“Why did I let you talk me into going that way?” Drake yelled as he lunged over a rotten log.

Val screamed back, “I didn’t know there were rebels that way, dammit.”

They lapsed into silence as a crack of a rifle sounded out and a slug ripped past them, slamming into an upright tree in an explosion of wooden splinters. The yells of the rebels carried on the wind to them, along with the crunch of boots on leaves and the rustle of bodies rushing through the undergrowth.

They stumbled onto a dirt trail, well worn, and turned down it, favoring the clear path over the trip-inducing jungle. Clouds of dirt rose behind as they ran for their lives. Behind them, the rebel patrol emptied onto the road and paused to take a few shots, forcing the pair of Stormtroopers off of the road again.

“Dammit, if we get out of this alive, I’m going to beat you so badly that you’ll-“ Drake spat as his path crossed with Val’s.

A low hanging branch cut him off, as he clanged into his helmet, nearly taking his head off. Noticing the lack of obscenities, Val slammed into a tree and pushed back off, trying his best to reorient his mad dash in the opposite direction. His breath whooshed out, but he found himself moving towards the downed squad leader. Coming to a sliding halt next to the man, Val pounded on his breastplate, breathing a sigh of relief as a choked curse was directed at him.

“Get up, old man. We’ve gotta go. Come on, damn you.”

Val put his arm under the man and lifted up, supporting Drake on his shoulder. Together, they stumbled through the jungle. Behind, the pursuit closed in.

“We’re not going to make it . . .” Drake wheezed.

“Shut up. Shut up. Yes, we are. We are, don’t worry.”

Val was beginning to feel weary, oh so weary. He coughed and nearly fell, but caught himself. Inside his helmet, blood leaked from his noise, a souvenir from early when he had literally ran into the patrol. His legs felt leaden, more blood leaking from the jagged rip in his side armor. Silently, he cursed that particular rebel and his knife, but broke it off as streams of light erupted through the canopy ahead. He frowned, as so far it had been dark and gloomy, resulting from the overgrown jungle around them enveloping them in the thick leaves that let through no light.

A second later, they erupted into sunshine. Val grinned, as the light felt good, even if he could not physically feel it on his skin. His sudden rush turned into a lumbering halt as he realized that a cliff was coming up quickly. As he came to a stop, he snatched Drake back as the man was still dazed from the hit and did not realize where he was going. Over the edge, Val saw a rushing mass of water, descending from a river that came to the cliff a mere few yards away. The rush of the river water had crept up on them, so subtly that he only just then realized what he was hearing.

Above even that, he heard the rebels. Their yells and their gun shots. Their heavy feet pounding the dirt as they closed in on their target. He sighed and looked back at the cliff, then looked over it. The deep blue water below could have hid any number of dangers. Predators, carnivorous bacteria, shallows. They were caught between a rock and a hard place. He chuckled at that, suddenly finding the entire situation humorous, but cut it off with a choke as a hand latched onto his ankle. His first reaction was to stomp, but managed to curtail that as he looked down to see Drake pulling himself up.

“What’d I mish?” he said, slurring slightly through the haziness.

“We’re about to die.” Val said, chuckling again.

That sobered Drake up quickly and he shook his head and rocketed to his feet. Val had to give him credit for resiliency, at least.

“What do you mean? What are we doing standing here, then?”

“There’s nowhere to go, my friend.”  Val said, his sadness evident in his voice.

A flash of images roared through his mind. There were so many things that he had never done, never gotten the chance to do. So many regrets that he would never correct. His sighed, resigned to his fate.


The trees rippled as the patrol poured out of the jungle, onto the clearing. They began to raise their rifles as they recognized the armored beings standing at the riverside, but paused as they saw them unarmed and still. Their patrol leader stepped  forward, his weapon aimed at the two.

“Wat es das?” he said, his accent marring his speech.

Val gestured behind them at the raging river, “We have nowhere to go. We wish to surrender. We will come peacefully.”

The patrol leader was equal parts angry and fearful. He had seen what the two troopers had done to the men that they had run into earlier. Whereas his patrol had started off with ten, they were now down to six, with one of those six too injured to even hold a rifle, but alive. He knew that the two were planning something, but he had no idea as to what it was. As he ran through his options, he decided on not taking any chances.

“Way doo nawt tak presonars. Kell tham.”

Before the rebels could pull the trigger, Drake stepped forward, his arms raised, “WAIT!”

The rebels paused and looked to their leader, who was, despite his fear, slightly curious.

“Lat hem spake.” the man said, gesturing for Drake to continue.

“If you do not take prisoners, do you take recruits?”

A sudden impulse caused him to reach up and twist off his helmet.

“Do you understand me? I want to join. I’m tired of fighting for the wrong side. I’m done with regimes. Revolution is the only answer.”

Val was appreciative of the grizzled soldier’s acting skills, and of his own. He stepped forward and latched his hand onto Drake’s shoulder, jerking him backwards roughly.

“What? You’re going to give up the oath that you swore? You’re going to give up the Empire for some dirty rebels? Have you lost your damn mind?”

Mirroring Drake, Val tugged off his helmet, displaying an enraged expression.

“How can you do this? How can you betray the Empire like this? How can you betray me?”

Val stepped back, shaking his head in disbelief.

Drake decided that it was his turn, “The Empire is dead. You and I both know it. It died with the Emperor. We serve nothing more than a mockery. A sham. An imposter. And imposters do not deserve to rule. Revolution!”

He raised his hand, and was echoed by the rebels behind him. Val lunged forward, his hands reaching for Drake’s neck. Equal parts expecting the move and surprised by the ferocity of it, Drake raised his rifle and shot once. A mixture of blood and armor fragments erupted from Val’s side, where the knife wound was. Val staggered back, contorting his face into a combination of shock and anger.

Drake remained where he was standing, unmoving. His back firmly to the rebels, none of them saw the pained expression on his face, nor did they see the silently mouthed apology as Val fell back into the river. Curses and screams of very real pain reached the rebels, slowly failing until only the rumble of the of the rapids could be heard. The body continued to float onwards, reaching the edge of the falls and slipping over, as silent as death.

The sun was high in the sky by the time Velius woke up and changed into his armor. He was slow to get up, not wanting to, it was the best sleep he’d had in days. When he was done he put the guard’s cloth he had been wearing under the roots of a tree. I wonder if they have found his body yet. The moment replayed over and over in Velius mind. The man’s neck collapsing under the force of Velius blow, the feeling of anger that drove the elbow deep into the man’s neck. Velius tried to get the thought out of his head but he couldn’t as he picked up his blaster and bag. There’s nothing I can do about it, it’s war.

Velius decided that his first priority now that he was free was to locate the mountain him and Hammerhead had been heading too. It only took about a minute for him to find the mountain and realize that it was no more than 20 miles from his current position. Well that’s helpful. It looks like the rebels did most of the walking for me. Velius mood improved knowing he was close to his final destination. He hummed softly to himself as he walked. The jungle was more alive than ever. Monkeys jumped like acrobats from the tree tops and birds flew high in the sky like TIE fighters. After walking for about and hour, he stopped for lunch. The rough ration packs were usually not the most pleasant things to eat but Velius demolished his, having not had a full meal in days. After eating his first pack, Velius checked his bag and decided to have another, for his health. It took a matter of seconds for Velius to stuff his cheeks with dehydrated fruit and nuts. Velius sighed comfortably as he repacked the empty ration packets into his bag. He rose slowly from the ground and continued to walk, this time at a very comfortable rate.

It took Velius a good 3 hours to reach the mountain. The jungle abruptly stopped as the mountains slope started. It seemed like an entirely different environment. The jungle was lush and green, animals or signs of animals could be seen every ten feet but the mountain, the mountain was different. The only vegetation visible was small dry shrubs and no signs of animals could be seen. The sun only made it worse, it beat down on the sand which reflected it onto Velius armor. Velius slipped countless times down the slope. Red dust made its way thru Velius helmet and he coughed. Saliva spattered the inside of his visor. Damn, you’ve got to be kidding me. Velius sat down on the slope and removed his helmet. He extracted a small rag from a small pocket on his bag. As he sat and wiped the inside of his visor clean, he heard something, a low hum coming from the crest above his head. Velius knew that hum, it was the hum of a generator and if he was hearing a generator, Velius was probably near a rebel camp. With his helmet clean, Velius put it on and slowly crept up the wall of dirt. Upon reaching the top, Velius began to crawl towards the other edge. As the view beyond slowly came into view a knot form in his stomach. Down bellow he saw a sprawling expanse of tents and buildings with rebels scurrying around like confused insects. Now this is going to be fun.

Trying to keep himself low to the ground, Velius made his way to a ditch just a few feet from where he came up. He took his bag off and put it and his blaster in the ditch. Now that he didn't have the extra weight, Velius looked for a good place to over look the camp. He picked a place in a out crop of rocks a little way down the hill. It was hard to crawl down the hill and not disturb any dirt. When he made it. With an unknown amount of time to waste he laid back and stared down on the camp . Now Velius waited and he waited for one thing, signs of the rest of his squad. 

OOC:

This is a bad short post, I have unfortunately been on a bit of a writers block for the past few days so I thought I'd post something to get my mind working. Expect another post sometime this weekend. This is also something I've noticed with my writing and that is is that it is all very the same. If you see this too and have any tips, please PM me.

The battle was quick and decisive. Psycho and Helinar surrounded the camp, pouring intense fire from all sides. The rebels, who were caught off guard, had no chance to react. Any counter attack they attempted was feeble and disorganized, quickly dispersing at the will of the stormtroopers. For every rebel that dropped dead, another quickly surrendered. Soon, there were no more hostiles in the vicinity, and the two Imperials seized their fire.

“Alright Helinar, you ready to move in?” Psycho whispered, using his head gear’s radio. The camp was silent and still. Scorched bodies of steaming flesh littered the interior, soaking the dirt with dark red blood. The remaining rebels stood in the center, their hands raised and weapons dropped. The exterior of the camp housed tents and equipment; Psycho worried that some rogue rebels might be hiding there, waiting to strike.

“Awaiting your orders.”

“Alright. Hold a moment. I’m afraid some others might be hiding in the tents.”

“Well, you could-”

Psycho cut him off. “I may be less smart than you, but I do have an idea.” Pushing himself up from his prone position, Psycho tapped his helmet, turning on his external speakers. “Listen up! I’m going to count to three. If there are any hiding militants, come out now. Otherwise, we’re going to set fire to the tents. If we find any after I reach three, we will execute you, and the rest of your squad.”

Psycho knew the rebels understood him because the blood immediately drained from their faces.

“One!” He waited. Nothing. “Two!” Still nothing. “Three!”

“Wait!” One of the surrendered rebels shouted, waving his arms. His accent was strange and hard to understand. The rebel began to talk, shouting loudly, but Psycho still couldn’t understand him. Suddenly, Helinar shouted at the rebel, and he too was barely understandable.

“Sprechen Sie deutsch?” Helinar yelled across.

“Ja, das tue ich. Meine Galactic Basic ist schrecklich,” the rebel calmly replied. Psycho was struck with awe. Helinar was actually making a conversation with the rebel, in his native language.

“What’s he saying?” Psycho commed.

“I asked him if he spoke Jeurmaen. I’m surprised though because it isn’t native to this planet.”

The rebel yelled something once more, this time Psycho could detect a sense of urgency in his voice. Suddenly, as soon as he said it, a blaster bolt flew out of a nearby tent, striking the Jeurmaenian rebel in the face. Instinctively, Psycho aimed his heavy blaster rifle, blasting a few rounds towards the tent. They flew with immense speed, melting the plastic sheet upon impact. As soon as he did it, he heard a cry of pain shouted across the camp.

He didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what happened. The Jeurmaenian alerted Psycho of a hiding rebel, and clearly, that rebel didn’t want to have his position compromised. In an act of rage, he shot at his comrade, only to be shot himself. What a pitty.

“Alright, Helinar. I only think there was only one. Let’s move in,” Psycho grimly ordered. The two troopers approached, Helinar from the west, and Psycho from the east. They move cautiously at first, their guns raised and ready to fire, but as they met up with the surrendered rebels, they figured it was safe.

“Let’s get a head count. One, two, three...six. Great. What are we going to do with six rebels?” Psycho began, “I mean, I don’t want to kill them. But we can’t take them with us?”

“Maybe we could destroy their weapons. That would render them useless.”

Psycho turned to the rebels, grinning. “Which would you prefer? Me to blow your brains out, or your weapons taken?” All at once, the rebels kicked their weapons towards Psycho. “I thought so. Helinar, so how are we going to destroy these weapons?”

“Like this.” Helinar reached down and grabbed a rusty looking rifle. Taking his knife, he pried open the bottom piece, exposing the wire filled inside of the weapon. Grabbing a handful of the wires, he cut them with a yank. Their metallic ends sparked for a moment, before dying down. “Without those wires, the gun is completely inoperable.” He tossed it aside before handing Psycho his knife. “You keep doing that while I go find the jamming device.”

Psycho snorted. He didn’t seem too happy with the job.

Helinar turned about, his eyes darting around the camp. There were plenty of machines and equipment, but which one was the jamming device? A large metal box on wheels caught his attention. It displayed a large satellite dish ontop which rotated at a rapid pace.

Bingo. He proceeded toward the box, and began to examine its buttons and screens.

Now, how am I going to turn it off? Let’s see...current jamming frequency...signal strength...ah, here we are: disable jamming! Flicking the switch, nothing seemed to change, but the dish ontop stopped rotating.

Turning on his squad radio, he commed out, “Hello? This is Helinar of Valiant Squad. I’ve disabled the jamming device, can anyone hear me?”

OOC:

Yeah, I know. Its a really bad post (probably my worst post of this story). I had to smash through the writers block. My dialogue is horrible, and it doesn’t have good flow, but I needed to get a post up. Hopefully, this helped shake the rust off, and make my future posts better.

The water was nice. A bit chilly, but nice. The temperature of it was slightly offset by the warm rays of the sun upon his face. It was a counterbalance to the water, creating a hypnotic effect when coupled with the rhythmic pulse of the water. The soft sand underneath his armor supported him snugly, keeping him still even in the midst of the powerful waves washing on and off the shore. His wet hair, plastered to his head, slowly dried in the heat of the sun, leaving particles of sand and other minerals behind.  An outstretched hand was clamped onto his helmet, unwilling to let it go.

Eyes closed, he remained still, just wanting to let it all go. Pulses of pain resounded from the wound in his side, reverberating throughout his body each time the water rushed up to him and lapped up against the armor. The pain was intense and deep within, he knew that the water was slowly leeching his blood away. Soon, he would be too weak to move.

Would that be a bad thing?

He wanted to just stay there for as long as possible. Even with the pain, he was at peace. There was no one shooting at him. There was no one looking to him for guidance. No one looking to him to get them out of a nasty situation. He was alone and on his own. He had no responsibilities to anyone, but himself. Peaceful. Calm. Wonderful. He wanted nothing more than to do nothing.

The water continued to brush against him. He felt its cool embrace. He felt its caress. Sleep, it said, and stay.

Just give in and it will all be over. And you shall know rest.

His mind began to weaken, as his body weakened. He was undercutting his own resolve, gradually letting himself go. But as his mind emptied, something else rushed in to fill the void. Pain echoed within him, calling him back up out of the darkness. It filled him totally. Images of war flashed through his mind. Blaster rifles rhythmically pounding away as they spat laser bolts towards the enemy. Bullets ripping through his armor in a crackle of plasteel. The explosion of grenades across the fields of battle.

He stirred.

His squad, Blackjack. Crest, always at his side, stood with him again. They watched the squad as they prepared for a mission. He saw each and every trooper, each and every action. He saw them laughing and joking, bonding even as they prepared for a mission that might break them apart. That would break them apart. They were heading for Jafir. He heard the name on their lips. They didn’t know what was coming. The supposed safety of the transports. The desecration of that safety. The fall. The landing. The scattering.

More movement, sudden and jerking.

Death. Of his enemies. Of his comrades. Of his friends. Of himself. He saw it, clearly. He lost the battle with himself and he never moved again. His body slowly broke down, his head the first to go, unprotected by his armor as it was. It would take years for the rest of his body to catch up, but eventually his armor would be all that was left. And a century would go by, maybe more, maybe less. And finally, his armor would be worn away, gone forever. And that would be his final death. He would become nothing more than a statistic, yet another dead trooper.

He gritted his teeth and grunted, his body convulsing suddenly.

Blackjack would die in the forest. Maybe a few troopers would make it out, but the Blackjack that was would be no more. And it would be all because of him. He had gotten lazy. He had been calm and relatively carefree and it had infected the pilots, the gunners, and the troopers. And now he was just going to be a selfish bastard and give in when the pain was too much for him. When everything caught up, he was just going to lie down and let it take him out.

There’s nothing you can do. The others are already dead; they just don’t know it yet. Like you.  Just let those thoughts go and still yourself. This will all be over soon . . .

No.

Abruptly, he sat up, ignoring the fiery pain ripping through his body. He was awake. He was alive. He coughed for a moment, then turned and puked. The contents of his stomach properly expelled, he sat back on his haunches and blinked for a moment, unsure of where he was. Then it all came back to him. Running from the guerillas, Drake’s “betrayal,” and his ride over the waterfall. He sighed, then leaned forward and cupped his hand to gather up some of the water. He washed the remnants of the puke from inside of his mouth and from his face. Once clean, he unsteadily climbed to his feet, swaying slightly.

A quick check of his wound told him what he already knew. He had lost a fair bit of blood. Luckily, the wound seemed to have closed some, judging from the slight trickle, instead of the gushing mass that had come when he was first injured. He still needed to get it tended to soon, else infection would probably set in, if it hadn’t already.

Looking around, he noted that he had floated far enough downstream that he could no longer see the waterfall or even hear it. He was turning his head slowly, when he caught a faint glimmer through the trees. Squinting his eyes, he soon gave up trying to see it with just the naked eye and slipped his helmet on. The advanced tech in the helmet gave him access to a host of different options that he could use, though he opted to just simply zoom in. Slowly, the glimmer grew and coalesced into a tall structure. A guard tower, Val presumed. The glimmer was the setting sun reflecting off of the metal parapets surrounding the upper portion of the tower. His mind didn’t make the connection until a moment after.

A guard tower of that size and solidity mean civilization, which probably meant a major city. His hopes rose and he limped off, wanting to cover as much ground as he could be nightfall.

OOC:

Not my best work, but I just wanted to get Val back into action. Quick summary, Crest seems to have destroyed a major supply cache and Psycho destroyed one of the jammers. Yes, I did say one. There are two more. Have fun and don't take them out too quickly.

There was only silence. A pure, grey silence.

“Can anyone hear me?”

Still, only a dreary silence. As the silence lingered, so did Helinar’s frustration. The absence of noise was disheartening. He and Psycho had travelled for hours to get to this site, hoping to team up with some other squadmates, but there would be none of that now. Not only were their efforts wasted, but upon hearing this, Psycho soon became apprehensive of his squad mate’s statuses. Were they dead? Killed off by the rebels? Perhaps they just weren’t in the area.

It didn’t matter now. Psycho told himself to devote his thought to survival and to reach the main camp, but he couldn’t help but worry a little for his fellow Blackjackians.

“How is your progress with disrupting the binary plasma filamentation conduits?” Helinar smartly asked Psycho, sitting down with him on a log. Psycho yanked his knife, slicing through some wires before discarding the blaster rifle in messy pile.

“Well,” the tall Bespian began, “If you mean cutting these wires, then I’m almost done. But my wrist feels like hell. But you know, you’re the brains and I’m the grunt. Got to get used to these things!” Psycho smiled, but the joke didn’t settle with Helinar. Trying to break the awkward moment, Psycho added, “So...we’re not joining up with our squad mates. I guess we’ll head off to the main camp.”

“That would be logical.” Psycho starred at the ground, letting him think about his emotions for a moment.

Then he blurted out, “Helinar, are you worried about our squad mates?”

Helinar gazed at him for a moment, looking slightly confused. “What do you mean?” he replied.

“Well, they didn’t respond, do you think they’re okay.” Once again, Helinar just looked at him, his white helmet in his arms. Then, it hit Psycho like a blaster bolt to the face. “Hell, do you understand emotion?”

“I still don’t understand.”

“You know...how you feel. Happy, sad, angry, fear.”

“I...think so...”

“What did you feel after we won that battle?”

Helinar hesitated. “I...did feel something...but, I guess I dismissed it...there were more important things to worry about.” Psycho didn’t have to be a Psycho-logist to figure out what was happening. Clearly, Helinar was academically gifted, but with it came a price. He did feel emotions, but very minorly, and they were ranked last in Helinar’s subconscious. Psycho envied Helinar’s intelligence, but he pitied his autistic presence.

“Nevermind, Hell. I’ll finish up these blasters, and we’ll leave these rebels to themselves.”

=====

One hour later, they were ready to go. Psycho left the rebels with one blaster that he figured they could use to hunt, and he took as much food as he and Helinar could carry. They refilled their water caskets, and got their berrings with some maps. Helinar figured that it would take them two days to reach the main camp, but Psycho wasn’t too thrilled about that part. Nevertheless, it was necessary to the mission, and the headed off immediately.

The jungle, contrary to the day before, was less humid and hot. Clouds rolled in over the sun, and a breeze darted through the trees and bushes. The two companions were trying to make as much distance as possible before nightfall came, and it was coming fast. Only a few hours after they began their trek, darkness began to creep it.

Finding a small cave, they decided to call it quits. Helinar started a fire, and Psycho found some sticks to cover the cave entrance. Soon, the wet stone walls were glowing with light as Helinar prepared their canned bean dinner. Psycho tore apart his meal like a rabid bore, whereas Helinar savored it. Even the way they ate showed their distinct differences.

Feeling indeed very tired, and finding nothing to pass the time, the two stormtroopers retreated to their straw beds and quickly fell asleep...

=====

The night passed quickly, and the warm rays of sunlight broke through the primitive door, awakening Psycho and Helinar. With a breakfast of bread, the two were ready to go.

Psycho expected the day to be long and tiresome, but he was surprised. The once hilly jungle had levelled out which made it easier on his knees. However, Helinar saw the terrain change in a different manner. It was levelled out because of an ancient river, and it was a flood plain. Usually roads were built along rivers, and Helinar expected them to find one, leading towards the camp.

At about midday, they found it. Coming through a tree line, the two Imperials gazed upon a wide and shallow river with sandbars scattered to and fro. The water flowed calmly, and specks of light shimmered in reflection of the sun. It stretched for a good kilometer in length, before turning around a sharp bend. However, that wasn’t all they found. On their side of the river was a dirt road littered with tracks of vehicles. A supply line for the camp.

Then, suddenly, a roar in the distance entered the ears of the troopers. An unmistakable roar. The roar of vehicles. Rebel vehicles. They knew what they had to do, but how to do it?

The roar was getting louder, and they didn’t have much time to prepare. Psycho looked at Helinar for help.

“Don’t worry,” he began, “I have a plan.”

OOC:

Not the best post, but it gets me somewhere.

A falling stalactite narrowly avoided the boat and plunged into the underground river.

“All right, you win, Aquila; this was a really bad idea!”

“Too late now, and anyways it was worth every second!”

The two occupants of the boat were looking fearfully at the ceiling even as they pushed the boat’s motor to its full strength in an attempt to escape the collapsing cavern. Aquila had drawn her weapon and was scanning the edges of the river for any rebels that were foolish enough not to try to escape and instead try to gun them down.

“We’ve got a boat loading up with rebels ahead! They could be trying to cut us off!”

“Don’t give them the chance; destroy their engine!”

Crest did have to marvel at Aquila’s timing. Even with the boat rocking up and down from the multiple waves caused by collapsing rocks, Aquila fired a clean burst and enveloped the engine in a hail of blaster bolts.

One of the blaster bolts must have hit the fuel line because a raging fire burst from the back of the boat. The rebels, in an attempt to get away from the fire, jumped into the river.

Crest’s and Aquila’s boat screamed past them, leaving them to their fates. Nothing but falling rocks tried to stop them after the group of rebels. Just as the boat entered the tunnel from which the underground river was emanating, the cavern, weakened by the multiple rocks that had dropped, completely caved in on itself with a loud thunder of sound.

Continuing their full speed escape, Crest and Aquila navigated the sharp turns of the river at a dangerously fast speed, bypassing almost all of the rebel boats that were left in the underground river. Any of those foolish enough to try to cut Crest and Aquila off were decimated by a quick burst of fire from Aquila.

After about an hour of dangerously fast driving, the underground river eventually turned to an above ground river. Crest slowly reduced the power of the engine, knowing that they had to be careful now that they could be flanked.

“Trade me spots, Aquila. I think we’ll be stable enough that I can use my TI-47 Deathwind Sniper Rifle from here on out. It has much more range that your E-45, and we’ll know about rebels from a much bigger distance because of the scope.”

“Fine.”

The two of them traded spots. Aquila spent roughly a quintet of seconds familiarizing herself with the controls. Crest, however, took longer. He went to a prone position and zeroed the wind and distance corrections on his scope from what he had done when they were surveying the cavern. He might have to make on the corrections on the fly, but it was better than having a scope perfectly suited for one side and completely messed up for the other three sides.

“Are you ready, Crest?”

“I am ready whenever you are, Aquila.”

Aquila gently eased in the motor of the boat and the two of them proceeded down the river, and Crest kept the rifle moving as he scanned the shores.

Left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, it was an unending pattern. Left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, the pattern continued. Left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, Crest dared not let his guard down in case of rebels. Left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, if he was not vigilant it would be the death of both himself and Aquila. Left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, Crest saw a convoy.

After waving frantically for Aquila to cut the engine, Crest resumed his examination of the vehicles. It was only a small convoy with two jeeps, front and back. Both of the jeeps had a heavy repeating blaster turret on the back of them. In the middle were two trucks, one with a flatbed with what appeared to be some sort of transmitter on top of it. The Crest quickly adjusted the two knobs of the scope to adjust for wind and approximate distance, knowing that he would have to take them out soon. He was not going to let them pin him and Aquila out in the middle of a river.

Then, something happened, but Crest was not quite sure exactly what happened. A flash of red and white in front of the trucks told him all he needed to do. White indicated a stormtrooper; red indicated Blackjack. That was two reasons more than enough to help out. Thankfully, he was in the right range. As blaster bolts began flying, Crest aimed at the first truck driver (the front jeep’s driver having been taken out by the other Blackjack trooper) and calmly placed a round through his head. Crest adjusted his TI-47 Deathwind Sniper Rifle and placed a round through the person in the passenger’s head. The second truck’s driver and passenger had realized what had happened and had been able to sneak into cover. The jeep’s passengers also managed to get into cover behind the second truck, but not before Crest placed a round through the driver’s head. The only person to stay on the jeep was the person on the repeating blaster turret. A cold grip enveloped his heart as he realized what was about to happen.

“Aquila, gun the engine! Let’s move!”

Aquila started the engine in a flash and pushed the engine into full speed, a testament to her ability to comprehend and react quickly.

“Get your head down, Crest!”

Even as the first blaster bolts coated the area where they had been, Aquila initiated a gentle curve towards the jeep’s gunner, sliding the boat under the rebel’s spray of blaster bolts. It took Crest moments to realize what she intended to do. Crest smiled. The plan was crazy. Unfortunately, he liked crazy. Aquila lined the boat up with the gunner and pushed the engine to its full power.

As the boat rushed on to the beachhead, it was launched into the air, and the boat hit the gunner dead center, killing the gunner. The boat skidded to a stop on the other side of the jeep. Both Crest and Aquila jumped out of the boat (Crest having switched to his M-66SD)...and found themselves on the wrong end of two blasters. However, Crest recognized the oversized gun and knew who it was.

“Nice to see you too, Psycho.”

“Crest! Nice to see you. Have you met any other squad members?”

“No. Us Assistant Squad Leaders and Squad Leaders were shot down together but decided to separate to avoid attention. We waited a while at our rendezvous point, but Val never came.”

“Do you thin—”

“I don’t know.”

Psycho nodded. Truth be told, Crest was scared of what could have happened to the rest of the squad. Very scared.

“What was that on the truck?”

“A jammer. We were going to look into disabling it after we looked over here.”

Moments later, Crest, Psycho, Aquila, and a Valiant squad trooper (whom Aquila said was Helinar) were clustered around the jammer.

Helinar analyzed the jammer for a few seconds.

“This is a different model. The controls are unmarked for this one.”

Crest asked, “You guys already took out one?”

Psycho replied, “Yeah, Helinar disabled it.”

Aquila entered the discussion, “I hope that you guys made sure it couldn’t be turned on again.”

Psycho looked around nervously, “Uhm...”

“And that is why I lost faith in the other half of the human race. Think with your head for a second.”

Crest said, “Aquila, calm down.”

Helinar re-entered the conversation, “The Merr-sonn 9203 jammer model requires a tremendous amount of energy to start-up. There is no way that they could get a new energy containment device there that soon.”

“Energy containment device?” Crest asked, curious at the choice of words.

Psycho replied, “He uses big, fancy words. I suppose he means a battery.”

“Ah. So back to the topic on hand. How do we disable this?”

Aquila commented, “If you can find the instruction manual, we’re in luck. If not...”

Crest looked at the fragile controls...and an idea came to his head. Taking his M-66SD, he aimed it at the jammer and sprayed a magazine into it. The controls sparked for a second and then went dead. The dish on top stopped rotating.

“This is Crest to any Blackjack squad members. Respond if you can hear us.”

Aquila repeated the same thing for Valiant, and they waited...