 

“Alright, Thengal, keep your head down and your claws retracted.” Again with the jokes

Anival waited for the inevitable attack, Thengal let out a loud growl and crouched, just as a shower of purple and green lights stopped feet from their heads, it was a bombardment.

“At least the shield holds.”

The Republic troops advanced slowly, miserable at the sight of their blown-apart commander flopping limply off the lead tank and onto the ground. The few minesweepers and bomb-defusal experts in the company cautiously made their way to the front. Trache had been confident that their attack would go without a hitch, and had elected to swap auxiliary support troops like these specialists out for another tank. He’d probably regret it if he was still alive.

Carefully, a half-dozen minesweepers moved into the fake graveyard. One swept his metal detector to low to the ground and triggered an explosive, tearing his leg apart and bleeding out in under a minute. Ironically, the only dead in the ‘graveyard’ weren’t Imperial, but Republic soldiers.

Another specialist lost his life during the operation, but soon enough, the Republic forces were moving along. Valthir nodded to Aether, and the two soldiers wordlessly withdrew back to the rest of Blackjack.

The tanks rumbled through the chokepoint, their commanders yelling orders and pointing their hull-mounted machine guns at anything they thought wasn’t part of the terrain. Gates kept his binoculars focused on the opening of the chokepoint as it fed into the wide portion of the valley. The binoculars had tinted lenses to prevent a glint of light giving away his position; the SCOPE Stormtroopers’ T-visors were similarly designed.

Valthir crouched behind cover next to Gates. A slight pant was in his voice across the comlink. Gates had the two detonators beside him, but neither was armed, yet. Around the near edge of the valley, Blackjack was dug in, waiting for the signal.

Tanks spread out as they entered the open area, as Gates had anticipated. Lighter vehicles raced ahead. The new commander of the company seemed to be more cautious as he deployed his lighter forces ahead first, and sent in scouts and minesweepers to investigate the obviously good area for an ambush - the opening into the next ‘compartment’ of the valley towards Bastion Defense.

The scouts and minesweepers moved into the mouth of the chokepoint, cautiously looking for explosives. Gates blinked slowly; they’d find no explosives where they were looking, as the explosives were nested in the crevices higher up in the wall. More tanks rumbled into the valley, their treads kicking up dirt and muck.

Static crackled in Gates’ ear as the LAAT’s pilot jacked back in. “My sensors show you’ve got a whole company assembling in the damn valley, Gates. You’re either the stupidest or the gutsiest man I’ve ever flown cover for.”

Gates grunted in reply, and brought up the locations of the triggered explosives on his HUD. Blinking red lights appeared in the field, amidst the rumbling, idling tanks. Gates flipped open one of his detonators and flicked the arming switch, which lit the red activation button. The weapon was live.

*** *** *** *** ***
Lieutenant Birch had taken command of the tank company after Trache’s demise. Unlike Trache, his command involved a lot more cautious inspection of a situation before action. Birch had long considered his superior rash and foolish, and he reveled in the fact that he was right. Too bad that the only war dog had died, sure. But it meant Birch would soon be getting new rank pins, especially after this offensive - now his offensive - succeeded.

Already, his minesweepers were moving forwards to disable the obvious Imperial trap. Birch knew that the area was ideal ambush area, so he reacted accordingly. He drummed his fingers on the edge of his tank cupola and gripped the machine gun in front of him loosely.

“Sir!” said his comm operator from within his command tank. “Report from the ‘sweepers!”

“They’ve defused all the explosives, then?” Birch asked. “Can my command move forwards, now?”

“No sir! There were no explosives!”

“What? Give me that!” Birch snapped. He yelled into the wired radio transmitter at the hapless scout sergeant on the other end. “Find those damn explosives! They have to be there! Search harder, you buffoons!”

The sergeant could only reply with a ‘yes sir.’ He gestured for his minesweepers and scouts to move back into the chokepoint and check once again.

The minute the last man stepped between the two pinched walls, Gates stabbed his thumb down.

Explosions wracked the valley walls, rocks smashing and sliding down the wall, tons of compacted dirt and rocks rolling into the chokepoint. Instantly, the squad of scouts and minesweepers were crushed into pulp and died, never knowing what was coming.

Birch screeched in anger at the perceived slowdown in his offensive - this was his ticket to the upper ranks, why was everyone failing around him?

He was still yelling as another lieutenant, a few hundred meters away and above, set aside the first detonator and picked up the second, flipping its switch and pressing the button. Lieutenant Birch’s command tank exploded into a fireball, resting right over one of the scattered explosive packs when it received its electronic command.

A dozen and a half explosions flamed to life in the Republic formation. Men were thrown into the air, broken, surprised, dead. A couple other tanks exploded, and a third was flipped over, its tread mangled beyond repair. Soldiers screamed as they realized horrific injuries - blown off limbs, organs smashed by concussive force, friends destroyed. They waved their weapons around, milling, hopeless and confused, without orders or direction.

“Now. Hit them now,” Gates spat into the comlink. “One strafe. They’ve got some AA down there, so watch yourself.”

Isen’s LAAT roared in a dive as it descended from 20,000 meters to only hundreds in seconds. Targets flickered on his target screen and Isen and his co-pilot acquired targets. Auto-loaders fed missiles into the long, heavy launchers mounted on the LAAT’s wings, and the chain turrets on the LAAT’s chin screamed as the aircraft opened fire on the sitting Republic company.

The Republic forces were battered again, but the force deployed reacted, even without orders. Infantry turned their rifles to the sky, emptying their power cells at the LAAT. A couple anti-air vehicles, long gattling cannons mounted on a tank chassis, traversed, trying to lock the quick-flying gunship in their sights.

“Now’s the time, Blackjack,” Gates said into his comlink, setting the other detonator down in favor of his E-45. “Open up, on the AA guns. Two clips, then we withdraw to the next point.”

Blackjack’s troopers had been waiting for the order for the last ten minutes. When it came, they were ready, their targets already centered in their scopes. E-45s weren’t much of sniper weapons, but they would suffice. Pinpoint, rapid fire E-45 bolts slashed from the carbines of the squad, cutting at the AA guns. Shots hit the operators, and the Republic soldiers’ confusion only increased. Isen's LAAT turned, and came back for a second run, his sights set on the now impotent AA guns. Missiles took each as they sat inoperative, rendering them useless.

They were besieged from every direction; above, below, and now this, from an unknown source. Dozens of soldiers merely hit the deck, hoping beyond hope that there wasn’t any more explosives. They were lucky to be right, this time.

Gates finished emptying his second clip and ducked his head low. The rest of Blackjack was finishing their second clips as well, and were crawling backwards. All in all, this ambush was a fabulous success; they’d inflicted damage, slowed the Republic soldiers down and never even been spotted.

Ghosts of Thyveck, indeed.

Bright's eyes widened at the sound of the click. Turning quickly she noticed Joamer standing stark still. For an instant she froze and her mind blanked. Even after all this time on Thyveck in the situations they'd been in, never once had Bright actually entertained thoughts that one or more of them could die. She'd always been optimistic in the knowledge that the RAIDERS would persevere through any hardship and any deadly situation.

Now, faced with the glaring reality, she was suddenly at a loss as to what to do. What would happen if Joa were to really fall in battle even to a hastily set trap in this place it was a harsh possibility. They'd gotten lucky with the slip trap and that Heliwer had not been seriously injured. But trip mines were different. She caught Joa's eyes for a moment before she made her decision.

"Raiders, Move!" She called directing them forward after their pursuers. This was not something she wanted to face. She was not the leader she needed to be for this squad but there was nothing she could do for it.

As the last of the squad, Tviana moved past her, Bright looked back up at Joa. "Move D'Jonoc, that’s an order." Joamer said giving her a hard look.

Bright saw right through his ruse. "Way to go, Reistlin." She said bending to examine the area around his boots. "You just had to go and step on a trip mine didn't you."

"Gunney, I'm going to have you court marshaled if you don't move." Joamer said  looking down at her. Bright simply gave him a look and sat back on her haunches. "Karash, Get them further out of range. If Bright and I can't figure this out in another thirty seconds move on ahead." Joa ordered the Medic.

Bright rolled her eyes. "Don't wait either. Every second you waste waiting for us the closer those clowns get to the generators." Bright called over her shoulder.

She didn't watch as Karash shook his head and move the rest of the squad forward in pursuit of their quarry. Bright began calculating in her head as to the possibilities she could try. Most of them time consuming and dangerous. They had time for neither. She stood up and looked around not liking what she was seeing and refusing to let her SL die due to a stupid yet effective trap set up by New Republic Commandos.

"Well neither of us is going to like this," The red head said simple taking a stance almost two arm lengths away from him. She held out her left hand and sighed. "It's the only option I can see."

He sighed once then said "If we die, I'm coming back to haunt you." Before gripping her hand in his.

Bright gave him a grin and took a deep breath. "On the count of three and I'm counting." She emphasized the last part of her statement before counting. When she counted three she gave a hard yank toward her, putting her faith in their brand new armor to absorb much of the impact and to protect them from the heat of the explosion that suddenly rent the air around them.

She was thrown backward and landed hard on her side. Joa landed a little farther ahead of her and had landed on his back next to the set of stairs that Karash and the other had taken.  It took a moment or two for her mind to return to working order again. "Oh damn I should have worn my helmet." She muttered getting on to all fours.

The helmet in question now lay in a dented and burned out husk near where the explosion of the trip mine had occurred. "Bright, remind me to never do that again." Joamer groaned from near the stairs.

Bright made her way over to him and helped him to sit up. "I should have just left your ass here. Where is your helmet?" She asked. When he just looked at her with a huh what expression she said it again. "YOUR HELMET?" She asked yelling over the ringing in her ears and possibly his.

"Don't know." Joa said standing and nearly landing back on his ass. "We need to keep moving."

Bright feeling wobbly herself, nodded and they both managed to slowly climb the stairs to the next level.

Valthir grinned slightly, reflecting on the battle from the beginning. The explosions ripped the life from beings on the battlefield as the flaming wreckage of tanks crashed to the ground. An outsider, looking at Valthir’s expression in the face of such events, would thinking the morbidity of the situation is what brought forth such happiness. Because that is what the grin signified, happiness. To Valthir, however, he could care less about the carnage going on before him.

His positive emotions could be attributed to the overwhelming sense of victory he was feeling right then. One squad - no half a squad - had taken out almost half of the original force. A feat that quite possibly had yet to be accomplished on the planet, and probably wouldn’t be replicated anytime soon. They had done the impossible. For months they had scrounged by on what they could, suffering humiliating defeats here and there, but never giving up. And now, it was worth it.

The Ghosts were back.

The explosions ripped apart the already unstable forces apart. Their leadership was gone, torn away in quick succession.The chaos rippled through the ranks as the realization spread. They were leaderless, and without orders. Most were simple footsoldiers, utterly lost without someone shouting orders at them or without a clear objective. Others, though, were of the more intelligent variety. 

Rayoz Daan was a simple Sergeant, at least as far as appearances go. Seemingly mild mannered, he was simply a krayt in bantha’s clothing, waiting for a chance to seize a opportunity to take command. And such a opportunity presented itself. In the aftermath of the blasts and the strafe by the LAAT, their forces were reeling, confused and bewildered by their mysterious opposition. To some, it couldn’t get much worse; to others, it most definitely would.

“Now’s the time, Blackjack.”

The order was given and the E-45’s sang, painting a symphony of destruction as more enemy troopers were cut down. Short, precise blasts took their toll as the AA operators shuddered and slumped in their seats and the guards surrounding the machines jerked and fell. With a roar, the LAAT swooped one more time and launched a barrage of missiles at the AAs, destroying them beyond any hope of repair.

Their momentary attack finished, Blackjack slipped back into cover, moving to the next ambush point. The Republic troopers were left to recover from the sudden and devastating attack. Daan chose his moment well. The blaster fire had just finished and the last body slipped into the cool embrace of death, as he stood up slightly and began to shout orders. Though slightly unsure of this sudden emergence of unforeseen leadership, he seemed to be a leader nonetheless and they obeyed. Seeking someone to direct them, they looked to him and he didn’t let them down.

He did his best, directing them to split up to avoid presenting such a large target. Although his actual experience with leadership was close to nil, his charisma captured the hearts of the troopers around him and the moved. Alas, he played right into Blackjack’s hands.

Valthir was near Garryll as they slowly made their way back down the slow ridge that dropped back to the ground in a rather steep slope. He stopped as Garryll did, watching his superior as the man inclined his head . An almost imperceptible nod and Valthir realized that his SL was engaged in a conversation with someone. He held his tongue until the man stepped forward.

“Anything new?” he spoke, relaying the message through a private channel.

“Intel just finished analyzing geological records for this area. There is a large cavern within meters of the surface on the other side of the pass that could lead to a sizeable sinkhole if the surface was broken.” Garryll replied, a hint of joy breaking through in his gruff voice.

It was good news indeed, and Valthir grinned yet again, feeling as if Garryll was doing the same. The gears ran as both reached a conclusion in record time.

“Sinkholes would cause a rift in the army if a good deal of them were on top of it when it collapsed. How far across does it stretch?” Valthir inquired.

Gesturing, Garryll pointed out various landmarks to denote the possible boundaries of the potential sinkhole, based on what intel had given him.

“So one explosive in the middle to break the surface,” Garryll mused, “Which means someone is going to have to cross the gap, place the explosives and high tail it away, all in full view of the enemy.”

Opening up the squad channel, he relayed his findings and the plan. When no volunteers offered to do the deed, Valthir sighed and spoke up. He would rather attempt it than someone else, due to certain abilities he possessed, speed and agility being key. Apparently, his willingness loosened the tongues of the other troopers as Beta and THX spoke up and chose to accompany him.

“You know where the explosives are stashed. Try and keep your head down because you’ll be seen and shot at. We will stay here to try and draw some of the enemy troopers away.”

With a nod, the group broke and went their ways.

He paused at the second landing, his vision going dark for an instant. As he came too he was starring at the ceiling, Bright and Karash standing over him. He watched their lips moving, but heard nothing but a loud ringing.

His brain felt three times too big for his skull as he became aware of a massive headache. Sitting up, he watched Bright got bent out of shape before he was pushed back down. He blinked a few times slowly, trying to get his vision to return to normal. If it had not been worrisome he would of laughed at how Karash's face was swirling around randomly.

Raising his arm he flexed his fingers, doing an emergency check over his body. It was a simple procedure, it let you do a quick check to see if anything was wrong with your limbs. After a minute of Karash watching him, he became aware it was something much worse. He could move everything, feel everything, but everything was also blurry, and not exactly working the way it should.

Bright opened her mouth to say something but stopped and looked at the medic for a moment before sighing. She had a forced smile on her face, which brought Joamer to an immediate worried state. He looked at each of them back and forth, reading facial expressions before sending the hand signal for Get on with it.

He tried to follow what Karash was saying but gave up as he looked over at Bright. She sighed again, her face going dark for an instant before the fixed expression came back.

After a second she began the hang signals. He thinks some sort of brain trauma from the explosion, concussion is a guarantee. Most likely caused by the concussion wave, swelling in the brain in multiple places. As time goes on it will get worse, hearing and motor cortex are the first affected.

He did not need to hear the rest so he nodded once and starred at the ceiling some more. He heard the squad behind them, they were quiet. He was not sure if they were worried for him or happy he was injured. He had driven them hard these last few days, and now he was on death's door step without a doubt.

All your years as a soldier and this is how you go out. He thought to himself, without experiencing everything life keeps as surprises for the bold. He knew he needed medical attention, but nothing on this planet would save him. Otherwise the squad would of been moving before now. He had known enough battlefield triage to know he was not dead just yet, but his time was limited. As it progressed it would get worse, eventually losing the ability to even fight effectively.

Leaning up, he raised his A280 and steadied it. Or tried to, his aim was off, his hands shaking with the strain of holding the rifle steady. The implants in his head that allowed him to control his cybernetic arms were being affected by the swelling. Basic signals were being cross-fired in a system that should of been state-of-the-art.

Gritting his teeth and snarling he forced his body to obey him, after a few very long seconds the rifle steadied. He ground the butt of the rifle on the floor after a moment and stood up slowly. Using the Wall and rifle for support he forced himself to his feet. He pitched forward a second later but his left leg shot out and caught his fall. Catching his breath he slowly stood straight and turned around.

He looked at each member of his squad in turn. Mixed facial expressions looked back at him. Popping his neck once he gave the signal to move out. They looked at Bright, but she remained motionless. After a moment they turned as one and headed up the hallway, slowly checking out each intersection before moving on.

Long minutes passed before the two in the lead stopped suddenly. He watched as they both moved forward before slowly pulling off a wall panel. This trap was more complex, small energy emitters were rigged to pressure plates in the floor. If tripped they would fill a ten foot section with enough blaster bolts to decimate anyone. What worried him was that they were placed at head height, or just below it. Even if everyone had helmets a few shots would get through the protective skinsuit area of the neck.

He looked over at Bright, still unable to hear anything. She looked back at him a moment later, her face having the same worried expression on it. She had realized too just how devious these commandos were being.

No amount of training could ever prepare a person for war or battle. Simulations were just that: simulations. There were no real men dying left and right. If your partner got shot then, he’d still be there again afterwards. On the battlefield, there was only one chance to survive. You get shot in a vital organ? You’re done. You trip a trap? You’re done. And despite all of this, Treble was still able to smile and be positive.

She had arrived just a short while ago to this hell hole of a place. When she had initially seen some of the squads arriving, they looked like hell. Their armor was wrecked and their eyes seemed dark and filled with bitterness. Some were more wrecked than others. Treble had heard from the others around her that they had been stuck here for six months without help, and, when she looked back at them again, suddenly the darkness and generally hardness in their eyes made sense. Such things left people broken and it changed them.

Treble would not let herself be changed.

She asked around until she found her newly assigned squadron, Eclipse. Skarr, her new SL, began giving orders as to where they were to go. She had stayed back towards the edge of the squad, taking in her surroundings. The guns had gone silent. That wasn’t a good sign. Skarr began giving orders. They were to hold the wall. Simple. Straightforward.

As soon as the orders were given, Treble was off to the wall with squad members she hadn’t met yet. Despite that though, she began chattering as they made their way up the wall.

“Damn. Long drop down,” she said, looking over the edge. Her eyes scanned the ground below and then made their way up to the Rebel forces approaching them, “Few of us. Many of them. Whatever. Numbers don’t always win.” Treble began speaking to herself loud enough for the people beside her to hear.

Suddenly she heard the sound of a gun being fired and commotion. Treble’s eyes darted around until they caught onto a man tumbling off of the wall. He was headless. At least that had to be painless for that man. A quick death is better than a slow and painful one. The situation had gotten the others talking and soon some of the troopers began shooting at a figure who disappeared seemingly without a trace. Not long after that, a sniper blast collided with the stone fortress and a speeder down below picked up the one responsible.

So they were playing that game were they?

Treble heard Skarr’s voice over the comm. She chuckled silently to herself. The Rebels would get her bullets to their heads no problem. And maybe, if she was lucky, Brev was somewhere down there.

Suddenly, she felt herself pitch forward. The man next to her grabbed her and pulled her down as the explosion rocked the place.

“What the hell was that?” she called out.

“It didn’t sound good.”

“Could it be related to that figure from earlier?” she asked, but her question was lost among the commotion.

Sergeant Gherz Alter was nervous, more so than he had been so far in the entire campaign. He marched beside one of the lead tanks. He glanced around anxiously, trying to keep his cool. He gave nods of encouragement to those soldiers that he managed to catch the eye of, despite terrified within. His mind started to wonder as he thought of all the ways he could die. Quickly, he clamped down on such thoughts and forced them back.

No, I can’t be thinking things like that. Not at a time like this. I have to be strong, or at least appear to be strong. For the men.

He again looked around him. Yes, these were his men now, at least for the time being. He had been given command of this half of the remaining offensive force. It was a platoon of troopers and it was all his. His heart soared, then abruptly plummeted.

Only a platoon. I get half of our forces and it is only a platoon. That is how much we’ve lost . . . My god these Imperials are going to pay. They will burn for what they’ve done.

The previous elation had been replaced by a burning desire for revenge as the sergeant mentally steeled himself. He hopped up on the tank beside him as they rode forwards. He felt important for having gained control of a whole platoon. Unfortunately, he was forgetting that he had the tactical and leadership ability of a rock and that he was only appointed to the position because he was friends with Daan. As they drew closer to the entrance to the branch that one half of Blackjack had previously entered, Alter began to shout orders. He had no idea what he was doing, but was simply mimicking Daan, whom he saw as a superior.

The platoon moved at a steady pace and warily rounded the corner into the fork, peering down their rifles. They were fully expecting a trap, and would not be disappointed. For the moment, however, they saw no signs of anyone. Until Gherz, who sat atop his tank, saw something the others didn’t. While his leadership abilities were decidedly lacking, his eyes were keen enough to spot the distant figures of Beta and THX as they carried their burdens through the thick grasses that lined the outside edges of the mountain-sides.

His raised voice carried and he managed to spur the troopers directly around onwards. Those troopers relayed the orders to their fellows, and the platoon moved on to what seemed like victory. Their pace increased and very few actually looked at where they were going. Gherz’ tank was at the forefront of the host as they swept into the pass in pursuit of the two Blackjack troopers.

Valthir watched them the entire way, silently judging their progress. He knew he’d have to press the button soon to have a chance of surviving the next few minutes. He’d have to run for it once he pressed it. He had been estimating the size of the sinkhole and realized that it could very well be larger than he had expected. Getting up from his seated position he began to move through the grass, never taking his eye off of the enemy forces.

Any second . . . almost . . . NOW!

Punching the trigger, he took off at a dead run, not caring for secrecy. He wasn’t watching as the explosion ripped through a tank, spreading shrapnel that killed most of the troops in a ten foot radius. He didn’t see as the ground caved in right below the ruined tank, sending cracks running through the hard dirt as the unstable ground gave way. The sinkhole spread, growing into a gaping maw that swallowed up everything in its path. It swelled to meet the sides of the pass and stopped, reaching the stone foundations. Most of the platoon disappeared into the darkness of the sinkhole, leaving less than a fraction of the original strength.

Valthir continued to run, as those who were spared recovered from the shock of seeing their comrades disappear into the darkness and began to fire at the fleeing figure.

“Beta! THX! Get ready! They’re right behind me!” he yelled into the comms, still moving.

Arms pumping, he kept low to the ground as he darted towards the end of the pass, where a clump of trees lie. Silent and still, the two troopers from Blackjack were in the trees with their guns pointed towards the enemy troops that were tailing Valthir.

Reaching the temporary haven of the trees, Valthir immediately assessed the surroundings.

“Any chance we can scale the rocks?” he asked hopefully.

THX replied quickly, “None. A sheer wall on all three sides. Our explosives won’t be much use here.”

“Then we fight. We don’t have much of a chance for surviving this. I would say it’s been a pleasure serving with you two, but I haven’t been here that long.” Beta said.

Hopes were falling as they realized they wouldn’t be able to survive this on their own.

“I wish we had some of those flyboys out here. Death from above and all that. That would help out quite nicely right now. Too bad there aren’t any.” THX muttered.

Flyboys . . . Flyboys . . . Frak me. Why didn’t I think of that sooner?

Opening up a comm channel, Valthir spoke rapidly, “Isen! Isen! We need you. Get that tin can over here and light up some targets, pronto!”

“I’ve got your position. ETA two minutes. Hold steady, I’m on my way.” Isen replied, overlooking the sharpness of Valthir’s tone.

Grinning, he relayed the good news to his two comrades.

“Now we hold, and hope for the best.” Valthir said confidently.

“Lieutenant,” Isen’s voice crackled in Gates’ helmet. “Diverting to pick up your troopers, Gates. It sounds like it’ll be a hot pickup.”

Garryll had heard the crump of explosives, but he’d been moving away from it at the time; he’d merely assumed they’d succeeded, as his quick-moving fireteam had quickly exceeded the short range of their helmet comlinks a minute before.

“Very well. Pick them up and then home in on my location when you get them,” Gates said, voice calm. He’d served with Valthir for only a short time, but the man was dependable, intelligent, and deadly; he’d get himself and his team out of any mess they’d managed to find themselves in.

A tank shell screamed over head as the pursuing Republic remnants stopped to shoot again. They’d done a hell of a job wiping out a good portion of the attack force already, but the enemy numbers could still do significant damage to the Imperial position if they could get to Bastion Defense. The fork in the road had split the Republic forces less than he’d hoped, though.

Only a platoon would die by Valthir’s hand, and several hundred men and over a dozen tanks still remained. Still piss-poor odds for any army in this galaxy.

Another shell slammed through the air, its coming heralded by the explosion of firepower. This time, though, the ground shook instead. The shot was low, and had slammed against the valley wall. A mini-slide was caused by the explosion, and dirt and pebbles rolled down the steep slope.

They didn’t have enough time to set any more explosives; they were barely staying ahead of the Republic formation as it was. Tactics for this situation dictated withdraw and regroup, but the ‘book’ as they say, was not applicable in the situation they found themselves in. He’d just have to change things up, as they couldn’t just go and keep running. They’d run out of space to run, so they had to fight at some point.

Gates again reveled in the technology of his helmet; it made war a far easier expedition to plan. Execution still boiled down to blood, sweat and guts, though. They were jogging towards another chokepoint in a hundred and fifty meters, and the tanks were sticking right on them.

“We collapse the valley again here,” Gates spoke quickly, spitting the words out between breaths. Full-combat load and running didn’t mix well, especially for a long run like this. He could feel those six long months of constant fighting and moving in his bones - and those three days of rest after the victory on the plains hadn’t been enough. He wasn’t yet thirty, but he’d been a soldier for almost a decade. Either way, Garryll wasn’t as young as his birth certificate said.

“How, boss?” Lightray replied. The junior soldier was younger, and he hadn’t seen those long months or years of war. “We won’t have the time for enough explosives to do what we did last time; those tanks will just stand off and blow us to hell.”

“That’s the point. We’ll halt there, antagonize ‘em, and hope they do the job for us. If not, we can just keep falling back until we can try again,” Gates said. “Now keep moving.”

They kept running. Every few seconds, another one of the Republic tanks would speak again, and a shell would scream up range and try to kill the Stormtroopers.

*** *** *** *** ***

The lead Republic tank shook in its treads as its 105mm cannon spoke again, the huge slide slamming back again. Hoyle shook in his driver’s seat, ears protected by heavy earphones that doubled as his comm gear.

“Imperial dogs! Running like cowards!” his commander yelled, anger obvious in his voice. “Stand and fight! Jack, shoot those sons-a-bitches!”

“Wilco, boss!” said the gunner. The clanging of the tank auto-loader filled the cramped space as another shell was stuffed into the large cannon.

Driver Hoyle personally thought that these Imperials were far too clever for their own good - they’d done absurd damage with such limited resources. The only reasons could be bad luck and poor leadership.

Again, the cannon boomed, and another twenty-pound bit of brass and death sought to end the Imperials.

“Wait, what?” the tank commander asked, confused. “Those Imperial infantry. They’ve stopped, and they’re - urk!”

The commander flopped, dead, down into the crew cabin. A charred injury leaked blood all over Hoyle, who gulped, bile suddenly rising in his throat. He frantically shoved the dead man off of him, a sob forcing its way free of him.

“Shit!” the gunner yelled, responding instead with anger. Laser bolts ricocheted off of the tank’s top armor, and Hoyle feared one that would bounce inside and kill both of them, until the gunner wriggled back and slammed the commander’s cupola shut.

“Oh, they’ll pay,” the gunner - Jimmy - spat, wiping some of his friend’s blood off of his cheek. “Hold us steady, Hoy.”

“R-r-roger...”

*** *** *** *** ***

“Okay, this was not one of my best plans,” Gates muttered. The chokepoint’s edges were wide, and the three Imperial troopers were dancing about on it, drawing the lead Republic tank’s fire. They’d remained lucky so far, and hadn’t been express-mailed to the next world by a supersonic brass messenger, yet.

The tank had hammered at them, and at least three shots had shaken the chokepoint’s walls. Gates was starting to get nervous - he was lucky, but usually not this absurdly lucky. Probably a good idea not to keep pushing it.

“Withdraw!” Gates barked, letting his E-45 stick on its sling. He withdrew a large satchel charge and tossed it down to the edge of the cliff. It slid to a stop and Gates moved away, hand gripped tight around the arming trigger. This had really better work. He was getting tired of running.

When they’d gotten a few dozen meters away, he armed and activated the trigger. The results were satisfying as the chokepoint collapsed, rocks tumbling into the pass.

“Good,” Gates muttered. “Now - let’s keep moving. That’ll hold them, but not forever.”

Heliwer believed that Cayla was good. He honestly did try to believe that she was good. But there was a problem: how she disarmed the trap. Shooting it must have set off the commandos that were probably close by. The trip mine act they had installed on the end of the first level, was probably put in as a multi-kill weapon, hopefully to take out most or all of the squad. When they heard Cayla shooting the traps, they must have doubled their dirty tactics, because the next booby trap was a dummy one. The real one, a kind of bouncing betty slash frag grenade shot up to shoulder height just a foot away from Heliwer, triggered by the cutting of a wire of the dummy one. Shrapnel tore through the thin armor by his shoulder, and a big chunk got wedged deep in his right shoulder. The blast knocked him over, ears ringing a little bit. When Karash came over quickly to sort him out, the big trooper replied, “Hey doc, don’t give me any of that placebo shit, save it for Mox so he thinks he’s a good trooper.”

The medic ignored the comment and using a knife, cut away the rest of the thin protection that was left. He slid the right arm piece off, leaving from the shoulder to the hand uncovered and perfect targets for more bouncing betties. Using his tools, he attempted to extract the shrapnel from the shoulder. It wasn’t easy. It was in there good and deep, and Heliwer had not felt this much physical pain in a long time. Eventually, he managed to yank it out and stifle the bleeding. Heliwer, however, was watching Joamer’s chest slowly rise and fall until it stopped. “Doc, Joamer’s flat lining!” He yelled. Karash turned and shot over to the squad leader’s side and began working to get him back to life again.

Of course, Heliwer was not gonna lay around. He sat himself up, groaning a little at the pain in his arm. Cayla came over quick to help hold the trooper up and keep him from keeling over. Since the squad had discovered that she was one of them, a  RAIDER, Heliwer had tried to get a move on with her. The problem, as ever, was Joamer and the stupid rules of command. No squad relationships. His infatuation with her reached a point where he once struggled to keep his composure. All that changed in the recent few hours. He had thought long and hard, and decided that the mission was more important than the relationship, and that when they eventually get back, which he hoped was soon, he could try again away from the dangers of blaster fire and Joamer.

Shaking his head, he looked at Cayla. “Not the first time I’ve been wounded, hun. Not the last. But defiantly the first in a long time.” He chuckled, trying to fool himself.  His body was saying that he needed to bleed out to get rid of the pain, his mind said get up and act, his heart said talk to Cayla. All three different parts of him: His body answering to the primeval part of him lost in the convoy mission, his heart to his feelings, his mind to the recent promotion to Lance Corporal.

After a minute or so, Joamer was stable and got up to take point again. Heliwer decided to take matters into his own hands and stood up in front of his squad leader, their faces inches apart. He took a deep breath and using his hands and by talking slowly, albeit softly so that if Joamer could hear as well as he did before the trip minem he would be the only other one able to listen to the words that Heliwer was conveying.

Listen, you don’t like me. I know that. You don’t like me cause of my disrespect for senior officers, for my flirtations with Cayla. None of that matters now, though. You may be on death’s doorstep, bud,

He paused as the right words fell into place.

But dying or not, you are not expendable. I, on the other hand, am. You can get me a dime a dozen, but you only every million or so troopers. I’m taking point, and if you disagree with me… well… shoot me. One less headache to worry about.

OOC:

First post since my knee operation