The shuttle cabin was filled with a low chatter, creating a gentle buzz of conversation. It was nothing more than idle talk, but it was a good way to keep the nerves down. Even experienced soldiers such as them still sometimes got a bit nervous before missions. After all, the day one goes without fear is the day that one should retire.

Val was not much of a conversationalist, preferring to dwell within his own ramblings rather than entertain others’ thoughts. As was a practice of his right before missions, he studied each of his fellow soldiers, attempting to read them as best as he could. Most of his squad he knew well enough to be sure of how they would react to most anything, so he briefly glanced at them. There was one of the occupants of the shuttle that drew his eye, however.

He stood near the front of the cabin, conversing in low tones with Garryll. In full armor, he presented quite an imposing figure, the ARC armor accentuating the dangerous look that hung about the man. The man’s face was stony granite, giving off a feeling of cold indifference. The only skin that could be seen was his face, and it revealed a rather pale complexion that severely contrasted with the roughness of his facial structure. His cheekbones were high and pronounced just as much as his jawline was, stretching the skin tight, which may have accounted for the lack of skin color. Scarred by a few cuts and burns and coupled with the bone structure, the man’s face was a nigh unforgettable one. But it was his eyes that was the most surprising.

Orr was a predator. One only needed to take a glance at him to pick that up. The way he carried himself, as if he was ready to launch into action on a moment’s notice or spring on unsuspecting prey. The way his eyes slid across the room, latching onto each and figure and never quite letting go as nothing escaped his gaze. The faintest traces of the baring of the teeth, with a small hint of growling that was almost imagined. He was a wolf, a predator. Every aspect of him contributed to that, except for one.

The brilliantly red eyes sat inside their sockets, hidden behind half-closed eyelids that were only for show, for he was always alert. They shone like stars in the sunlight, sparkling like mist from the surf caught in sunlight. One looked into those eyes and was trapped, drawn in like a moth to flame. His eyes were beautiful, almost unnaturally so. One could not help but come near to see such a spectacular sight from closer. Once caught by that gaze, it was difficult to look away and it drew you in, slowly but surely. You could not break the stare, but why would you want to?

And then the knife enters your gut and you bled your intestines out onto the floor. His eyes were dangerous, even more so than any other part of his body. They belied innocence and trustworthiness, which was not part of Orr’s personality in the slightest. His eyes broke barriers more effortlessly than credits, if such a thing could even be possible. While others would have been quick to hide them, he flaunted them, which spoke more about him than most other things.


A shudder startled him, shaking him out his analysis of Orr. The shuttle rocked as it hit the atmosphere, rapidly slowing to compensate for the air resistance. Val let go of the restraint bar that he had been gripping, stepping away from the wall of the cabin. The cabin was small, so there wasn’t a large amount of room to move in, forcing Val to maneuver his way through the crowd over to where his squad leader stood. As he approached, Garryll nodded at him.

“Val. I don’t believe you’ve met Commander Orr yet.” he said, gesturing towards the man standing beside him.

Val turned to Orr and snapped off a partial salute, tapping his index and middle finger to his forehead, “Sir.”

“I would tell you to be at ease, but you seem to have beaten me to it.” Orr replied, repeating Val’s gesture and grinning slightly.

“I’m not one for formalities and I would give a guess as to say that you aren’t either.”

“Too true. Good guess.”

“Sorry to cut it short before you’ve begun to get acquainted with one another, but the pilot says that we’re about to hit groundside and we all need to be ready.” Garryll interrupted, bringing his hand down from his ear, signalling that he had just received a transmission.

Stepping forward into the midst of the crowd, he spoke into his internal comms, which ensured that he would be heard, “Guys, listen up. We’re about his groundside, T-minus 30 seconds. Be quick, but be quiet. Intel has assured us that we’ll be unnoticed, but as you all know, intel can be wrong quite often, so we need to err on the side of caution as much as possible. As soon as the shuttle touches down, bang out in a hurry and head towards the vents. They’re vertical, so we’re going to have to rappel down in teams. You have about twenty seconds to pick a partner, so get to it.”

OOC:

Take it away, Blackjack. Let's show 'em how it's done.

It was comfortably warm inside the Sentinel-Class Landing Craft as it descended through the frigid atmosphere of  Anteevy, despite the sub-zero temperatures outside the thick armoured hide of the troop transport. The life support systems of the ship, combined with those built into the armour of its occupants, kept them nice and toasty. Throughout the interior of the craft, red-armoured soldiers went through their various pre-battle rituals, doing whatever helped them to get their head in the right space and attitude for the combat that they were even now descending towards. Some of the troopers joked and laughed amongst each other, and though the content of the jokes weren’t anything new, they still laughed anyway, glad for the distraction from the prospect of the looming battle. Still others remained silent, lost in their own private thoughts and memories. One guy even seemed to be asleep, so used to the pre-battle flight that he was using the opportunity to catch a quick nap before the fighting.

One of the troopers who was joking and laughing – the only one who was laughing because he actually was hearing the jokes for the first time, didn’t appear to be worried about the battle ahead at all, the smile on his face genuine instead of forced, and his eyes still twinkling with youthful mischief as he laughed heartily at a joke about Ewoks and javelins. He loved the ‘Dead Ewok’ jokes more than just about any other type of humour in the galaxy, despite the crudeness and moral grey area that they occupied. It wasn’t because he got a kick from how wrong the jokes were, or that he liked living dangerously. He simply really hated the furry little bastards who had managed to put a stop to the 501st Legion on the forest moon of Endor and had set off the chain of events that had resulted in the breaking up of the Galactic Empire.  His blue eyes twinkled with amusement as he related an old but good joke involving ten dead Ewoks, a trashcan, and a surviving Ewok in the bottom.

His hair matched the armour of his comrades, tinged with reds, browns and tan, but his armour was a stark contrast, painted in an arctic camouflage pattern designed to blend in with the world below – though red highlights were visible on the shoulders. Still, there were subtle differences between the armour that he was wearing and the standard SCOPE trooper armour that his comrades had donned. For a start, the abdominal plate that protected the lower torso of the man wearing it had been removed entirely. Though the protection it provided was invaluable, the ab plate made a lot of movement, especially bending and crouching, all but impossible. For someone of the…particular talents that he possessed, the plate was a liability, so it had to go. In its place was a black armour-weave cummerbund that appeared to have been ripped off of a set of Imperial Storm Commando armour.

Also missing were the thigh plates that protected the upper legs of the SCOPE trooper – though also vital for the arteries they kept safe, they were heavy and restricted movement by a considerable degree. They’d been left behind as well, and the upper legs of the laughing soldier were unprotected – a calculated risk, gambling on the increased speed and mobility to keep him safe from harm. After all, it had worked for stealth specialists the galaxy over. It’d work for him. Most distinctive, however, was that he had also replaced the SCOPE trooper helmet with an old Imperial Scout Trooper helmet, instantly identifiable by the advanced communications array that made the ‘snout’ of the helmet, and the advanced magnocular visor that gave him exceptional visibility. The helmet was resting on his thigh. Beside it, strapped to the back of his armour and rolled up, was what appeared to be a large, white fur blanket.

His gear marked him out as a different breed to the heavily-armoured shocktroopers that surrounded him – he was obviously someone trained with more finesse in mind, as opposed to the brute force that was obviously the hallmark of the red-armoured shock troopers that he had been assigned to, if their heavy weaponry and lack of care for camouflage was any indication. Terror troops, he mused to himself. The kind of soldiers that /wanted/ to be seen, so the enemy could have time to cower. It was the exact opposite of his own fighting style, one honed through years spent as a law enforcement officer, and his time after that as a member of the Vast Imperial Navy and a Special Warfare candidate. Didn’t mean, he decided, that their styles couldn’t complement each other nicely.

His name was Sam Dunn, and though he was the newest member to Blackjack Squad, hailed as the ‘Elite’ squad in the Stormtrooper Corps, he was certainly not new to warfare, having seen more ground combat in his short time in the Vast Imperial Navy than he’d any right to. Unfortunately, however, the army didn’t think this experience qualified him for any specialized gear, so he had been forced to improvise, gaining his Squad Leader’s permission to modify the standard SCOPE trooper armour as he saw fit. He’d contented himself with repainting it and swapping out some of the parts, knowing to do any more would probably being more trouble his way than it was worth.

He looked over at his partner, code-named Crest, a trooper whom had specialized in stealth and marksmanship, and as a result had been given access to proper scout armour. Sam immediately crushed the pang of armour envy that he felt, knowing that he’d qualify for gear along those lines before too long – he simply had to remain patient. He smiled at the younger man, and gave him an encouraging ‘thumbs up’ gesture. He knew this was going to be the man’s first real battle, and resolved then and there to make sure it wouldn’t be his last. Sam, of course, didn’t have all that much experience in stand-up infantry fights either, but he planned to let the rest of the squad deal with the heavy lifting – his job would be to locate the ARC team and provide whatever support he could. A small, confident smile appeared on his scarred face. Sam had no doubts that they would succeed.

That was when the warning came – thirty seconds until landing. Sam immediately sprang into action, unlatching the restraints on the seat he was in and getting to his feet, removing his E-11 Blaster Rifle from its own restraint and making sure that the safety was switched off – as the bloke in the front of the crew bay, he would be the first one down the boarding ramp, so he had to be ready for anything. He quickly double-checked his gear and slammed his helmet onto his head, watching as the world around him disappeared for a second, before it re-appeared in high definition as the holographic visor built into the helmet kicked in, his Heads Up Display providing him with a riot of information. He lowered his center of gravity and braced for the shock just before the landing craft touched down, and thanked his lucky stars that he couldn’t hear any blaster rifle.

As the ramp lowered, a blast of cold air blew right into his face, and he was damn glad that he wasn’t some poor Rebel wearing nothing but padded clothing. Say what you will about SCOPE armour, it was great for deflecting wind chill, Sam Dunn mused to himself, as the extra bite of cold he felt in his stomach and legs made sure to point out. Fortunately for him, he was an ex TIE Fighter pilot, and those things had no heating other than what you brought with you. Used to the cold of space, he didn’t mind the lack of ambient warmth as much as he might otherwise have, and the thought brought a small smile to the young man’s already paling lips. His blaster rifle was already aimed in front of him, the crosshairs superimposed over his HUD telling him approximately where his shots were going to land. He thundered down the ramp even before it had finished opening, leaping clear and landing in the snowy ground below even as he unfolded the stock on his rifle and brought it up to his shoulder…

…and sank six full inches into the soft frozen water. Oh bloody hell, that was right. A world this cold was going to have a thick snow cover, which meant that he was going to leave very, very obvious footprints in his wake. So much, he mused with a soft, heartfelt sigh, for stealth. The moment a patrol came by here and saw the footprints, the game was up. He looked down the scope of his rifle at the snowy tundra that was inside his arc of responsibility, sweeping his gaze and rifle back and forth until he was satisfied that there were no hostiles in the area. Keeping his rifle aimed, he spoke softly into his helmet’s mic.
”Sarge, we’re gonna leave one ‘ell of a trail ta follow with all this bloody snow. We’re gonna ‘ave ta do this quick if we wanna to keep tha element o’ surprise.” He voiced his concerns professionally, including a suggestion for a possible way to at least lessen the negative impact of the problem, determined to keep a positive tone in his quick tactical appraisal.

When the group was ordered to move off by numbers, Dunn waved Crest forward with a quick field signal and advanced, his rifle panning back and forth in front of him, keeping low and moving with a rolling, predatory gait, the walk of an experienced killer, making full use of the thermal imaging that his Scout helmet allowed him to check for any life-forms in the area, making sure to look fully around the area, double-checking that no-one was sneaking up behind them. Satisfied, he kept on crunching through the snow, annoyed that he was being slowed down to little more than a swift jog by the thick layer. Still faster than the rest of the squad, in their full heavy armour, but Sam made damn well sure not to get too far ahead. A recon specialist he may have been, but he didn’t want to lose the guys who were supposed to be watching his back.

It wasn’t long at all before he encountered the….uh….clearing that surrounded the vents, a wide area of slush that was only semi-melted by the hot air rising from the vent. Noting that it was a little warmer here, Sam smiled softly and took every bit of joy that he could from the small improvement in the situation, having long since learned to enjoy the little things in life. He immediately did a quick sweep of the area for any hostiles, before dropping to a crouch at the edge of the clearing, trusting Crest to cover his back as he set up one part of the perimeter that would form once the rest of the team got to their destination – which was not very long at all. Keeping a watchful eye out on the snow, he could only hear the conversation between Garryl and the ARC man, whom seemed to be a man after Sam’s own heart when it came to fighting styles.

“Dunny, Crest. You guys have training in this infiltration-stuff, right? Get down there, take point. Let’s move in.”

Sam Dunn silently nodded his acknowledgement of the order and rose from his crouch to a standing position, turning nimbly from the perimeter and advancing towards the vent, already reaching for his grappling hook and liquid cable dispenser. He nodded to Crest as he hooked the grapple onto the edge of the vent, and got into position at the opening, unspooling the cable slightly. Once everything was ready, he without hesitation dropped down into the vent, controlling his descent with the cable in one hand, his other gripping his blaster rifle, the stock now folded down, and keeping it at the ready, eyes open for whatever surprises were waiting for him as he descended…

OOC:

WORD COUNT: 2,035 words.
POSITION: Rappelling down the vent.

Anteevy, feels just like home. Kilroy thought as he provided overwatch for the Blackjack scouts as they slowly descended the exhaust port.  Waiting for the signal, indicating the moment it was his turn to go down, the Cadian couldn’t help but feel nostalgic about his time near the Caducades Sea with his twin brother. A bit colder than a Rhyzan winter, but then again, I’m not scavenging for food or doing mock battles with live ammo at the age of 4.  He reminisced, chuckling as one of his brilliant ideas came to him. 

“Kilroy, you ready?”  Valthir, the squad’s second in command asked, unaware of what was about to happen.

“Is the way clear?”

“I presume so, why?  Wait don’t do i-“

The Cadian couldn’t hear the rest of what Valthir said, for he had already jumped into the vent, practically diving in head first.  Guessing randomly when he reached the middle, the veteran soldier quickly put into practice his old rappelling techniques, slowing his descent.  Oh man, totally worth it!  Kilroy grinned, imagining the looks upon Captain Garrylls face as he realized the horror that is unleashed.

---

Captain Garryll, commanding officer of BlackJack squad and hardened veteran, was entirely embarrassed over what just happened.  Looking to his left, he couldn’t tell whether or not Commander Orr was thinking of executing the Cadian, or if the soldier would fit better in the psychiatric ward.  Before he could ask, the ARC trooper motioned towards the opening, a clear indicator that the mission came first.

“We’ll go down nice and slow, hopefully not come across the eccentric bastard on the way.”

“Sir?”

“Think refuge in audacity, add some military training, and you get one highly capable…but incredibly idiotic trooper.”

Taking note of this, Garryll decided that it would probably be better if he kept Kilroy within smacking distance, if not on a leash.  Despite this, the trip down the vent went relatively according to plan, albeit not as fast as his second in command. I hope that Specialist knows what’s good for him, How in the hell did Preacher put up with his antics?  He thought, briefly wondering if he heard Orr mutter something about mongrels or not.

---


“Hey Dunster.”

“Yeah Killjoy?”

“I jumped without the rope.”

“Did you record it the fall?”

The conversation between the Navy transfer and Galm member continued on like this for a while.  In order to keep radio silence while searching for the ARC prisoners, the two were chatting via point-to-point laser receivers set into their helmets, a very handy piece of equipment in Kilroy’s opinion.  Ever since Blackjack received Dunny and Crest as transfers, he found a rather surprising amount of rapport with the former TIE pilot.  The others would love this guy.  He thought, a twinge of guilt rendering his mood a bit moot.  While he was out on the field with BlackJack, the rest of Galm was off somewhere, working on an entirely different mission.

“Doors coming up, breach and clear or should we find another route?”

”Sir, we’ve got two doors – one has two guards manning an E-WEB, covering the stairwell that’s behind the second one. I’ll bet my Wampa Fur Blankie that our ARC buddies are further down, and I for one don’t want to take an elevator. Means we’re gonna need to take out the guards quietly…not really your area of expertise – I’ll do it. Crest, I think it's time ya showed me that knife trick of yours."

Knife trick? What? Oh, that knife ‘trick’. He’s going to be slightly disappointed at me.

“Copy that, Dunny. I don’t have a knife on me, so I’ll grab Mr. Moustache, since he has a knife on him.”

“Alright, on three. One...two...three.”

Dunny pushed open the door and let Crest through. Crest put one hand on the side of the door, pulling himself through the doorway. Grabbing at the knife hanging on the belt of Mr. Handlebar, Crest kicked him, reversing Mr. Handlebar’s knee into a way which it was not supposed to go. Next, using his own wire cutters, he stabbed right below neck, cutting into the man’s windpipe. Mr. Handlebar’s scream of pain ended up in the form of a sudden decompression of the lungs. Taking a small jump to get more leverage, he aimed the knife at the slight bump at the back of the neck. Mr. Handlebar attempted to grab his side arm, but before he could, the knife slipped through the vertebrae, severing the nerves. Handlebar dropped to the ground without a sound.

“Ya killed him, mate? And where's the knife trick that I asked for?” asked Dunny.

Looking over towards Dunny, Crest saw that Dunny had killed his own person. Crest replied, “Na, not just yet. He’ll die in a few minutes, though.” Seeing Dunny quickly look back at the motionless body and then back at Crest, Crest clarified, “I cut the nerves, so he can’t breath, nor can his heart pump blood. That's also the trick.”

He checked his armor, which, somehow, had no blood on it. His wire cutter was covered in blood, which he quickly cleaned off, by rubbing it on the armor of the Mr. Handlebar. He then realized he had the knife. It was beautiful. The blade was a shiny silver color, with gentle rolling engraved lines on it.

Clipping it onto his belt, he remarked, “To my first kill for the Stormtrooper corps. Shall we go on, Dunny?”

“Room clear, move up.”

Damn, that guy is impressive. Taking down two guys that quickly is no easy feat. However, he did kinda comprise our stealth, not that I can blame him. The entire squad, except Dunny, is clearly uncomfortable at stealth.

Following the unspoken agreement, Dunny moved forward to take point while Crest moved in behind him. This time there was only one way to go since the stairwell came down at the end of the hallway. It also ended with only one door. Crest watched as Dunny removed the fiber-optic camera and checked the doorway. Becoming impatient as Dunny just kept checking, Crest queried, “Well, is it clear?”

“No,” responded Dunny

“Okay, so what is there?”

“A room.”

“What’s in the room?”

“Enemies.”

“How many?” asked Crest becoming exasperated at Dunny’s reluctance to share information.

“Plenty. About, say, 20 to 30.”

Curse it. We can’t take them out silently this time.

Turning around to Gates, he saw the squad leader lining up the rest of the squad.

“Behind us. Now,” Gates ordered.

Crest walked over so that he was behind Orr. Dunny lined up behind Kilroy. Slight body movements made it seem like those two were talking but it was hard to tell.

“Alright, time to breach and clear. For you two new people the order will be myself, Valthir, Kilroy, Orr, Dunny, Crest, Maroy and last Soulblade.”

Kicking open the door, Gates pushed on through letting his blaster fire. Valthir followed him, followed by Kilroy, followed by Orr, followed by Dunny. As soon as Dunny cleared the doorway, Crest emptied his mind and charged in behind. He flicked his E-45 to auto and brought it to his shoulder. The room was not quite that being more of a small warehouse with a many crates laying around The Blackjack Squad, being more used to this type of fighting, had killed most of the troopers inside. A grayish armor stuck out among the black armor.

“Sir, I request permission to take the guy in the gray armor alive in case he is higher ranked.”

“Granted. Do it. Squad, keep that guy in the gray alive.”

Emptying his clip on a group of soldiers, Crest rolled off to the side.  He oriented himself, reloaded his E-45 and started running toward the guy, hoping with everything he had that the camo armor would give him the slight break needed to take the guy out. Reaching about one meter away, Crest coiled his legs and jumped at the guy. The guy never saw Crest as Crest hit him on the side, tackling him to the side. Rolling on top of each other, they slammed into a crate. Pushing hard, Crest pushed the guy up and to the left of the him. Jumping on him in an attempt to restrain him, Crest was met with iron-hard resistance.

Crest had been ordered to take the guy alive. The guy had no compunctions though. He slipped his hand toward his side arm and brought it up. Slipping off to the side to avoid the first shot. Crest responded by kicking the elbow. The gun dropped, and Crest went at restraining him another time. The guy made a mistake of trying to roll onto his stomach in an attempt to re-grab the gun. Crest shifted his entire weight on top of him and pulled back the guy’s arms. With no leverage, the guy easily lost. Crest waited for Blackjack to clear everything.

Dunny reported in, “Clear!”

Kilroy corrobated the statement. After a few more seconds Valthir reported the clear and was followed by Gates. Soulblade confirmed it another time. Orr waited ten more seconds and reported the clear.

Walking over to Crest, Dunny slipped on a rope on the guy’s wrists. Standing back to examine the guy, Crest saw that the armor was not actually painted gray but had had its original black paint scraped off through usage.

“Sir, he’s no one special. His armor has had its paint scraped off. It was not painted this color. It was painted black.”

Slightly trembling in rage, Crest thought, I nearly wasted my life on just a false tip!?! May he rot in hell for almost killing me for no reason.

Pulling out his disruptor pistol, Crest aimed down his sight and fired.

Soul was shocked by the brutality of her squad. There was no reason for Crest to kill that man. Even though the he was not the high ranking officer they were looking for we could have still questioned him. But the past is the past, no reason to worry about it now.

Soul did not trust this A.R.C commander, he reminded her of the enforcers of the gangs in Coruscant. But he was with them on this and she would trust him with her life just like the rest of the squad they were all in this together. Soul look around  the room once more and saw a door on the far left wall. She walked over to the door and and found it to be locked.

“Sir we have a locked door, there might be something good behind it” Soul said to Gates.

Soul judged Gates a good leader he cared for his troops and was not afraid to lead from the front. “He is the kind of leader that was the first to step on the field and the last to step off,” She thought as he rest of the squad came over to the door.

Dunny pulled out  his fiber-optic camera and took a peak under the door.

“We got contacts looks like 10 to 15 spread across the room, some dug in, the  others are  patrolling.” Dunny reported as he look into the small screen on his H.U.D.

“Well Killjoy looks like your lucky day” Soul said.

Soul found killjoy odd. His love of big guns was one she shared. But his “itchy trigger finger” seemed like bad news to her. Orr walked over to the door and broke the lock in a matter of moments.

“Its open” Orr said.

”go go go” yelled Gates as the door flew open.

The sound of blaster fire still made Soul jump a little as she ran into the room and took cover behind a rapidly setup fortification. The bolts hit the metal and made it bounce slightly. She checked the sights of her rifle again, only to see the face off armored goon in her face. She pulled her knife out of her belt and put it against her arm, before slamming the butt the butt of her rifle into the face of the goon. He staggered back and she plunged the knife into his chest and twisted it in a circle, and pulled it out. The man then picked Soul up by the throat above the ground. Soul grabbed the pistol off her left hip and aimed the blaster at his head and fired 6 rounds into his face leaving a twisted black mass where his face once was. Soul fell to the ground and lay there for a few seconds to regain her breath. she then leaned back up against the cover she was in before and fired a few rounds at the enemies. Soul slammed a new clip into her E-11 and took a deep breath.


“This is going to be one hell of a mission” Soul said as she got ready to fire again.

The bolts flew and the bodies fell. Through the fog of war, the battlefield came into scope. A rather small room crammed with a handful of mercenaries, all focused on stopping intruders who were certainly coming through a select few entrances. They were alert, fully so, and unable to be caught off guard. Focused, they watched carefully for any signs of life.

It was quiet, with nothing more than the clik-clak of armored boots upon a metal floor to break the silence. The occasional cough shot through the room. Then something changed. The guards near one end of the room heard it first, a faint scraping noise. They drew their guns and the movement rippled out from there, each merc reacting and freeing their chosen weapon. The air hung heavy for a few moments as the mercs waited, hoping that the noise was only something of minute importance.

The door thudded open and bolts began to fly. The firefight was brutal, the cramped space adding fuel to the already dangerous mix. A cacophony of sound and light shattered the calm of the room, lighting it up with a brilliant range of colors. Sparks flew as shots rebounded off of the metal floor and walls, ricocheting every where, eventually ending up either dissipating into the air or burying itself in a body.

If Val had been a outside spectator watching such a scene, he would have been in awe. It had a beauty to it, a purity not found in many other places. Even in the midst of death, blood, and gore, it seemed a symphony made for the gods, the flashes of light playing out as guns went off and sparks flew, all in tune with the heartbeat of the battle, the subtle ebb and flow that flowed this way and that. It was an orchestra, with every sound, every light, every death playing a part. As every life blinked away, either fading gradually into darkness or going out in a blaze of fire, so did the tune of the orchestra change, an never-ceasing thrum of activity which overshadowed war.

Even as he fought, Val thought. It was an unavoidable thing, really. He was a natural thinker, and so, thought would come in the situations which most brought him calm. Oddly enough, these situations happened to be during battle. His mind traveled the expanse of the room, noting each visible enemy and keeping tabs on them. As a result, his shots were more measured and precise as he moved into a spot that wasn’t easily visible. Within a few moments, he had downed two mercenaries, at the cost of his cover. As the fire began to rain down onto his meager barrier, he moved on, keeping low to the ground as to present a smaller target.

In the process, he caught a glimpse of a few of his own troopers. Almost all were firing away without a thought to their ammunition, which was a precious commodity in enemy territory. Making a mental note to say something about it later, he moved his thoughts back onto the battle, or rather, what was left of it. Smoking remains littered the floor, as the few remaining mercenaries attempted to retreat, only to be taken down just inside the exit by a combined burst from a few Blackjack troopers.

“Everyone ok?” Orr spoke as they stepped out from behind cover.

A few murmurs rose up. There were a few that had been hit, but nothing serious came of it outside of scorched armor and minor burns in the joints.

“We need to keep moving. A firefight this large will have attracted the attention of the occupants of this facility and they are sure to be right on course for here.” Garryll spoke rapidly, surveying the room, before waving two fingers towards the door in a gesture that meant proceed.

“We may not be able to handle another firefight like that. We’re lucky that we didn’t come away with worse injuries. From the look of those mercs, they’re highly trained and exceedingly deadly. It’s only luck that we haven’t lost someone. Be more careful next time. Even if there is a room full of mercs totally unaware of our presence, that does not mean that we have to take it. I love a firefight as much as the next guy, but we have to think practically. We are in an unknown facility facing an unknown amount of highly trained mercenaries. We can’t afford to be reckless and rush into things.” Val spoke, his tone growing a bit louder with anger.

Garryll chose to reply, “He’s absolutely right. Dunny, Kilroy, Crest. You’re no longer on point. Kilroy, you are to remain with us. Dunny and Crest, you are to lag behind and cover our tail. We don’t need any mercs getting smart and deciding to flank us. After all, they know the terrain better than we do. Alright, move out!”

OOC:

No hard feelings, guys. Just felt like an adding another element to the story

“Ambush!!!”

Aelin instinctively launched herself backward toward the nearest defendable point as several hostiles streamed from each of the apparently illusory walls all around them and into the once-empty metallic room. Aelin sighed. Looks like we forgot to check for ambushes... again. The realistic holograms vanished into static, revealing three large doorways in addition to a grate ceiling. The other female squad member got off a single shot before she shrieked and fell to the ground, a smoking hole in the middle of her chestplate. Two troopers, callsigned Dunny and Kilroy, rushed over to defend her shouting battle cries as the rest of the squad let loose on the mercs.

Kilroy glanced down at the wounded trooper. “Frak that. Dunny, you carry I'll cover!” Dunny, apparently trying to be heroic, gently hoisted Soulblade with both hands and backed into the main body of their squad while Kilroy shot at anyone who aimed too close, killing one with a lucky shot to the head and sending a few more ducking for better cover.

Any other new trooper would probably be wasting their time getting to know their squad mates, or at least learn their strategies. Not Aelin. If the Empire of old had taught her anything, it was that other peoples' lives didn't matter. Only your own. It was a simple doctrine, but after the Empire fell it was the only thing she had left.

The Vast Empire was far from the most “Imperial” faction left, and not for the first time Aelin found herself wondering why she stayed.

The rest of the squad proceeded to rake fire all around them, occasionally wounding or killing a mercenary but mostly just keeping them from concentrating long enough to fire back properly. Apparently that talk about conserving ammunition fell on deaf ears. The blue-haired woman slipped into a relatively safe position in the middle of the squad and began carefully aiming her shots. Her kill count would stay pretty low, but so would her expended ammo and injuries. And as long as I don't die, does it really matter?

Apparently their black-armored foes were starting to think along the same lines, because even though they easily outnumbered the Blackjacks they started taking cover and aiming. Several more Blackjacks winced from minor burn wounds and close calls. The massive spread of concentrated fire and stray blaster bolts were starting to take their toll on both sides.

The ARC trooper, Orr, suddenly shouted out “Take the left wall! The left!” Aelin glanced over, and sure enough only one ambusher remained. The squad dispatched him quickly and began swinging over to it, continuing their fire. Aelin lined up a shot and took out a woman who had shot awfully close to the her.

They filed in, and several took the opportunity to reload while Kilroy, Valthir, and Orr continued the suppression fire. Aelin glanced over at Soulblade's prone form. The oozing mass of partially cauterized flesh visible through the blaster hole quelled any hopes that the trooper would be useful for a while without some actual medical aid. Dunny was digging through everyone's medical kits, scavenging bandages and gauze to patch her up.

"I don't see why we're even bothering to bring her with us. Somebody else will probably get injured carrying her around. It's just not worth the risk."

Dunny whirled around to face her, a crazed expression on his face. "Get out of my house!" He pointed dramatically toward the entrance, and a few short laughs from a few of the other troopers in response were punctuated by blaster bolts bouncing past the doorway. Crest chimed in.

“Aelin, in the Stormtrooper Corps no trooper gets left behind.”

“Well, that's a stupid policy. It'll probably get you killed someday.”

The trooper's reply was cut off as two of the mercenaries turned around and sealed the other three doorways, leaving a resounding metallic crash echoing all around them. The hostiles redoubled their attack, knowing that they were fighting for their lives, and they began stepping past the scorched bodies  of their comrades and the burnt black walls. Well, there's no running now... not that this stubborn squad would have anyway. She raised her blaster and took aim again.

The battle in the storage bay finally wound to a close, the last echos of blaster-fire ringing off the walls and the smoke that had began to build up finally receding. The walls, storage crates and a lot of corpses were blackened with carbon scoring from laser fire, weapons impacts littering every surface of the room. It was clear that the fighting in the room had been brutal. The victors, battered but unbroken, took full advantage of the respite to check their ammo clips, check themselves for injuries and make sure that they were still fit to fight. Stepping out from a pile of fallen crates that he had used for cover, the Advanced Recon Commando team Commander, Orr, walked into the middle of the room and performed a quick head count, joined almost immediately after by the red-armoured form of Garryl. As he spoke up, his gruff voice betrayed only the very slightest hint of concern as he nonchalantly reloaded his weapons.
”Everyone okay?”

In the corner of the room, near the door from which the victorious team had entered, a man wearing a lighter version of Imperial SCOPE trooper armour, painted in an arctic camouflage pattern in stark contrast to the blood-red that was painted on the plastoid shells of the rest of the troopers in his unit, sat in a heap in one of the corners, a trail of smoke still rising up from a blackened blast crater in the center of his plastoid-armour chestplate, matched by a second trail of smoke rising from the muzzle of the E-11 Blaster Rifle that was loosely gripped in one hand. The wall behind him was pockmarked with dozens of similar blast points, mute testament to the brutal firefight that had just taken place. Lying not two meters from the fallen Stormtrooper was a pair of black-armoured mercenaries, their own armour riddled with smoking holes, the pair of them quite evidently dead.

Then, the fallen trooper coughed, and scrabbled for his helmet, undoing the air-tight seal and removing it as quickly as he could, revealing ice-blue eyes and messy brown hair, his face red with exertion, sweat just starting to bead on his forehead. The man’s eyes were wide open as he looked down at the crater in his armour, probing experimentally at it with a gloved hand, trying to figure out the extent of his injuries, continuing to cough and splutter as he did so. His worried expression gave way to a small smile as his fingers didn’t even get all the way through the armour – it seemed that the plastoid shell had actually managed to stop the shot punching through. He relaxed a little, before wincing in pain as he did so. Ah, damn. He hadn’t managed to get out completely unscathed. Cracked rib, he guessed. He gingerly hauled himself to his feet, and walked over towards the two mercenaries he’d killed, still in shock.

When Soul and Aelin walked over to see where he’d disappeared to, they found him still standing there, shaking his head.
”I really thought my number ‘ad come up there. They ‘ad a repeater an’ they rushed me. Who the bloody ‘ell survives somethin’ like that? I should be dead. I should be bloody cactus.” He murmured softly to himself, looking at the T-21 Light repeating rifle that had managed to hit him right in the center of mass, and somehow only managed to crack a rib. It was covered in scratches and the paintwork was pretty much gone, but it still looked to be in excellent condition.
He wasn’t certified with the weapon, but he decided then and there that this blaster was his, even if only because it deserved not to be abandoned after saving his life. He grabbed the ling of the weapon and hauled it over his shoulder.

”Dunny reporting – cracked some ribs, but I’m still combat-capable.” His report was quick and concise, his usual humour conspicuously absent as he slung the rifle over his own shoulder and re-loaded his E-11 Rifle, his hands operating completely on hard-trained instinct, his mind obviously elsewhere. It was only when Squad 2IC Valthir rounded on the squad and started to berate their lack of foresight that Sam really snapped back to the present. He tilted his head to one side, a slight, thoughtful frown on his face as the Sergeant spoke.
“We may not be able to handle another firefight like that. We’re lucky that we didn’t come away with worse injuries. From the look of those mercs, they’re highly trained and exceedingly deadly. It’s only luck that we haven’t lost someone. Be more careful next time. Even if there is a room full of mercs totally unaware of our presence, that does not mean that we have to take it. I love a firefight as much as the next guy, but we have to think practically. We are in an unknown facility facing an unknown amount of highly trained mercenaries. We can’t afford to be reckless and rush into things.”

Though he said nothing in reply, Sam privately agreed – he stood as living proof that the team should not have won that fight, and definitely not managed it without casualties. Nothing but luck, and possibly the hand of fate, could have accomplished what they had. He let a long, heart-felt sigh rise from his lips, shaking his head as he tried to clear it and get his game face back on. He thought he’d done everything right – he’d moved carefully, checked the doors and waited for orders before barging through them – hell, the one fight he had picked was a simple sentry silencing job. He was tempted to say ‘hey, don’t look at me, I’m not the one who’s ordered any breach and clear operations’, but he knew by blindly following orders and not speaking up about his doubts, he’d been just as bad.

“He’s absolutely right. Dunny, Kilroy, Crest. You’re no longer on point. Kilroy, you are to remain with us. Dunny and Crest, you are to lag behind and cover our tail. We don’t need any mercs getting smart and deciding to flank us. After all, they know the terrain better than we do. Alright, move out!”

Dunny could see the reasoning behind Garryl’s order – since they had compromised any chance at stealth by giving away their position, a cautious advance wouldn’t do much good – chances were high that a rearguard would be needed, and someone able to dispatch a target quietly, without them giving away the fact that they’d found the intruders, was a good candidate for such a role. Still, it might be wise to keep a scout in the front in case there was another of those damn E-WEBs waiting for them. Sam was about to make the suggestion, when Valthir’s glare silenced him. He sighed again and shook his head, not willing to risk a confrontation with the assistant squad leader so soon after the squad’s dressing-down, and lowered his helmet over his head, his slightly wounded expression hidden as the environmental seal kicked in, and he was once again fully inside his armour, cut off a little from the rest of the world.

He melted away to the back of the squad without another word, making sure to keep his knife where it could easily be drawn and adjusting the strap on the T-21 so that it stayed flush against his back, and didn’t dangle around or try and trip him up. Once he’d sorted his equipment, he raised his trusty old E-11 and started to move at a pace more of his choosing, no longer having to worry about holding the squad up. He moved silently, keeping low and near cover whenever possible, making sure to cover the corridor behind them, as well as any doors or air vents big enough to contain a potentially nasty surprise. As a scout, making sure he saw things before anyone else was his particular specialty. He threw a glance over his shoulder every five seconds to see if the squad was still there, just in case. After all, whilst he was watching their back, it was their job to watch his.

“Hey Corporal?”

Dunny, determined to restore a little good humour to the situation, and knowing that there were, in fact, two Corporals in Blackjack Squad (technically Lance-Corporals, but whatever), made sure that his reply was long and drawn-out, intended to inflict maximum annoyance when PFC Soul came to the realization that she had made a conversational stumble, as it were. Sam kept his eyes covering his assigned area, vigilant for the enemies that he knew were bound to turn up sooner or later, hoping like hell that the front of the team didn’t walk into another E-WEB’s line of fire or something similarly nasty.

“Doesn’t something feel, I dunno, wrong to you guys?”

“Now that you mention it, yeah I do.  What about you Killjoy?"
“It’s Kilroy.  Answer is yes, so keep a sharp eye out.”

Well, seemed that Kilroy had taken the criticism pretty hard. Sam let his sigh disappear inside his helmet, unheard by the rest of the squad as he saw they were entering what looked like an abandoned room, smaller than the other two they’d entered. Damn right he had a bad feeling about this, but as he backed up to the end of the corridor and covered that area from attack, just outside the room. So intent was he on making sure he didn’t mess up his job of protecting the rear from attack, it wasn’t until Soul shouted loudly, causing his ear to ache as the shout came full-volume through the comm. network and into his ear, that he realized that it didn’t matter.
”AMBUSH!”

Sam didn’t even get to swear under his breath as the blast door that he was standing in the middle of began to shut, a wall of heavy metal screaming down towards him. Only his fighter pilot’s instincts saved him, the man pushing off his his feet and leaping back away from the closing blast door, only just managing to make it out in time as it sealed shut with a ‘slam’. Sam looked around from his position slumped on the floor (again), and saw that what had previously been walls had disappeared entirely, revealing well-constructed barricades manned by armoured, veteran mercenaries. His ice-blue gaze instantly fell on the collapsed form of one of the stormtroopers, red armour burned black by heavy blaster fire. In the time that it took him to take a breath, Sam Dunn performed an instant head-count to see who was still standing. Kilroy, Aelin, Crest, Valthir, Garryl, Orr…that left Soul as the trooper down.

Oh, hell no.

Before he even realized what was happening, Sam had pushed himself up onto his feet and was running at a full sprint across the room, the sound of his heavy footfalls lost over the roar of blaster-fire as Sam aimed his blaster in the direction of the four mercenaries who had taken down Soul and jammed his finger on the trigger so hard it felt like his knuckles were about to pop, not letting go. He crossed the space in moments, heedless of the incoming fire, of Kiroy’s barked order or the blaster fire that was covering him. The only thing that mattered was crossing that distance as quickly as possible – and cross it he did, managing to drop down onto his ass and skid the last meter within two seconds of first seeing his wounded comrade. Tossing his blaster aside without a second thought, he carefully picked up Soul in both arms, grunting at how damn heavy the armour was.

”Hey, don’t worry, it’ll be okay. We’ll get ya outta here.” He said to her reassuringly as he got back to his feet and turned, sprinting as fast as he could with a fully-armoured stormtrooper in his arms towards the squad, using his body as a human shield in case any incoming fire managed to come their way. His heart pounded in his chest as he raced back to the squad, his mind completely blank except for the overriding imperative to get Soul to safety.
Take the left wall! The Left!”
Dunny’s gaze shot to the left as he saw the last trooper manning that barricade go down in a flurry of laser fire. Changing direction with a deft twist of the ankle and a shift of his weight, Dunny sprinted towards the barricade, the irony of how used he was to running these days not escaping him, and he vaulted over it with a strength he didn’t even know he possessed.

He continued running another five full meters, before gently lowering the injured stormtrooper down to the ground, against the wall in a sitting position. He placed his hands on either side of her helmet, dented and blackened as it was, and lifted it up off her head, meeting her gaze for the first time. He removed his own shortly after. His eyes ran up and down her armour, quickly and professionally checking her over for injuries…needless to say, he found some. In fact, he found a lot, and he realized to his impotent rage and frustration that they were graver than he or any other member of Blackjack Squad had the expertise or equipment to do anything much about.
”You’re gonna be okay, I’m here, and I ain’t going anywhere. Look at me – you’re gonna be okay.”

He wished he could believe his own words, as his mind desperately raced to try and find a solution to the problem of Soul’s’ injuries. His hands working on autopilot, he reached for the first aid kit that he always carried on his person, grabbing bandages and wrapping up the worst of the wounds to the best of his ability. He knew that there was no bleeding to stop, since blaster damage cauterized anything it hit, but he could at least stop the wounds from taking on any dirt or grit and getting infected. The rest of the battle continued on around him, as Sam desperately tried to stop his wounded comrade from dying, continuing to talk reassuringly to her as he scavenged his and everyone else’s first aid kits in a desperate bid to stabilize the woman.
"I don't see why we're even bothering to bring her with us. Somebody else will probably get injured carrying her around. It's just not worth the risk."

Sam Dunn immediately rounded on Aelin, the squad’s newest trooper, and raised a hand, almost appearing to be about to punch her, before he dramatically pointed out into the room they’d just left, blaster fire still sounding as the squad of mercenaries still alive poured fire at them.
”Get the fucking hell OUT OF MY HOUSE!” He shouted, his face, now visible. He turned to face the way they had just come, and his trained scout’s eye noticed something….a patch sewn onto the uniform of one of the mercenaries. White background, with a red cross embroidered over it. Rage gave way to grim determination as he realized that there was only one way that Soul was going to get out of this alive. Of course, the chances of him making it out too were somewhere between slim and none, but that didn’t matter to him.

Sam Jack Dunn had firmly believed he’d been at death’s door since he was born. If through his death he could save one of his comrades, it was a trade worth making. He drew his DL-44 Blaster Pistol from the holster at his back and checked the energy cell on it, at the same time dropping to a crouch beside Soul and gripping her hand with his for a moment, his blue eyes staring into hers.
”I’ve got to go – we need someone to patch you up, so I’m going to get them. I’ll be right back. Hang in there, trooper. Help is on the way.” He spoke with complete sincerity, knowing that, dead or alive, he would get her the help that she needed. His hand released hers as he grabbed his helmet and jammed it over his head, rising back to a standing position as he turned to Garryl – who was already handing him a pair of Flashbang grenades. Sam nodded his head in thanks, and handed Kilroy his thermal detonator in return.
”If I’m not back in 20 seconds, sir, I’m not coming back.” He said, as he looked out the corridor into the kill-zone.

The camouflaged wall-panels had been reactivated, but his helmet’s advanced magnocular visor was able to penetrate the hologram, spotting the heat-signatures of his targets. Sam Dunn quickly counted off the confirmed hostiles in his head. Originally four behind each barrier, including the one he was behind. Seven had been taken out, leaving five enemies left. Of that five, it appeared that two had T-21 Light Repeating blasters, and the barricade directly opposite from him had one gunner, and the man Sam was damn sure had to be an enemy medic. His keen tactical mind noted the position and relative distance of them, along with the distance between the barricades and his own. Okay, so set the timers on the flashbang grenades for two seconds, throw at 1.5 to go…
Sam Jack Dunn did so, lobbing the grenades and timing it so that the mercenaries would have minimal warning between seeing the grenade, and the grenade going off in their faces. As he lobbed the grenades, he said ”Flashbangs out” over the squad comm., warning his comrades to look away or cover their eyes and ears. Sam was already sprinting, however, his own eyes jammed shut. The grenades exploded mid-air, and although Sam Dunn’s advanced stormtrooper helmet protected his ears from the worst of the noise, and the lens automatically darkened to protect his eyes, the mercenaries had no such protection.

When Sam opened his eyes and vaulted over the barricades, he noticed that three of the mercenaries were covering their ears, blood leaking between their fingers, and the mercenary opposite him with the T-21 was trying to rub the blindness from his eyes. Sam Dunn raised his DL-44 pistol, much more comfortable with the Naval-Issue weapon than he ever had been with the E-11, and placed a single blaster bolt right in the face of the man, not even stopping as he sprinted across the room and grabbed the medic by the collar, whipping the butt of his pistol across the man’s nose. Momentarily stunned, the man fell limp, and Sam Dunn dragged his form over the barricades and lifted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry after making sure to disarm him, sprinting back across the room and over his own barricade as quickly as he could.
”Quick, someone get a det in there!” Sam called out as he ran past the squad to where Soul was still sitting, grabbing the medic by the throat and slamming him against the wall. The man’s eyes went wide as his vision returned, blood leaking from his nose and ears. Sam realized the man’s eardrums had burst, and sighed. He pointed to the medkit on the floor, then at the injured stormtrooper, before jabbing the muzzle of his pistol into the man’s gut for emphasis. The message was cliear.
‘If she dies. You die.’

The medic’s face visibly paled as he looked down at the high-powered laser pistol, then back up into the intimidating helmet of the man wielding it, and gulped, nodding his head slowly to show that he understood. Sam stepped back and released his grip on the man’s throat, letting him slide back down the wall and fumble for his medkit. Sam, for his part, nodded at Garryl, before taking up a position behind the mercenary, hopefully far enough to stop the man from trying to grab the pistol that was aimed squarely at the back of his head. Sam slid his helmet off with his other hand and smiled reassuringly to Soul.
”See? You’ll be fine. Told you I’d be back.”

OOC:

3,350 words. Tried to focus on character development. Don't worry, the sheer insanity of Sam's actions WILL sink in soon.

Blackjack squad sat behind their barricade and licked their wounds. Half of his squad was splattered by carbon scoring, their armor shot up and blackened. They’d fallen for such a simple trick, and it annoyed Blackjack lead like nothing else.

Now, his squad was battered, running out of ammo, and not in the greatest shape. At least they’d managed to overpower that ambush.

Soul was down, but Dunny’s improvised plan - steal an enemy medic - seemed to be working so far without any ill repercussions. The man was well-trained and efficient, quickly slapping a bacta patch onto the blaster burn with practiced motions.

Gates ignored them, and held a quiet conversation with Orr and Valthir. “We walked right into that. We can’t put the scouts on point if they keep leading us into fights we can barely - if at all - win. Hell, I can’t believe we’ve survived so far, with the fights we’ve gotten into. But we can’t put them on our six because they’re wasted there, as this ambush shows.”

Valthir shook his head. “I know. We can’t keep getting into fights with huge groups of enemies, even with the element of surprise, but we can’t keep suffering these types of attacks either.”

“Dunny, put your helmet on. We’re in a combat environment,” Gates said over his shoulder to the scout.

“Sir,” Dunny said, careful to keep his pistol trained on the back of the mercenary’s skull. “If you don’t mind me saying, sir, we need more firepower.”

“I realized. We’ve run into far more opposition than I had planned to,” Gates replied icily. “Commander, is there an armory on the map anywhere near us?”

The ARC Commander glanced down at a heavy-duty combat ‘pad, and searched for a moment. “Yeah. There’s one eighty meters down this side-hallway, and a couple turns.”

“We need some more supplies if we’re going to complete this mission,” Gates muttered. “Our ammo is running low and now we’ve got wounded to take with us.”

“If we can damage their supply of weapons, it’ll help us and the other squads, as well,” Valthir added.

The mercenary looked up at that point. “I’ve stabilized her. She won’t die, and I’ve administered a painkiller and a sedative.”

Soul’s injury, based on Gates’ experienced but untrained eye, was going to slow her down if not outright stop her, even with a medic’s attention. Leaving her behind was not an option - despite the other female trooper, Aelin’s thoughts - so someone would have to carry her while she was knocked out.

“Let’s get moving, then,” Gates ordered, drawing his squad’s attention. “Dunny. You’re on point; Crest, our six. Your rules of engagement have changed. You do not engage without my explicit permission or without being fired upon. We are not equipped or healthy enough for another platoon-sized battle.”

The SL turned to the unconscious Soulblade. “Merc, you get to live. Carry my trooper and keep her from harm, and I won’t excavate your skull with a 7.62.”

The medic nodded and gingerly picked up the petite female Stormtrooper, careful to avoid where he’d just applied aid.

“Our next goal is the nearby armory. Dunny, get directions from Orr. We’re going to get in there, take what we need and then sabotage the rest.”

Kilroy perked up at the word ‘sabotage’ and gripped his rifle tighter. Gates continued. “Fall in. We’re moving out.”

The squad fell into order; Dunny took point, with Gates and Kilroy a dozen meters behind the scout. Following them came Valthir and the merc carrying Soul, leaving Orr, Aelin and Crest at the rear. Dunny was careful to scan each wall as they walked down the hall, trying to make good time and be careful at the same time. Fortunately, they ran afoul of no more of the mercenaries’ traps, and in just a few short minutes, they’d managed to reach the armory’s side entrance.

Blackjack settled into a defensive ring while Gates and Orr discussed a plan of attack. “The armory has a rather large floorspace. It’s going to be like a storage room, I’d guess.”

Dunny crouched next to the door, his fiber-optic cable slid underneath. “That’s right, sir. The room’s got shelves’n’crates all over. It’ll be a little bit maze-like. There’s some contacts, as well.”

“We need to clear this room quietly. How many contacts are there?”

“It looks like...two. There’s probably more outside the main armory entrance, but even scanning, I can only see two of ‘em,” Dunny reported.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” Gates spoke quietly but quickly. “Time is of the essence. Orr and I will take one of them, Val and Dunny will take the other. Once we clear them out, we’ll get in there, take what we need, and sabotage the rest. I want to be in and out in under three minutes, so we’re going to do this fast. Dunny, tag the two enemies on our HUDs.”

The scout nodded and fiddled with his miniature camera. A moment later, two crosshairs appeared as pointers on Gates’ HUD, moving in real time as Dunny’s cable fed a view of them to Gates’ helmet.

“Let’s do this.”

Dunny withdrew from the door and Orr stepped up, his multi-tool in hand. A few moments' work pried off the security panel and a few more seconds of probing with the device popped the door open a few inches. Gates and Valthir jammed their fingers into the gap and pulled it open the rest of the way, then drew their weapons.

Gates had swapped out his handgun’s clip for the subsonic rounds again, and gripped his thirty-centimeter bowie knife with his other hand. Orr had a long, nasty blade and had screwed a thin tube onto the barrel of his exotic rifle. Valthir and Dunny had similarly prepared themselves.

The four men moved quickly into the room, hunting for their targets. Valthir and Dunny disappeared behind one of the walls of crates, leaving Orr and Gates to search for their prey alone.

Their target was sitting near a pile of guns, his rifle in-hand but pointed at the ground next to his foot. In addition, he was in the center of a cleared-out hallway, with a good view of the surrounding area.

Orr and Gates crouched behind a large crate and muttered between them. “We can’t take him there. We need to make him just...disappear. We have to get him over here before we kill him, make sure he can’t call for help.”

“We can just make a noise and then kill him if he comes to investigate,” Orr said, then raised his fist.

“What are you doing?” Gates asked, gesturing at the man’s fist.

“Rock-paper-scissors. Loser has to be bait,” Orr said.

“Are you kidding me, sir?”

“Do I look like I screw around?”

Garryll sighed, before raising his fist as well. They each threw out their hand signs - the ancient child’s game deciding a combat maneuver.

“Paper beats rock, sir,” Gates. “You get to be bait.”

The ARC sighed. “Alright, let’s set this up.”

A few moments’ motion later, and Gates had his knife in hand, crouched behind a crate further up the ‘hallway.’ Orr nodded to the Blackjack SL, and shoved a small box off of the storage pallet. The man jumped to his feet, looking quickly over at the noise.

“C’mon, c’mon...” Gates muttered.

The man raised his rifle and slowly went down the make-shift hallway, careful footsteps coming closer to Gates’ position. The merc stepped past, and his life ended a moment later.

The merc never saw it coming, as Gates rose from his crouched position, blade in hand, and stepped quickly right behind him. His knife, wicked, serrated, deadly, snaked around the man’s chest and plunged into the merc’s neck, while his off-hand covered his mouth to stop any sound from escaping.

Arterial fluid spat from the fatal injury, splattering Gates’ already-red armor a new, fresh crimson. “Target neutralized.”

graded to here.

The squad scampered through the armory, some almost in glee at the amount of heavy armaments. So much weaponry, and I'm not qualified for any of it... Aelin sighed and contented herself with grabbing a few extra power packs for her rifle. A noise drew her attention behind a box, where Dunny shuffling a couple of thermal detonators into any spare pockets he could find. He glanced at her for a long moment before looking back down, apparently assuming her look of disapproval wouldn't extend to an actual complaint.

Crest jogged past them. "Time to pack it up, you two. They're about done with the charges."

Aelin immediately got up and shoved her way past Dunny, not particularly eager to be stuck inside the weapons cache when it blew. He just slid out of the way, looking surprisingly serious for once.

"G'luck out there, bright-eye."

She froze momentarily as the Timbra Ott gang slang brought back painful memories. She barely noticed as he quietly smiled, mistaking her reaction, and walked out past her. Damn. I thought I'd gotten over all that. Shaking her head to clear her mind, she followed the squad out, taking care to avoid eye contact. How did he know? ...Maybe it's a coincidence.

As soon as everyone was clear, Kilroy activated the detonator. The armory disappeared in a thundering cloud of smoke and fire, sending a reverberating shockwave through the metal corridor. Aelin stumbled, temporarily blinded from the bright crimson reflections on the armor of her squadmates. Good thing we're not relying on stealth anymore. Everyone in the entire complex probably felt that.

After they had backed off to a portion of the area that wasn't in danger of collapsing, Blackjack inspected their newly obtained armaments. Most had just grabbed ammunition and few extra explosives, although she saw a few unfamiliar weapons sticking out of packs here and there. Kilroy's explosives were particularly prominent.

The ARC trooper, Orr, turned to confer with the senior stormtroopers just as Dunny walked over to the captured medic. Their conversation wasn't broadcast, so she missed most of what they said. Something about a dance-off. Kilroy walked over and got involved, and at some point in the ensuing incident Aelin turned away. She wasn't sure if it was because she was disgusted with her squad's irreverence, or because she was still stung from Dunny's comment. To distract herself she snuck out her datapad and sat away from the others, looking at the squad's personnel files for the first time. As she glanced over Dunny's, she became increasingly disturbed. Not only is he from Timbra Ott, he used to be a cop. He knows. She quickly shut down the datapad and hid it in her pack, making a mental note to avoid the trooper from her homeworld at all costs. Her old personality needed to stay dead, for her own safety.

A minute later Garryll gave out a few orders and Dunny, Valthir, and Kilroy left the main group to scout ahead, leaving the rest of the squad behind.

As soon as they had gone Soulblade groaned and slowly opened her eyes, blinking slowly. The captured medic instantly knelt down next to her and turned to the rest of Blackjack.

"She's coming to. She won't be able to fight, but she should at least be able to walk."

Garryll grunted an acknowledgement. "I guess we won't have to kill you after all. As soon as she can walk, we'll move out."

The injured trooper slowly sat up and attempted to scramble to her feet. Her arms and torso failed to bend as quickly as she had anticipated, and she nearly fell over.

The medic held her up. "Take it easy. The sedative still hasn't completely worn off, and you aren't going to be able to move as much."

She didn't appear to have heard him, but she slowly climbed to her feet and shuffled a little.

Their squad leader spoke up. "Running through every door we see isn't getting us anywhere. We need to locate an officer or some kind of security center. Crest, you're on point. Keep us from running into any more than we have to. Everyone else, stay close."

The squad immediately set off, hindered by Soul's slow but steadily increasing pace.

Soul woke up to a thunderous bang as the armory was utterly destroyed. She groaned as she tried to move all of her muscles screaming in protest. Souls face twisted into a grimace, as he man that was holding her let her down as he heard her move.

"She's coming to. She won't be able to fight, but she should at least be able to walk." Said the medic as he knelt down.


Garryll grunted an acknowledgement. "I guess we won't have to kill you after all. As soon as she can walk, we'll move out." Soul was  curious as too what her squad leader had meant by that but  figured that it was best if she did not worried about it. Soul slowly sat up and attempted to scramble to her feet, her arms and torso failed to bend as  quickly as she had anticipated, and she nearly fell over. Souls face twisted in frustration as her body refused to do her task.

The medic held her up. "Take it easy. The sedative still  She didn't appear to have heard him, but she slowly climbed to her feet and shuffled a little. hasn't completely worn off, and you aren't going to be able to move as much." She growled slightly at the man at the obviousness of his statement, and the lack of trust in her ability's. She didn't appear to have heard him, but she slowly climbed to her feet and shuffled a little.

Their squad leader spoke up. "Running through every door we see isn't getting us anywhere. We need to locate an officer or some kind of security center. Crest, you're on point. Keep us from running into any more than we have to. Everyone else, stay close." Soul could tell that she was holding the squad back with her pace and tried to increase it steadily. 

Aelin rolled her eyes at Soul obviously displeased at soul for holding back the squad. That only pushed soul farther then before striving to prove her worth to the members of her squad, her face gritted in determination. She then pushed her self to move to the middle of the group, soul struggled to hold her rifle as she scanned the cold, grey walls of hall. The man who she had learned was a rebel medic who was on hoth stayed close to her. While she was thinking of why the squad would trust her life with a rebel scum, she stumbled forward and caught herself. 

She did not like the idea of the squad breaking into two teams, she thought that hey should stay in one force to make a spearhead and drive through the enemy. But alas that was not her choice and she would follow her orders to the end, Which had almost came for her for her during this mission. Her mind went to to what her parents would have though of her, they hated the idea of the empire. Crest halted the team as they came to a bend in the hall he peaked around the corner and and whispered. 

“Enemy patrol looks like we got two of them.”  Soul took a deep breath and pressed her back against the cold hard wall.

Val bit back a curse as a wave of fire hit the wall ahead of him, very nearly torching the unlucky Dunny. As the man scrabbled back on all fours, Val reached out and hauled him behind cover before the E-WEB operators could redirect their fire.

Once safe, Dunny jumped to his feet, “These guys have us good. They’ve got sandbags and an E-WEB well back in the hallway. Two of ‘em – one’s gunning, one’s manning the power generator. We’ve got a problem here.”

Both Dunny and Kilroy looked to Val, apparently seeking orders. Val didn’t notice for a few moments, his mind already whirring. The corridor they were currently in had no other side passages, eliminating the possibility of going around the E-WEB pair. They did happen to have quite a lot of exposive weaponry on hand, but it would be difficult to get anything close enough to the E-WEB to disrupt it. His eyes traveled upwards to the ceiling, narrowing as he noticed something. The material that made up the ceiling tiles seemed to be at an odd slant. It was a few seconds before he realized that the entire tile had been pushed up, popped out of position and sitting slightly on the metallic grid that had held it in place.

“There.” Val said, pointing up towards the tile.

Dunny and Kilroy followed the gesture, understanding dawning almost instantly.

“It may not lead directly over them though, but then again, it may. The question is, who is going to check it out?” Kilroy said.

There was barely a moment’s pause before Kilroy and Val both turned to Dunny.

The scout sighed softly, “Figures. Right, well give me a boost.”

Helped by his two comrades, he was quickly and quietly up in the area above the ceiling tiles. A small click and a light came on, flashing around as he checked out his surroundings. He tested the tiles slightly before moving back to the opening

“It’s tight, but I believe I can make it around to them. I’m going to need something to cover my approach though. I may be good, but I’m not that good. These tiles are too thin to take my weight for too long so I’m going to have to move quick. If you two don’t have any thermal dets, there should be some in the bag of things that I raided from the armory.”

Kilroy looked to Val and gave a nod, “I’ve got a few, along with a smoke grenade.”

“Good, good. We can throw the smoke grenade first, then throw the thermal det under cover of the smoke. They should be preoccupied enough to miss Dunny.” Val replied.

Stepping over to the bend, he peeked his head around the corner quickly, noting both the distance of the E-WEB and the reactions of the operators. He was barely allowed a second’s glance before the E-WEB opened fire on him, blowing chunks out of the corner piece of the wall where Val’s head had just been. Grimacing, Val realized that they would be cutting this close. They’d have to throw the smoke grenade, risking getting hit, then almost immediately afterwards, throw the thermal det while the E-WEB would most likely still be firing blindly into the smoke. Val stared at the pitted wall, trying to work through every possibility.

“Dunny. We’re going to try a little something different.” Val said, filling both Dunny and Kilroy in on his realizations.

“What if we play a little game with them?” Dunny said, perched precariously on the side of the opening in the ceiling, “Either you or Kilroy poke your heads out and draw their fire for a few moments, letting me advance without them hearing me. We’ll repeat it until I’m right above them.”

Kilroy spotted a flaw in the plan, voicing his concerns, “How will you know when you’re over them?”

“Ah . . . umm . . .” Dunny stammered, uncharacteristically speechless.

“You’ll probably be able to hear them the loudest right above them. So this will be a bit of guesswork. I’d rather you be more behind them than in front of them, though in an ideal world you could be directly above them. Regardless, all options are better than just sitting here. Keep in touch to let us know you’re progress.” Val said, stepping out of the crouch he had sank into.

He had begun to step towards the corner, mirrored by Dunny directly overhead, when he was stopped.

“Wait.” Dunny’s voice came over the comm, “We can count the number of tiles to estimate where I should go. If you can, try and count the number of tiles from the corner to the E-WEB.”

Val gave an affirmative, and obeyed, nearly getting his head shot off in the process, but succeeding.

“I counted eleven, including the corner tile. I’d aim to get to the twelfth one. Ready?”

“Always,” came the reply.

Sam Jack Dunn was crouched in the hallway, his back to the corridor wall as he checked his still-smoking armour for damage. By now, the chest-plate was barely hanging on, having taken fire from multiple hits, and he realized that it had done its work – at this rate, the gear was just slowing him down. With a sigh, he lowered the two duffel bags to the floor, then unclipped the chest-plate of his armour, letting it fall to the ground, revealing the top half of a vacuum-sealed flight suit, complete with the Blackjack unit patch sewn onto one arm and his rank on the other. He moved the bags back away from the corner with a gentle nudge of his foot, and unzipped the one full of explosives, sifting through his options both mentally and literally.

Enemy is a fair distance back and well dug-in, thermal detonators from here will be ineffective. Maybe I could launch one from the Bowcaster? Wouldn’t have time, they’d shred me first. Hold on, got a couple of smoke grenades here. Maybe I could pop those to buy time to take the shot. Yes, that could work, but I’d have to judge my aim perfectly, and hope to crikey I don’t catch a stray bullet.”

Lance-Corporal Dunn had already unzipped his other trophy bag and was about to assemble the bowcaster he had looted when Valthir pointed up towards the roof above them, and specifically to a tile that appeared to be on a slant, resting only loosely in its spot and easy to move, his finger identifying the rogue tile with a mix of satisfaction and vindication. Sam let a small smile appear on his face as he packed away the bowcaster and re-zipped up the duffle bag.
“There.” Val declared. The three stormtroopers nodded, before Kilroy added his two credits.
“It may not lead directly over them, though, but then again, it may. The question is, who’s going to check it out?”

Sam Dunn had a pretty good idea who it was, and he was already removing his combat knife from its sheath. The two stormtroopers were looking straight down at him, and Sam looked back through the visor of his scout helmet, his smile completely invisible. He let a soft, exaggerated sigh leave his lips as he acknowledged that he had just drawn killing duty (again) and rose to his full height of 176cm, eying the access tile warily. As tall as he was, the damn ceiling was taller. He was going to need a little help to get up there, the short-arse that he was.
”Heh, figures. Righto. Well? Give me a boost!”

Sam raised a foot, and Valthir’s hands scooped it up. Balancing on the pair of hands with some small difficulty, he stepped up, and Kilroy’s hands were there to catch him. He felt sorry for the poor bastards – the soles of his boots were pretty much caked in gore from the many knife-fights he had gotten into since infiltrating the building. With a grunt, they hauled him up to the ceiling, and he activated a illuminator with a flick of his thumb, having had the foresight to grab one from his webbing pouch before he’d stepped up (literally) to the task of vent duty.
”Tighter than a Naboo monarch…but I reckon I can get to ‘em. I’m gonna need somethin’ ta cover me approach though. I may be good, but I ain’t that good. These tiles are too thin to take me weight fer too long, so I’m gonna have ta move quick. If you two don’t ‘ave any dets – hah, unlikely – there should be some in the bag ‘o’ tricks I raided from tha armoury.”

Sam’s guess was as good as ever, as Kilroy looked to Valthir and nodded, the grin almost audible. “I’ve got a few, along with a smoke grenade.” He answered, and Sam didn’t bloody doubt it. The bloke liked explosives almost as much as Sam liked sharp pointy things. Maybe even more. Sam let a small chuckle loose as Kilroy drew a very familiar metallic ball-shaped object from a pouch strapped to his armour.
“Good, good. We can throw the smoke grenade first, then throw the thermal det under cover of the smoke. They should be preoccupied enough to miss Dunny.” Valthir added, putting the final touches on what appeared to be a solid and relatively risk-free plan. Sam liked solid plans. They made a nice tinkling sound when they shattered under the heat of battle.

Sam hauled himself fully into the vent and placed his hands and feet at the very corner, keeping his weight as evenly spaced as possible, to put minimum strain on any one part of the tile below him. Of course, this plan shattered almost instantly, as Valthir came to a realization and voiced his concern.
“Dunny, we’re going to try something a little different.”
”What if we play a lil’ game with ‘em? Either you or Killjoy poke yer ‘eads out an draw their fire for a few moments, lettin’ me advance without ‘em ‘earin’ me. We’ll repeat it till I’m right above ‘em.”
The answer was almost immediate, and yet another plan made a nice tinkling sound as it was shot down in flames, like a TIE Fighter taking a tiny bit of space debris right in the Twin Ion Engine. “How will you know when you’re above them?”
Well shit.”Aaah…umm….” He listened to Valthier pitch a few more ideas, before a proverbial light-bulb appeared over his head, and he voiced his idea immediately, a slight crow of victory present in his voice.

”Wait – we can count the number of tiles to estimate where I should go. If ya can, try and count the number of tiles from this corner to the E-Web.” He could see the seams of the tiles even inside this damned womp-rat tunnel, and he knew that it was a unit of measure that both he and the two stormtroopers out in the real world could see. If they could get a number, he’d be laughing. Probably over the corpses of  a pair of mercenaries.
“I counted eleven, including the corner tile. I’d aim to get to the twelfth one. Ready?”
Sam Jack Dunn crouched in the air vent and let a predatory grin appear on his tanned face. His reply was almost immediate.
”Always.”

Then, he was moving. Damn, it was cramped in this shaft – and he was willing to bet it looked awkward as all hell. He was on his elbows and knees, keeping his limbs spread so that his weight was even, moving slowly and carefully so he didn’t put too much weight on any one part of the tiles below him, working as carefully as he possibly could.
Slowly, man, slllooooowlly…don’t wanna spoke tha prey now. He thought to himself as he moved up a few more feet, thanking his lucky stars that Killjoy wasn’t there with his camera, or that there was no rats or anything like that here either. It’d be one hell of an embarrassing look.
Welp, at least I dun’ have ta worry about rats in ‘ere. Or that one mercenary. We never did get ‘is name, I wonder what i- Oh, look, people were talking.

“Hey Ronahn, looks like they’re up to something.” That was one of the gunners, far below. Maximum points for observation, minimum points for radio silence. Then again, these two mercs did appear to be a fair bit chattier than the others. As Sam continued to shimmy along, he listened to the two chatter amongst themselves.
“Yeah ye-Aww gak, smoke. Not like that’s gonna help ‘em.”
“Oh look, they’re tossing something else now. Wait…that’s a ther-“ Yes mate, yes it is. Better duck. Sam thought as all sound was blotted out by the powerful explosive, which ripped a hole in the vent behind him and washed it – and him – in fire. Well, that was something he hadn’t planned for. He scooted forward as fast as he could, part from pain and part from urgency. He really, really wanted out of the damn vent!

Sam dropped out of the ceiling slightly behind the two mercenaries, the sound of his landing drowned out by the sound of the E-Web roaring, though he could have sworn they could smell the burning flight-suit he was wearing. Damn, it stung like a Trandoshan Riot Blaster. He drew his combat knife as he rose from a crouch to a standing position, advancing silently on the two. He shifted his grip on his knife as he looked at the one that was keeping the fusion generator functioning properly.
G’night, ya bastards. He thought to himself as he drew his pistol and put a blaster bolt in the back of the gunner’s head at point blank range, at the same time plunging his knife into the side of the other merc’s neck.

The two died almost instantly, and Sam kicked their corpses away from the E-web. Then, he grabbed the handgrips of the heavy repeating blaster, and turned the damn thing around, so that it was pointing the other way, towards….a door?

“Seriously? Why in Sabbat’s name would they set up a fething E-Web in front of a door?”[/b] Kilroy exclaimed grumpily, as he stepped into the hallway and over the corpse of the dead mercenary gunner, not even bothering to note the fact his face was gone.
”Don’t look at me mate, I didn’t see it first time. Might be something nice on the other side though.” Sam guessed – logic dictated for heavy firepower to guard a door, there had to be something important behind the door. Maybe the prisoners? Or a pony!
“Whatever. Let’s see what’s behind door number one.”

Then, to Sam’s shock and awe, Kilroy kicked the door open. In fact, he kicked the damn thing so hard it seemed to give up entirely, the hinges springing free from the door as the whole damn thing came down with a dull ‘thud’, slightly bent. Damn, Kilroy had to have had one hell of a cybernetic leg to pull a stunt like that off! Sam stepped into the room, blaster at the ready, as he saw a bank of computer monitors, screens, and all sorts of technological wizardry. Kilroy appeared to calm down as he realized that they may well have hit the jackpot.
“Well I’ll be; terminals and everything. Let’s see if any are on.”

Valthir stepped in behind the two, (thankfully with Sam’s duffle bags in hand)instantly taking command of the situation and giving the two now idling stormtroopers some direction like the veteran that he was.
“Spread out, search the entire room.” The two moved at his command, checking the monitors to see just what kind of room they had managed to get themselves into. Sam Dunn hoped to hell there wouldn’t be anything like Hutt porn. He really couldn’t handle that today.
”How the hell did you do that?” He asked Kilroy, still a little awed as he pointed at the definitely busted door. Kilroy asserted that he did not know, as he sat down in a chair and started to absently play with the keyboard.
Which activated a large screen, showing various images of the bases interior, all of them seeming to come from security camras.

“BEHOLD! Live security feeds!” He declared triumphantly, and Sam Dunn clapped a hand on the man’s armoured shoulder. That was just what they’d been looking for – now they’d be able to pinpoint everything. Enemy defences, the location of the ARC’s the best way to get down there, and maybe what the bloody hell that Recaf Merc called himself.
”I couldn’t love you any more than I do right now, Killjoy. Except if I was gay, but that’d be a different kind of love. Still, - YA FUCKIN’ FOUND IT MATE!”

Now, to see if they could figure out where those damned ARC’s were hiding. Or if they were alive. It’d be a damn shame if all this had been for nothing. Well, nothing except for great loot and some fun memories.

OOC:

WORD COUNT: 2018 words. We have the security room – I repeat, we have the security room. Awaiting a post from Garryl or Havock to see just what we’ve got here.