It was cold; the wind was bitter and biting at any amount of exposed skin it could find. This type of cold wasn’t simply a winter chill. This cold was the kind that would freeze your blood and turn your bones into icicles. The winters of Reedex had always been particularly harsh, but for whatever reason Darius Corr was hopeful. Some good hope did me. There hasn’t even been a frost yet and most of our crops are dead. Good thing we got them in for harvest time. Fast winds whipped at his heavy coat, snapping at him with a cold so intense he could have sworn his tear ducts had frozen. Out in the distance the wind snapped at the posts holding up a flag. Darius turned his head at the sound; it sounded like an explosion, a noise he wanted to keep back in the recesses of his mind. He ventured further past his own small farm and towards the start of the Villian Pass; despite the fact that it was cold, it was a good day for a walk. Darius stepped over rocks and various outcroppings as he made his way through the pass. Thinking back, Darius realized that the colony had had an eventful week: The ship that apparently landed somewhere in the pass, the abandoned military base suddenly seeming active. There had been no news from the fleet or anyone about a new garrison moving in. Truth be told, Darius wasn’t just going out for a nice stroll on the coldest day in years for sheer pleasure; he was doing it to see what was going on.

The pass bent this way and then, and the wind funneling through the narrow pass blew through Darius’ body like a scythe through wheat. Of course I pick the coldest day of the year to go out and check a bloody abandoned fortress. Darius took a path leading up and around the mountain, with the old fortress in clear sight. As he passed a small clearing, he looked down and saw a pair of tanks resting quietly on the ground with crews of men running between them. Darius crouched down as he took a closer look, bringing out his macrobinoluars to get a better look. They don’t look like Vast Empire soldiers. They don’t look like anybody at all. What the hell is going on? The sound of rocks falling from overhead forced Darius to shift his gaze upward. There was nothing there. He got up from his crouch and continued up the path, a spiral up to the top of a small spire. The further up he got, the colder it got, and Darius had to brace himself so he didn’t fall off the side of the rock.

As he reached the top, he got a much better look of the surrounding land. He took out his macrobinoculars once more and took a look around: The old fortress was off in the distance, and it appeared to be bustling with activity, and the ship could clearly be seen in the background. It looks like we did get a new garrison. But why didn’t we hear anything? He swung his head around to look at the tanks, and there appeared to be more than he once thought. As he god back up to turn around and leave, something struck him. Darius stood there, dumbstruck, as he felt his life’s blood seeping out of him. He fell to his knees looking around. As his vision started to blur, he saw snowflakes beginning to fall. The first frost of the season had begun.



Tanus woke up before his alarm went off – again. Granted he had gotten about a week or so to rest up and heal, but all told Tanus was still very much tired. He flipped his legs over and sat over the side of his bed, rubbing his temples. He looked at the chrono on his end table; it was 0530. Seven and a half hours. Not bad, all things considered. He got out of bed, turning off his alarm and, as a force of habit, checking his datapad. Of course he already did; it was from Jeg:

New docket for you to look at; it’s in the ready room for you. Hope you’re ready for a winter trip.

Tanus sighed as he went through his morning routine, showering, eating and dressing before heading down to the ready room and getting things ready for the meeting. When he got there, it was 0700; a quick message sent to the squad had everybody there in ten minutes. As they filtered in, Tanus stood at the fore of the room, Garryll taking a spot to his left, while the others took their seats.

“Good morning everyone. I hope you all slept well.”

Various groans and grunts arose from the squad; behind him, Garryll gave a large yawn before slumping up against the wall, putting his hands in his pockets. Tanus shrugged and carried on.

“Well then, it seems y’all didn’t sleep well. At any rate, it appears we have a new mission on our hands, and this time we’ll sort of be flying blind.”

Tanus turned and hit a switch on a small remote, activating the holoprojector. A green, yellow orb appeared, spinning freely in midair. Tanus turned back to the squad and pressed on.

“This is Reedex, a Vast Empire colony close to Cerea. As you well know, one week ago, Thrawn hit us hard and we drove him back. Soon thereafter, some of the rabble left over from the traitorous Moffs tried to put Sianat even further into the ground. And now, I come to you with even better news: It seems the mercs we fought a week ago were fighting with no leaders, meaning they were a feint for whoever’s leading these bastards to get to safety.”

Tanus flipped through the docket and started to hand out pictures to each of the squad members. They looked them over and passed them around before looking back to Tanus.

“Each of those men is believed to be one of the higher ups in the echelon of douchebaggery, and are more than likely the mercenary commanders the Moffs used during the siege to keep us on our toes. That said, let us head back to Reedex. It seems the inner circle or whatever you want to call it hijacked a ship, some materiel and hightailed it out of Tadath without so much as coming up on our radar. This is a huge problem, considering the fact that these guys are still with striking distance and have a bone to pick with us over the loss of their meal ticket.”

Tanus hit a button on the remote and a large Y-4 Raptor transport came on screen.

“What it seems to be is that the mercs jacked one of our Y-4s, jammed it full of tanks, ammo and men and left for Reedex. That was a week ago. Since then there have been people going missing on the colony for the past week, and of course, the colonists don’t know where to turn. They seem to think we sent the ship down, which would make sense considering there is an old military fortress on the planet. The problem with that is that the mercs have it, and we have no idea how many there are.”

Jager raised his hand, his expression a cross between lazy and agitated.

“So what in the hell are we doing?”

“Simple. We’re going in, routing these bastards, and going to try and take the council or whatnot alive for questioning. Oh, and by the by, Reedex is in the middle of a heavy winter. We can’t take our jetpacks because apparently the winds get so rough that we can simply be blown off the mountain. So, I recommend some hiking kit or some armor plates or something attached to your armor. I’ll be bringing a heavy cloak. Other than that, we’ll have our full kit, weapons and all. We leave in about one hour, folks. Let’s get ready.”



An hour came and went, the squad ready in the armory before walking out towards the hangar. Typically the hallways were bustling with activity, but for whatever reason, they seemed oddly desolate. Must be the clean up in the city. Fort Sexton’s doing perfectly fine compared to the rest of Sianat. As they walked into the hangar, the guards nodded to him and the deck master gave him a warm greeting.

“Good morning sir. Your shuttle is ready and waiting. All of your equipment is checked and accounted for.”

Tanus just chuckled; this one was obviously new.

“Relax there, peppy. I’m just here to get my ship and bugger off. There’s no need for the ‘Ray of Sunshine’ routine.”

Tanus looked down at the deck master, who looked ashamed and slowly back away from the armored trooper. As they made their way to the shuttle, Garryll walked up next to Tanus.

“Ya know, you didn’t need to scare him like that.”

“You think that was scary? Please. He’s new, he’ll learn. Besides, I weren’t scary would you honestly respect me?”

“No, I respect you because you’re crazy and like my face not getting crushed by a war hammer.”

“Fair enough.”

As the boarded the shuttle, they started it file out into seats, but it seemed somebody was already waiting for them. The lone trooper got up from his seat, striding forward in full EVO armor. He was taller than Tanus by a good five inches, and outweighed him by at least 30 pounds. Looking him over, Tanus almost immediately recognized who it was.

“Jeg? What are you doing here?”

“Well, since you are the elite squad, and I do need to do my job, I’m coming along to observe you and make sure you’re doing your job.”

“So… you’re just coming along to heckle me the entire time aren’t you?”

“Essentially. Except this time I may actually listen to you if you yell at me.”

“All right then. Blackjacks, let’s put on a good show for the commander. Now let’s get moving.”

OOC:

All right. So the trip is about 6 hours out. Don't do anything for the six hours. Just land us and get us started.

Cold was a decidedly bland term for the environment he was about to find himself in, Corvin decided. The MAATi shuddered as though hit as another blast of wind hit it, and the troopers clung to handholds or whatever else was at hand.

Dropping from the shuttle's troop bay, Corvin landed with a muffled thump on the ground, clouds of loosely-packed snow thrown up by his landing. Unslinging his Arbites-II shotgun, he cradled the weapon in his arms as he shuffled through the snow towards Jager and Abalar.

The wind's howling intensified, and his arms suddenly felt numb. Corvin could barely feel his EE-3 in his grip, and was suddenly glad for the helmet and breath mask he'd decided to wear. Still, it was frakking cold.

Loran jumped down, landing on bent knees before rising from his half-crouch. Above the fire team, the MAAT rose, its repulsorlifts buzzing as they fought against the wind, then sped to the east and out of sight. Time for the fire team to get started.

Born and raised on a farm planet, he'd never been subjected to cold like this before. Like all members of the Corps, he'd had some training in how to fight and survive in them, and had gone through the Academy simulation with everyone else.

However, he hadn't participated in any of Phoenix Company's  joint missions, jokingly referred to as "holiday competitions" by some veterans. He'd assumed they'd been exaggerating when they described the locations. Evidently, they hadn't.

"Frak, it's cold. How do the locals survive?" Corvin muttered, shifting from foot to foot.

"I have absolutely no idea." Loran replied. "If we stay out here for too long, we'll be saving the traitors some blaster rounds."

"Get moving then." Jager replied, as unsympathetic as ever. That was reassuring. Cold and emotionless was preferable to homicidal, especially when said Sergeant had quite a strong motivation for an "accident" to happen. "Corvin, you're on point."

"Yes, sir!" Corvin replied, moving to the front. This was something he could do.

The four Blackjacks walked in formation through the snowy fields, weapons raised. Corvin strode forwards with his head bowed, struggling to avoid being blown off his feet every time the wind blew past. The arm guards and the armour he'd strapped over his plastoid chestplate didn't seem to be enough weight to help. Behind him, Abalar was having the same problem.

The wind wasn't the only problem. The amount of snow falling through the air had dramatically increased in several minutes, and the wind blew it through the air, directly into the troopers slogging through the fields. The going became harder and harder as they went along, the snow quickly rising almost to their knees.

How far away can this farmhouse be, anyway? Corvin thought frustratedly.

His question was abruptly answered was when the first blaster bolt flew past his helmet. Corvin felt an intense heat as the air from its passing blew over his face, then raised his shotgun as more shots hit the ground around him. There were half a dozen bulky figures charging through the snowstorm towards the fire team, wielding what Corvin recognized as E-11s.

"Ambush!" Loran yelled, firing his EE-3. One of the attackers fell, clutching what was left of his throat.

These were definitely the renegades they were looking for. The farmhouse had to be nearby.

“We need to break the deadlock, boss!” Gates called to Tanus.

“I know. Setup and give us some cover fire. RB, drop a grenade in their face, if not on them. Get them ducking, at least.”

The First Sergeant tipped a lazy salute and slung his rifle. His trademark, trusty ‘nade launcher was instantly in his hands, and he casually arced it to firing position. He squinted into the flip-up sights and let loose a couple grenades.

Thonk, thonk

The grenades were such slow projectiles that they were visible until they landed rather messily into the snow, kicking up the over layer and a plume of dirt and mud beneath it. Tanus leapt up, his tea, with him, and started moving.

“Second team! Cover fire!” Tanus barked. “First team! Fire and advance!”

Gates’ team hit powder, kneeling in the snow and firing rapidly. Orobos, fur poking out of his always-too-small armor, kneeled next to him, Private Hassar on his other side. Jeg ran next to Tanus, firing his rifle.

“Just like old times, eh, big fella?” Gates asked lightly, firing a three-round burst from his rifle. The bright red bolts melted gaping holes in the snow when they missed.

“And your aim hasn’t gotten any better, Garryll,” the Whipid laughed. He fired and missed as well.

Hassar dropped a merc without a word, and pumped a fist lightly. Gates chuckled.

“Second team move up! First team, cover!” Tanus’ voice cut through the hail of blaster fire.

“You heard the boss,” Gates said, leaping to his feet and firing a few more shots down range. “Move it!”

Three heavy pairs of boots mashed down snow as they sprinted down the hill. The three Blackjacks and Jeg were in good cover, firing aimed blasts at the merc’s positions. Return fire kicked up gouts of super-heated steam that whipped away in seconds.

They reached the foot of the hill, and dove into a ditch that was quickly filling up with snow.

“Second team in position! Give ‘em Hell, boys!” Gates spat excitedly. He fired a long burst and managed to decapitate a parka-wearing merc with one of his powerful laser shots. The range was much more forgiving, and laser blasts streaked closer to men on both sides.

“Glad you could join the party, sir!” Corvin’s voice came across the comlink, now close enough to be unhindered by static. “These frakkers caught us by surprise, but we’re giving them the old one-two.”

“The old one-two? What the hell does that even mean?” asked someone. “I thought you punched someone when you gave them the ‘old one-two’.”

“I thought it was something you order at a restaurant.”

“I thought –“

“First team move up! And cut the chatter!” Gates cut through the noise. “We’ve got you covered, Tanus.”

Tanus team rose from their positions and began their run down the slope. Gates slung his rifle and pulled the flamer off of his back. “No one expects flame in the middle of winter, I’d expect.”

He aimed it at around forty five degrees and pulled the trigger. Liquid fire spat from its barrel and flew at the merc’s positions. It caught at least one man, melting the snow around him and turning him into a wailing torch of burning flesh and screaming lungs.

The other mercs recoiled at their hapless comrade’s fate, and another took a shot to the throat, dropping him, hissing from the blaster fire, into the snow. The survivors pulled themselves back together and redoubled their efforts, firing a near-constant barrage of laser fire. In response, Gates let loose another spear of flame, cooking another couple men alive.

“Ha ha, burn and die, you sons a’ bitches!” Gates crowed.

“I can see some things never change,” Orobos muttered into the comlink. Several of the veteran Blackjacks chuckled.

The mercs were badly outnumbered by now, their numbers cut in half by the heavy fire from the Blackjacks and the heavy application of fire. Nevertheless, they didn’t panic, and began an orderly withdraw, with three members scurrying back to cover while their comrades put up harassing fire at Second team’s position. Gates ducked smartly.

“Second and Third teams, pincer ‘em. We’ll go up the middle!” Tanus ordered.

“Aye sir,” Gates said, trying to keep below cover while sprinting for a circling position. His tac-map bounced in his HUD’s corner, but it said that Jager’s team was stretching and curving around a half-dozen red hostiles. A foursome of friendly green circles charged up the middle. A red dot faded from the screen, and Gates looked up instantly, just spotting one of the runners drop from a headshot from the rear.

The fallen man’s two living comrades took one look at their fallen friend and sprinted away, forgetting to cover the trio of men that were offering suppressive fire. One of the trio dropped instantly, his parka steaming from a half-dozen holes put in him from different angles. The cowardly mercenaries managed to reach the tree line, but Gates snapped his rifle up to his shoulder and dropped the slower of the two.

The last two hostiles within sight frantically fired at their opponents, but quickly fell. One was riddled like his comrade, hit from three sides by Blackjack blaster fire. The other clicked empty just as Tanus’ team was a dozen meters away and decided to eat a blaster bolt from his sidearm than be captured.

Blackjack, panting in the snow, breath forming into clouds before their faces, stood around the empty improvised mercenary trench, and at the bodies strewn in death. Gates sneezed at the cold and coughed.

“Jeez, my reputation of fine and humane treatment of prisoners precedes me,” Gates said sarcastically.

Tanus chuckled drily and waved them forward. “Farmhouse is the next step.”

Abalar never had responded well to the cold. The winters on Dantooine when she had been growing up had been torture, more so than her life there. As soon as she heard they were going to Reedex, a chill went through her body, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. It was winter on that planet, and those were particularly bad, far worse than those on Dantooine. She was going to be the first to freeze, and with an important person like Jegora with them, it was really important that she wasn’t.

In her attempts to be slightly warmer, Abalar had worn double of everything, socks, shirt, pants, you name it. Still, as soon as she stepped out onto Reekex’s surface, the cold bit straight through everything. The wind was strong, and well, being easily the smallest and lightest out of her squad, Abalar was having the hardest time staying on her feet. At least she had balance and the know-how to recover from her dancing background. She didn’t feel as bad when she noticed Corvin was having a difficult time as well.

To make matters worse, they had, and were once again, being shot at. Oh goody. There was nothing Abalar loved more than to get shot at by random tanks, or whatever it was out there. The instance with Mustang had put her on edge, well, more so after being stuck out here freezing her butt off. Just because they felt fine didn’t mean they were fine. That was one of the many saying taught in medic training. And he had touched her medkit! Next time, she was going to jab his hand with a lethal dose of stimulants. No one touched her medkit without permission.

Falling back on her Jester experience, Abalar stuck close to Jager. At least he’d listen with a dead ear if she chose to rant. There would be time after, when they weren’t in a possible fatal situation to do that though. Whose bright idea was it to follow the two rookies in the squad, one armed with a particle cannon, the other with a J-4? Abalar shrugged at the thought. It wasn’t her place to make the decisions or to argue with them. She did as ordered and charged over the lip, keeping stride with her fellow Blackjacks.

The air was still freezing, and Abalar could have sworn that her fingers were freezing in a hold around her blaster. Her only hope was that Loran would do his job, and none of them would wind up dead. That would be nice. However, when Loran did succeed, her joys were short lived. The newer PFC collapsed, sending a wave of panic through her. She ran over, throwing herself beside Mustang. She checked his vital signs, and even though they seemed stable, the lack of continuous motion for heat and the high threat of shock could easily change those readings. Abalar opened a channel with Tanus.

“We have to get to that farmstead, now. Mustang’s alive, but…” she trailed off. There was no need to finish the sentence. Any sane person could guess what this weather could do to a man.

“Alright,” Tanus said. “Can you carry him, or do you need help?”

“Unless you want me to dead man drag him, I’m going to need help.”

A channel was opened to the whole squad.

“Anyone want to carry dead weight?” Tanus said seriously.

“I’ll do it,” the Barabel said, moving to throw Loran over his shoulder.

Abalar didn’t know much about Barabels, but if there were anything like their beastial versions, he couldn’t be holding up very well. However, she noted that Faridoon was hiding it pretty well.

“Blackjack, the farmstead. Jager and team, set out. Faridoon, go with them for now. Get Loran inside as soon as possible. We’re going to sweep the area, just to make sure there are no stragglers to report our whereabouts.”

“Yessir,” Faridoon said in his accented Basic.

He moved quickly to pick up Mustang.

“Carefull!” Abalar said harshly. She didn’t like where the shrapnel was sitting in his chest, and as she had no idea how long the piece was, she had no idea how close it was to his heart.

Faridoon made a special effort to pick up the unconscious private very carfully, almost in a mocking manner. However, Abalar ignored the idea. The cold was making her grumpy, and it wouldn’t be very nice to throw a fit at a lifesaver.

Abalar thought of the Barabel as mysterious. However, she was afraid of talking to him, mainly of the things she’d heard and seen in cantinas. Stereotypically an aggressive species, Faridoon didn’t seem to be too much like the other Barabels she’d seen.

The chatter was kept to a minimum. Abalar was concentrating on making sure Mustang was alive and that Faridoon didn’t get picked off. If Fari went down, then they’d be screwed. That would be two blasters down out of the group of five… leaving Jager, Corvin and herself. Those were never good odds, even for an elite squad.

The process of getting to the farmstead was difficult and slow. The snow was still coming down, and for most, the snow level was at knee. For Abalar, the depth of the snow ranged from mid thigh to pelvic level. Oh goody. At least she was anchored in, and Corvin was on point, trail blazing the way for the five of them.

The Blackjack’s had a rough idea of which way to head, but due to the conditions, the group frequently had to stop and double check their heading. Every time they did, Abalar checked on Mustang. Each time she checked, she half expected him to be dead. However, The blurry haze and snow made for disorientating conditions, and more than once they had to make a sharp adjustment. At first, Abalar was surprised that Jager hadn’t made any snide comments about Corvin’s directional abilities. However, she guessed that since he was the only other one that could realistically guide the group, he held his tongue.  Abalar was too short, and required someone to be ahead of her. She also had to stay in front of Faridoon, who was carrying an unconscious Mustang. Jager really was quite intelligent, even though he didn’t show it too often.

The chatter was of course kept to a minimum. Everyone conscious was on edge from the earlier attack, and a certain paranoia hung in the air. Frequently, a curse was emitted from one of the Blackjack’s when they kicked, tripped, or slipped on some unforeseen object buried beneath the snow.

On their last stop, the Blackjacks found shelter and Abalar contacted her SL.

“Tanus, its Abalar.”

“Trouble?”

“No. We’ve found shelter half a mile from the farmstead. We’re going to wait for you to catch up before we continue on. Jager’s scouting the area, seeing what’s out there, and unless you want a freeze dried trooper, you’d better hope that there isn’t much.”

“So I take it Mustang’s still alive?”

“Yeah, but I can’t say for how much longer. The cold’s getting to him, and the shock isn’t helping. I’ve given him all I can, but…”

“Right. We shouldn’t be too long.”

The channel closed, and Abalar sighed. She looked up and caught Faridoon looking at her.

“Yeah?” Abalar said, as inoffensively as she could manage.

“You’re hands are shaking.”

Abalar glanced down, and indeed they were. Annoyed she brought them into her chest. “It’s the cold,” she explained.

Faridoon just shrugged.

“You don’t talk much do you?” Abalar said to him.

“There’s no need to,” he replied before he folded his hands behind his head and leant back.

The conversation was dead, so Abalar focused her attentions on keeping Mustang alive. She really hoped that Tanus was telling the truth when he said he wasn’t going to be too long, for her patient’s sake.

"Contact approaching." Corvin reported. "Large, probably a speeder according to thermals."

"Get down." Jager ordered.

The three troopers not occupied got down into the snow, only the tips of their rifles and camouflaged heads showing.

A quiet buzzing made itself heard over the shriek of the wind, a noise that made Corvin's skin crawl. It slowly intensified, the characteristic whine of a military repulsorlift filtered from the background noise by the sophisticated earpieces the Blackjacks were wearing.

Corvin's feelings were split between rage at the traitors who'd managed to hurt his squadmate so badly and fear of the speeder approaching their positon. His mouth dry, the trooper watched as the outline of what was unmistakably flickered in and out of view in the storm, searchlights panning left and right as it approached. It was getting very close indeed.

Corvin adjusted his Arbites's aim slightly. Behind him, Abalar was still desperately tending to Loran, the ground around her littered with emptied syringes and speckled with crimson.

It was exactly the same shade as their armour, Corvin idly noted ,as he watched it through his goggle's feed. If only he'd worn more plating. If only they'd used specialized snowtrooper armour, or even a set of the winter Army kit. If

"Toss dets on my mark." Jager grated, his voice crackling in Corvin;s ear.

Suddenly, the unexpected happened. The searchlights flickered and went out, and the noise of the repulsorlift suddenly stopped. Corvin could see the speeder quite clearly through the goggle's thermal mode, and watched as a hummanoid figure got out of the driver's seat and ran towards the fireteam. Its hands were raised, he noted.

"Contact." Corvin reported. "Unarmed."

"What do you mean, contact?" came a familiar, and somewhat indignant, voice over the comlink. "Come out, Blackjacks."

"Platoon Sergeant." Corvin said briskly, getting up from his position and snapping off a salute. Jager and Faridoon emerged a moment later, lowering their carbines as the Blackjack ASL came into view. Abalar didn't bother stopping to look.

"There's a life support pack in the cargo compartment," Garryll told the team, gesturing over his shoulder as he did so. His expression hardened as he caught sight of Loran. "How's he doing?"

Jager was as silent as ever, and Corvin simply shook his head. It was the taciturn Faridoon who answered the ASL.

"Not well."

Garryll nodded, turning around and running back to the parked speeder. He returned a moment later with his arms full of life support packs. Abalar glanced at them for a moment as Gates set them down, then resumed her work.

"Get those activated." the medic said, her voice calm. Faridoon did so,pressing the button with one taloned finger. The medic held the pack close to Loran's wound, waiting for the beep before pressing it against the wound.

The other Blackjacks knelt around the pair, weapons trained on their surroundings. The snow fell faster and faster, covering the blood that stained the ground around them. Slowly, Loran's face regained colour, helped by the portable heater one of the troopers had retrieved and set up, and Abalar's movements became less frantic.

Finally, she looked up.

"He'll make it."

There were several sighs of reliefs.

"The rest of the squad's on its way." Gates informed them. "We just need to wait."

With few other options, the squad hunkered down, taking up positions  in the rough semicircle the heater had cleared in the snow-covered plain.

The device would act like a signal beacon for anyone out there with a pair of thermal goggles, but there was no way Loran could survive prolonged exposure to the cold, not in his current state. Nearby, the speeder hummed to itself, Garryll manning its rear-mounted heavy blaster.

The team waited patiently.

This is where I belong, Jegora thought to himself as he made his way through the snow. Next to him the speeder was moving along slowly. The steady winds and the shifting snows made it slow going for even the repulsorlift-powered vehicle, but Jegora wasn’t complaining. Even though he was stuck in three feet of snow in blizzard-like conditions, his EVO (short for ‘Environmental’) armor kept him relatively comfortable, and the armor’s sophisticated heads-up display kept him aware of everything that was happening around him. No, despite the horrible conditions, Jegora wasn’t in the least bit bothered. He was just happy to be back in the action. Desk jobs were a necessity, and someone had to do them, but first and foremost Jegora was a fighter, a highly trained warrior who loved nothing better than to pit his skills against that of an enemy. Recently he had begun to long for the glory days, back when he had served first in Iron Horse and later in Jester squad. He had only been a trooper, then, and his only responsibilities had involved taking orders and killing baddies. Simpler times, and times long gone.

Shaking his head, Jegora mentally slapped himself. Reminiscence on the battlefield was a good way to get killed, and such a rookie mistake was not how Jegora intended to go down. Chances were that he would “buy the farm” one day, or at least a big enough piece of it that he would have to leave the Corps. He was a career soldier, and the odds were against him. It was as simple as that. No matter what the odds may or may not have been, however, Jegora sure as hell wasn’t going to help them along be being stupid.

The BlackJacks trudged on, silent for the most part, although there were the occasional bouts of chatter. It was mostly business talk though, which was to be expected from a squad as highly trained as the BlackJacks were. After all, good soldiers didn’t let themselves become distracted by stimuli, either external or internal, and the BlackJacks were some of the best soldiers in the galaxy.

After a relatively long jaunt across the frozen, snow filled landscape, Tanus at last held up an armored fist. Slowly the BlackJacks ground to a halt, and Jegora did the same. Checking his HUD, he noted that they were quickly approaching their first target, a small farm house only about a kilometer from the fortress itself. Switching between his infrared and low-light helmet filters, Jegora scanned the terrain, trying to locate the building. He had no visuals, of course: the snow prevented that. However, his infrared scanners did show a cluster of buildings and what could have been heat signatures from several life forms only a few hundred meters away. Jegora checked his HUD again, noting that the cluster of buildings was exactly where the farmhouse was supposed to be. Apparently, whoever had taken over the fortress had thought that the farmhouse would make a good outpost.

Tanus opened a secure link to the rest of the Vast Empire troopers and spoke quietly in commanding tones. “Alright, it appears that things have changed. Garryll, you stay here with Orobos and Abs. You three keep an eye on Loran. The rest of us will take a closer look at these buildings.”

There was a chorus of affirmatives, and Jegora followed Tanus and the BlackJacks who had not been named previously towards the small outpost. As they neared, Jegora’s infrared sensors told him that all the heat signatures were coming from one central building. Most likely the mercenaries on duty here had gathered in one building in order to conserve heat and energy. After all, who would attack them in the middle of a blizzard? The mercenaries’ arrogance astounded Jegora. They hadn’t even posted any sentries, and that oversight would be their undoing.

The stormtroopers approached the central building as quietly as they could. The building seemed to be the original farmhouse, but it had been reinforced considerably. It was also bigger than Jegora had imagined, and his sensors revealed that there were approximately ten beings inside. Ten hostiles, and everyone one of them could raise hell for the BlackJacks if they managed to report in. If the Vast Empire troopers went into the building, they would have to kill everyone inside quickly and quietly. It would have been better just to go around the building and proceed on to their main target, but Jegora knew that wasn’t an option. They had a wounded trooper who needed shelter, and the stormtroopers would refuse to leave a man behind. That only left one option: raiding the house.

That plan had problems of its own, though. The BlackJacks, skilled as they were, didn’t specialize in that kind of combat. They were an assault squad, equipped and trained to blow things up, knock things down, and kill anyone who got in their way. Subtlety and stealth were not their strong suits, which was exactly what attacking the farmhouse required. Jegora glanced at Tanus, who met his gaze with his own. The BlackJack squad leader seemed to have realized much the same thing, and for the first time he seemed uncertain of what to do.

Making a decision, Jegora pushed to the front of the group. Until now he had hung back, observing. He had fought in the ambush earlier, of course, but he had kept himself mostly in reserve, only exerting his presence where he was most needed. Now, however, he was needed. He had the skills to handle this particular situation, whereas the BlackJacks did not, and he would be seriously remiss if he didn’t offer his particular…services.

“Right. I think it’s my turn now, boys and girls,” he said quietly. Handing his A280 to Jager, he reached behind him to the small of his back and drew his twin Treppus-2 Vibroblades out from their sheathes. “If you don’t hear from me in thirty seconds, best come in anyways.”

With that he strode forward and approached the front door of the farmhouse. It was a traditional door, with a handle and everything. Turning the knob gently, Jegora was pleased to find that it wasn’t even locked. The mercenaries truly were careless. With a feral grin that no one could see behind his helmet, Jegora slipped into the darkness of the farmhouse, silent as a cat, while the rest of the BlackJacks simply looked on.

***

Jegora had told the BlackJacks to give him thirty seconds. It had taken him twenty five.

The farmhouse was big on the outside, but it was an old construction, and there was a lot of wasted space inside. Add to that the fact that all the mercenaries were huddled up in one room around a large space heater, and that the majority of them were sleeping, Jegora was able to make short work of the lot of them. Even so, he had very nearly died when one of the mercenaries had drawn a blaster out from underneath his pillow; only a last minute urge to duck had saved Jegora from becoming separated with his head.

Tanus didn’t waste anytime. He and the rest of the BlackJacks poured into the building and the surrounding structures, making sure there were no more hostiles. There weren’t, and Tanus signaled for Garryll to join them in short order. Then, they started to set up camp.

From the glances that several of the stormtroopers kept throwing him, Jegora knew that they were itching to ask where he had learned such peculiar skills. It was one thing to be skilled in unarmed combat; it was another thing entirely to kill ten men and not take a scratch.

In the end, though, they didn’t ask. And nor would Jegora have told them, even if they had mustered up the courage. His talents were his alone, bought and paid for with blood and tears, as were his secrets. After all, t    here were some things that one shared with others…and there were some things that one did not.

Loran grimaced slightly as he stood up, and delicately replaced his torso armor, trying to avoid the injury any more than necessary. He was still quick, and soon replaced his helmet and climbed up behind the speeder’s turret.

“Alright,” Tanus said. “Move it out.”

The Blackjacks came out of the farmhouse, replacing helmets before their ears froze off. Armor clattered softly as the helmets were sealed against the cold.

“The main civilian town is a klick north,” Jeg said to the Blackjacks. “We can get there and get some intel from the civvies – anything at all can help the mission. Move it out.”

The Blackjacks formed two parallel lines on either side of the speeder and started moving. Tanus and Gates took point, with the rest of the squad trailing out behind them. Their boots sank into the soft snow, and they braced themselves against the ever present wind.

“I hate the cold,” muttered Abalar, small frame shaking in the wind. A couple of the Blackjacks echoed the sentiment with short, four letter words attached at the end.

“I’d imagine it gets colder at night,” Gates replied sadly. “As if it could possibly get worse.”

“No! Don’t say that! Things inevitably get worse when you say that!” Orobos half-joked.

They all stopped for a moment, as if expecting a meteor to hit. When they were pleasantly surprised, they shrugged and continued on. The snow continued to fall, white and endless.

“Sir!” Corvin’s voice cut through the monotony. “We’ve got someone on the speeder’s comlink.”

Tanus waved the speeder to a halt, and the improvised convoy stopped. He clambered onboard, while Jeg and Gates had to be content with standing close to the speeder. The speeder’s repulsorlifts hummed gently, flattening the snow underneath it.

“Recon Spear Oh – Three – B, do you read?” a voice crackled over the comlink.

“How can they possibly get a signal?” Gates asked sideways to anyone.

“That old military base probably had some top-of-the-line communications tech to cut through the interference on this rock,” Orobos replied. “I’d imagine it wouldn’t take much to fix it.”

Tanus was exchanging some words with the merc on the other end of the line.

“Where the in the nine hells are you, Spear 03-B? We’ve been trying to contact 03-A for a half an hour.”

“We got separated by a small avalanche. Our comm. gear was slightly damaged, but we’re okay now.”

“We’ll reroute Recon 02 to your position,” the operator replied. “See if he can’t help you out.”

“Negative, negative,” Tanus said. “03-A needs the backup more. They’re around 22 by 3.”

“Copy that,” the operator said before shutting the line off.

“Close one,” Gates remarked. “What next?”

“Get to the town, get some new intel, and then move on the base,” Tanus replied.

They resumed their march through the snow, leaving a pair of foot-dug trenches behind them, left to slowly fill with new snow. The wind continued blowing, unabated and unrelenting.

An eternity and a kilometer of walking later, they came to the location of the town. It was tucked in a valley, out of the worst of the wind, and a river cut through the middle of it. Several dozen buildings of various sizes were scattered to either side of the river.

“There’s the town,” Gates said.

“Really?” Jager remarked drily. “Maybe there’s another small settlement over the hill.”

Gates ignored him. Tanus had a pair of binoculars out and was trying to keep the snow off of the lenses while he looked down into the valley.

“See anything, sir?” Gates asked. “Should we go in all guns blazing or should we do something totally out of character?”

“We’ve got hostiles down there,” Tanus replied for an answer. “There’s a sentry, see?”

Gates looked; his vision could make out a figure down in the valley, bundled up against the cold and holding a rifle. The figure paced outside a large building.

“So the mercs have a presence here,” Gates muttered. “Think it’s a trap?”

“No, I don’t. They’ve underestimated us this far, and the civvies need our protection and may have intel we can use.”

“Alright,” Gates grinned. “Guns, explosions and blaster fire. My idea of a party. Let’s go, Blackjacks!”

He hated sneaking around, it never panned out and in Rogueboy’s mind it never will. Reflection helped Rogueboy take his mind off of the task at hand, while he hated sneaking around he hated dying a lot more.

The first reflection that hit Rogue’s mind was how ten guards would be sleeping in the middle of the day without a single watchman and the front door unlocked. The second was how a sniper patrolling in the middle of a blizzard didn’t even bother bringing a pair of heat sensing macrobinoculars, honestly what was he thinking? In Rogueboy’s mind he deserved to die just for that. In Rogueboy’s mind it was always hard to akin the enemy to something more human, simply because it was simpler to make them seem like feral animals that needed to be put down, or that they were somehow less effective / important than the Vast Empire soldiers. In order to kill one must first be justified.

Reflection time was over Rogueboy reminded himself as the squad moved from alleyway to alleyway, the soft crunch of the snow was the only sound that emitted from the squad, at least until the private’s armour scraped up against the side of a building as he leaned up against it. “Hassar, take your time when leaning against a building, remember that rushing it can cause your entire squad to get killed.” Gates cautioned.

“Yes sir, I will keep it in mind for the future.” The man said.

The likelihood of someone hearing that sound during a blizzard was minimal, but Rogueboy had to congratulate the assistant squad leader on correcting the trooper’s mistake while it was still minor and generally had no outcome. The only thing that Rogueboy would have done differently was to open a private channel with the trooper and admonish him, instead of doing it squad wide. The problem with that is if someone else had noticed that mistake and realized that no one had warned him they would feel less trusting with him should they be the only two members left of the squad.

Circles within circles RB reminded himself, as the squad moved down another alley. Finally the squad leader stopped at the edge and withdrew a pocket mirror. Did he always carry that with him? RB thought to himself, there was a rumour that Gates had started seeing a new girl.

Immediately Rogue’s thoughts turned to skin on skin and sweat on sweat, the first sergeant himself had hit a dry patch and he hasn’t gotten laid in over three months. Part of it was because Rogue was tired of screwing around, he was twenty-one and in his sexual prime yet skirt-chasing didn’t give him the joy it used to.  He wanted something more serious, maybe pop a few kids out and become a father and start a family. The problem with that is no self-respecting woman would so much as consider him as a husband if he remains a trooper or a soldier in the field; for fear of being widowed, RB would at least have to be an officer before his dream of a family can be attainable. Rogueboy could always marry a bar floozy but those never last; once the bar runs dry they pack their stuff and head to the next watering hole.

The coast was clear as Garryll signalled to the squad that he was going to enter the building that the squad was leaning against.  Rogueboy crouched against the wall so that he ever so slightly stuck out with his EE-3 pointing down the road, in the off chance that some enemy will catch Gates running into the building.

Rogueboy stayed in position as the rest of the squad followed Gates into the building. Finally it was RB’s turn and he ran up the four steps, passing Orobos who would offer him covering fire in the event that he needed it. Together the two of them disappeared into the building.

The building was your typical small office, most likely run by a family that has held it for generations, perhaps not, Rogueboy was never in a business long enough to find out. The building was thermal heated, and RB’s suit compensated for the heat by turning on some mild air-conditioning.

As soon as the squad walked in they were greeted by an empty reception desk, the squad shuffled uneasily. RB’s eyes were preoccupied by a painting that was black and white; it depicted a bird releasing its morning glory on a hapless man. “Cute artwork.” Rogueboy murmured.

Just then there was a loud sound of water running and a door opened, immediately the entire squad’s guns were pointed at a woman who looked mildly surprised. “I knew I should have taken door number two.” She said.

“Where’s the sentry who was outside a minute ago?” Gates asked.

“Sentry? Oh...you mean Jonotin, you thought he was a sentry? That boy couldn’t be a guard if his life was staked on it. He’s in the back, helps maintain our loader droids.” The woman said as she pushed one of her brown bangs over to the side.

“We saw him holding a blaster pistol.” Hassar pointed out.

“He had gone out for a cigarette.” The woman said coolly before continuing. “His favourite lighter looks like a blaster pistol, I told that boy a hundred times it would get him into trouble one day.”

“Something is not right, here.” Orobos said in the squad comlink to a chorus of agreements.

“What do you guys do here?” Rogueboy asked.

“We’re Yulloks Shipping.” The woman said before adding. “We don’t do the shipping ourselves we usually get contracts for goods, we offer insurance on those goods, and we hand the work to a fleet of independent ships, so we’re more of a middleman than anything.”

“And the loader droids?” Rogueboy asked.

“We “rent” out the loader droids to the captains, our rates are cheaper than most ports but the captain has to pick the droid up. We do all our droid servicing in-house, hence Jonotin’s job.” She responded.

“...So from what you are telling us, there is no mercenary occupation of this town? Those goons we killed so far as well as the tanks are just isolated incidents.” Gates stated more than asked.

“Poodoo no.” The woman responded. “The streets are crawling with those asshats, better give them what they want otherwise they will just take it from you. They killed my cousin Verlin because he wouldn’t give them his speeder.”

“Well then, you wouldn’t be able to provide us with some information on their movements and such would you?” Gates asked.

“You really should speak to Yalen, he’s our former chief of constables, when they came into town he made an announcement that we should just give them what they want and disappeared.  I mean it’s obvious from your armour you guys are from the Vast Empire. Anyways Yalen is lying low and he’s got all the data you need, he could tell you everywhere the mercenaries have stepped foot since they landed, as well as all their patrol paths.”

“Where can we find Yalen?” Rogueboy asked.

“You don’t find Yalen, he finds you.” The woman said with a smirk. “I always wanted to say that.”

“And how would he know where to find us?” Gates asked.

“Don’t question his methods, they are rather unorthodox, just make a big enough boom to get his attention, I’m sure you guys will figure it out.” The woman said.

Jager darted between tree's and foliage as he approached the fort. The storm had slackened, much to his dismay, becoming more of a strong wind then a heavy snow fall. He kept his pace strong and paused between movements. The speckling of woodlands that dotted the road made advancing difficult at best, forcing him to move slowly through the long grass that covered the space between each clump of trees. Each a likely killzone for a concealed weapon emplacement or a marksmen hiding in a nearby evergreen. Though the weather and the night were still on his side for the moment. Visibility was poor, flotilla's of grey clouds clung to the sky as though to render their assistance, blocking the revealing glow of the moon.

However with any rudimentary form of night vision any sentry would, with a bit of patience, be able to spot him. To counter that he had to rely on his skill alone. His thermal undergarments did an admirable job at diminishing his heat signature, giving him the appearance of a teal specter when viewed through such devices. There was no rush however. He had till day break to move into an over watch of the base and assess the threat. His position was barely nestled in a tree line atop a knoll that over looked the base, roughly half a kilometer from the perimeter gates. Everything seemed to be going well, for his part at least.

The mission itself was one of the worst he'd ever embarked on. Countless miscalculations, false figures, hazy objectives and an unfamiliar squad had doomed this one from the start. He had gotten over the fact that they were too undermanned for such an endeavor long ago. Twelve men against a two hundred strong group who had dug in with armor support. He would have been certain that this was Jegora's doing if it weren't for his presence here. Perhaps someone else in the high command harbored a grudge against him, or maybe they had overestimated the squads 'elite' status. Through no small amount of luck they had come this far relatively unscathed, but luck was a fleeting thing, a thing that one should never grow to reliant on. He would know.

Like a snake he emerged from the long grass and took cover behind a large evergreen. His moves were slow and deliberate. There was no rush, no need for haste. They wouldn't begin the attack without his information. He exhaled slowly whilst his ears listening for any tell tale signs of movement. The crunch of snow compacting under a boot caught his attention for a brief second, reminding him that he had a tail.

Abalar, or 'Fyre Stone' as she detested, had opted to tag along. He was... less enthusiastic about the idea then she was. Had had the training, experience and finesse that was vital in order to pull something like this off. And whilst it seemed easy in theory, he was only ever a clumsy mistake away from revealing his location. A heavy trail through the grass, excessive noise or unnecessary movement. These were what he could do to reveal himself. Adding another person only multiplied the danger.

She tried though. Her time spent with the Jester's hadn't been for nothing and though they had operated in more urban environments she was a fast learner and could follow instructions. At least most of the time. Cautiously she followed in his wake, stalking out from the waist high grass and towards his location. Jager watched with a vague interest. It was then he saw it. Its taut line glistening with frost hovered a few inches from the ground, strung between two tree's. A mine? no, something far worse.

A flare.

He didn't risk raising his voice. No sense in her missing the flare if everyone in the area heard him stop her. Instead he opted for a more direct motion. He drew his pistol and took aim. Like a deer caught in the headlights she halted, a look of stunned confusion plastered underneath the tight cowl that hugged her face.

With a fluid, calm motion he lured her eyes down towards the wire that stood guard a pace and a half away from her. Her range of emotions was almost comical. The sudden relief when she realised he wasn't about to shoot her, turning almost instantly back into a cold fear upon seeing the wire. Cautiously she raised her hand and made a cutting motion, he shook his head. There was no need. Once she crossed over it the threat was gone, cutting it would only leave evidence of their passage. No evidence, no worries. One of the scout motto's sounded more like the credo of a thief, but in a way thats what they were. The malevolent spectre in the woods. The shadow of a shadow clenching a blade. Not one trace was ever to be left. And how could any be, such apparitions didn't exist.


-----

Within the hour the pair reached the knoll. The storm had all but vacated now, the occasional gust of wind like a final death rattle. With it gone, a silence moved in to take its place like an unwanted squatter. From the knoll he could hear the feint garbles of conversation that drifted along the night breeze, along with the sounds of engines and other general base activity.

Deftly, he unrolled an ankle length covering and draped it over his shoulders, pinning it around his neck like a cloak. It helped break up his outline, making him look more like a snow covered rock or shrub depending on how he stood. He crouched behind a forked tree and peaked around the side just barely enough to allow for the silted monocular to be placed over his eye. It was a basic model. Limited night vision, thermal in-fared and heat. It was a relic by most standards, but reliable. Where as the base issued binocs had failed him time and time again, succumbing to the environment and conditions, his monocular had remained true.

Gently his eye traversed the instillation, taking in every detail. Personal numbers, watch tower positioning, emplacements, general layout. All of this was relayed with the best of his ability to his tail. Abalar lay beside a nearby tree with a map-slate marking out the locations he specified. Once done he would work a little magic and relay it back to Tanus. Any out going signal could be tracked to a degree. Even the presence of such a signal, let alone data, could and would compromise his existence. It all came down to timing and a small unit that was nestled deep in his pack. Though he would have preferred to deliver the map himself, sometimes that wasn't possible. With a little luck his message would slip by whatever monitoring system the mercenaries had in place. And by the looks of things they were going to need every last bit of help.

The briefing aboard the scythe had placed enemy numbers at roughly two hundred and fifty with armoured support. By the looks of things they were about right. The base itself was only equip to hold a garrison half that size. From glimpses he could see men camping in one of the large underground supply hangers that had been dug into the hill, but even with that there would still be a good seventy odd men to house. Base activity made up for the rest. Even for the dead of night there was still full patrols of the perimeter and an abnormal amount of activity behind the duracrete walls. Rotating shifts at a guess. Half the base was up whilst the other half caught some sleep. This helped them greatly. At a guess it would take the those off duty five minutes to prepare, maybe ten to fifteen to become organised. That was at least an assure five to seven minutes of limited numbers and confusion. Sure there was still about one hundred men to deal with, but that was far less then what they had been told and by now any advantage was needed.

A surgical push into the camp would scatter and demoralise their opponents, which might just be enough to even things out. There were still the weapons emplacements and watch towers to deal with and the complete lack of cover around the walls or fence. but he tried to remain optimistic. No one said there wouldn't be loses.

With a sigh of relief he slide behind his tree and returned the monocular to its pouch. Almost done. All he had to do now was relay the information then he could sit back and wait. No sense in returning to the group, they would eventually come to them, and he had little desire to be around them. With the way things were going he wouldn't be too surprised if they had all been killed by now, set upon by a patrol and massacred. It wouldn't of taken much. The cavern was deathtrap, one way in, one way out. All an attacker had to do was surround the outside and it was over. It was thoughts like that which made his claustrophobia seem all the More reasonable.

With a subtle hiss towards Abalar he relinquished the slate and began readying the information. She seemed a little tightly wound, nerves probably. The cold wasn't helping either.

The base came with a large radio transmitter atop one of the buildings, and though it did little to combat the storm it at least boosted his signal enough as to reach the others. All he had to do was wait until there was an outgoing signal large enough for him to hitch a ride on and he was set. He was never one for reliance on technology, and he didn't pretend to understand it. The unit itself did most of the work. Encrypting the information as well as disguising it as best it could before sending it off. It was the fact that it was out of his power to control that troubled him. Someone he'd once knew had always said that if you wanted something done right you'd be better doing it yourself, though their name escaped him truer words had hardly been uttered. He hadn't come all this way for a machine to fail him but what was there to do? Risk a journey back to the group? He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't.

So he waited.

"Hey." A voice chimed in his ear. Their commlink was secure, that he was sure of and he doubted the mercenaries would be scanning any encrypted frequencies vigorously. But even with those assurances he kept his time on the link brief.

With a dull grunt he acknowledged her. He hoped she would take the hint and keep quiet. She didn't. "So, you never told me what happened to Jester. I got transfered out after the attacks and then I come back and bam, they are gone."

"Long story" He muttered, "Talk later."

Even through her facial covering he could still see her frown disapprovingly. They had all the free time in the world to discuss what exactly had happened before hand, but they never had. A fact which only just now became apparent to Jager as the private had been hanging around him like a bad smell since she joined the squad.

"I've got time, indulge me"

"Ask Jeg."

"I'm asking you, we've got a few hours to kill and I'd rather not spend them in splendid silence"

Truth was, he didn't really know. He flaked out after the attacks, losing himself in drink for what seemed like an eternity before being retrieved and dumped with Blackjack. Bureaucracy was a bit of an understatement. Sure people were moved around, like Jeg, but there was something more. He knew the squad had fallen from favour, things were implied, questions where asked. All part of the reason why he made himself scarce. All that really mattered now was Jester didn't exist. He still had to tell her something, anything. Hopefully something solid enough to keep her quiet... but he had nothing.

"Bureaucracy." he stated sharply. At first she seemed to accept that answer, but he could tell she thought he was hiding something and that maybe with the right questioning he would spill the beans. If only there were beans to spill. He was right. Question after question, each from different angles, akin to an interrogation. He would endure it though, he had to and just so long as she kept her voice to a hushed whisper over the channel he would say nothing. He was already enduring the cold, the tension, the fear. What was one more thing?

The ribs. Loran barely pressed his gauntleted fist against his side, and winced. Yep, it’s my ribs. Dammit. That can’t be good. He let out a sigh.

Loran didn’t think anyone could hear him. And they couldn’t. The trooper sitting next to him must have sensed his sigh. “You alright?” asked Orobos.

Loran turned his head and regarded the trooper. “Yeah, I’m fine, armors chafing. I’m just trying to adjust it” he answered.

Loran winced again. Even to his ears the reply sounded weak and meager. He turned his head and continued staring down at the floor of the cave they were in. He wasn’t fooling anyone. He knew it, they knew it. They all knew it was just a matter of time before he collapsed on them.

Abalar had been generous in her explanation of Lorans health. She told the others in the squad that he was fine. That he’d be up to the mission. He looked up and caught a few of his squad mates exchanging glances. No, he wasn’t fooling them for a second. That meant that Orobos was shadowing his every movement on purpose. He was probably just waiting for him to drop at any second.

Well get comfortable pal. I’m not going out like that.

He felt something wet at the corner of his mouth. Loran set his rifle down at his feet and removed his breath mask, a bad idea as he immediately felt a searing cold wind on his face. He wiped at the side of his mouth with the back of his gauntlet. Blood! Emperors black bones! I’m in trouble. Loran wasn’t a medic, but he was smart enough to know that a broken rib and blood coming out of his mouth probably meant a punctured lung.

Yes, Abalar had been very generous indeed with her explanation. She had even lied to him about his own condition. Either that or she was an extremely awful medic, which he doubted wholeheartedly. Regardless of what she thought of him, Abalar cared about all of her squad mates. At least, as far as their health and combat efficiency was concerned. He had been knocked unconscious in the tank explosion. Loran had come back for a few seconds while she was ministering to his wounds. She had an intent look on her face. A look of dedication, and determination. No, she wouldn’t let anyone in Blackjack die. Not if it was within her power to keep them alive.

Just then he heard an inhuman bellow. Loran looked up and saw a creature charging towards him from the back of the cave. The whole squad let out a string of blaster bolts and the creature dropped down at Lorans feet, right on top of his blaster.

A few seconds later the first shriek was accompanied by chorus of similar sounds. At that moment a half dozen more of the creatures came charging out of the rear of the cave. With nowhere to go and no time to act, Loran withdrew a pair of wicked looking kukri knives from beneath his armor backplate.

A monster charged at him. Even in pain, with his reflexes slowed, Loran was still up to the task of putting the creature down. It came at him high, attempting to trap him in a bear hug with its long arms and huge fists. Loran waited till the last second, the creature came high and he rolled backwards, letting his inertia carry himself and the creature. He thrust with his knives at the same time, plunging them into the creature’s chest where he felt the heart should be.

He continued through the roll and flung the creature with his feet. It flew across the cave and slammed into the wall where Loran had been sitting, sliding down to end up on its stomach. Loran ended up on his feet facing the creature. He heard it snarl and was amazed that it was still alive. Loran immediately jumped on the creatures back and plunged his kukris into the back of its neck, ripping outwards in opposite directions, neatly slicing its head off.

He always kept the knives hidden in his armor there. They were small enough to be concealed, and deadly enough to be useful. Loran had acquired the deadly implements years ago. While dealing with the more useless dregs of the galaxy. He had found himself living the more seedy side of life. In that sort of life style, one had to have an assurance when things went bad. He had gone a step further and doubled that assurance by adding a second weapon.

Now he stood above the creature, breathing heavily form his exertions and wincing as his adrenaline receded and the pain in his side came back. It hurt even more now than it did before. And he again felt the searing cold of the climate upon his face.

He felt someone grip his shoulder and he looked back. It was Tanus. The squad leader had removed his headgear and now gazed at Loran with a pained expression.
Loran stared quizzically back at him, wondering what the problem was. He looked around and noticed all the creatures were dead. He also noticed that the entire squad was staring at him. So what if he had ripped the creatures head off. It had been needed.

It was then that he felt it. Not a sharp pain in his side, not a slash or bite from the creature. Not a wound or added pain of any kind, but a trickling sensation coming from his mouth. He tasted blood, a lot of blood. And belatedly he realized this was the reason why everyone was staring at him.

Loran tried to pull away from the sergeants grasp but found himself restrained.

“I’m alright.” he lied. Just then a wave of nausea overtook him and he would have collapsed, were it not for his squad leader holding him up.

Tanus gestured and Corvin and Orobos came forward and helped Loran to a seated position against the wall. Corvin moved to remove Lorans armor and Orobos slapped his hand away.

“What the…” Corvin said.

“No.” Tanus cut him off. “Leave his armor on. The pressure’s probably the only thing keeping him alive right now.”

Jegora walked over and spoke to him, “Tanus?”

“I’ve got to try and get a hold of Abalar. Loran needs more help, and soon. Otherwise he’s gonna die.”

The squad had been murmuring amongst themselves and immediately they hushed.

The only thing that permeated the silence of Blackjack Squad was the sound of Loran coughing out a mouthful of blood onto his pristine white chest piece.

He looked down and then glanced back at the squad leader grinning a bloody grin,” So much for leaving the blood-red armor at home sir”.

Gates drummed his fingers on the stock of his rifle. His armored fingers smacked rhythmically on the solid metal. Loran was in dire straits, Rogueboy was pissed at Tanus' knuckling over to orders, and everyone's nerves were frayed. He sidled over to Tanus, who was boring a hole in the wall with his stare.

"What's up, boss?" Gates asked in an undertone, speaking into the private comlink that the two Blackjack officers shared. "Y'know, I'm all for burning a town down, but you usually give a better reason than 'I feel like it.'"

"I don't know," Tanus replied. "We had a brawl at the bar and then the shooting started. The entire situation went to hell after that."

Gates shook his head. "That's it?"

"That's all there was too it. A bunch of the people were acting like shit to us. It's like they didn't want us there."

The ASL shrugged and ended the conversation. Everyone returned to their posts, some sleeping, some standing watch. Rogueboy stumbled back in an hour later, shivering from the cold. Gates was standing watch at the time, and nodded to the veteran First Sergeant.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, the watches changed like clockwork and the squad managed to repair some frayed nerves and catch up on their sleep.



Morning brought a refreshing change in the weather. The snow had stopped falling, the wind had stopped screaming, and, though the sky was gray and air still frigid, was looking up.

Gates rose from his "bed" - a glorified term for a flat patch of rock - and stretched. His joints cracked in the cold, still air of the cave. His helmet had a coating of frost around the visor, and he carefully wiped it off. He looked around, yawning.

No one else except for Jeg on watch was up. His chronometer read 0700 local. He paced out the last cricks from his awkward sleeping position and ate a quick, spartan breakfast of ration cubes and a few mouthfuls of melted snow-water.

The rest of the squad came to over the next quarter hour, stretching miserably in the cold and swearing at the discomfort. The only one who seemed remotely happy for the morning was Loran, who, despite having his chest injury, was up and about, moving slowly and favoring not adjusting his chest very much. The blood on his torso armor had crystallized, but he didn't appear to be leaking any more and was intact enough to move slowly.

Gates' helmet comlink squawked. Jager's voice cut into it, speaking quickly. "Contacts. South-bound from the fortress. Two APCs, a speeder and a platoon-sized infantry."

The link shut down as suddenly as it had started; undoubtedly, the veteran scout obviously didn't want to risk giving his position away with a trackable radio anymore than was absolutely necessary.

Jeg came back into the cave and Tanus pulled out his datapad, the satellite images of the local area coming up on the screen. The SL traced his finger on the screen and tapped it.

"Here's us, here's the base. They're headed south-bound, I'd imagine to look for their lost recon units. This one has the right composition for a search-and-rescue but with enough punch to give someone a black eye," Tanus said. "Most of the terrain in this country is impassable or hellish for infantry. There's only a few ways in and out of the fortress, and only one is large enough for vehicles."

Tanus' finger rested on a particularly narrow chokepoint lined on both sides of a gully with trees. "Here's our ambush point. Let's make 'em bleed."

The Blackjacks gathered their gear, and started out. Loran was given a quick shot of painkillers and stims to help him keep up. They were reasonably close, and they made excellent time to their chosen ambush point. Once there, they dug in and set up.

Blackjack crouched behind trees on either side of the "road," their heavy weapons were in the hands of veterans this go around in order to minimize the chances of a rookie mistake. Gates slung his flamer, his trademark short-range weapon in favor of one of the J-4 rocket launchers. He was still an excellent rocket-lobber and a veteran Heavy Weapons specialist.

Rogueboy crouched a few trees over, his grenade launcher in hand. A few trees up the slope, Corvin aimed his carbine. Other Blackjacks were scattered amongst the trees, set up to give one another covering fire and in order to overlap their fields of fire.

All that was left was the waiting. Soft breathing was the only sound heard over the comlink, the light crunch of snow as Gates shifted his feet, and the slight sloshing that occurred in his flamethrower's fuel tanks when he shifted his weight.

A whisper came across the comm. "Contacts spotted. Looks like our friends finally decided to join the party."

"Alright, stay frosty," Gates ordered confidently. A couple of weak groans came back at his unintentional pun.

"Dammit Gates," muttered Rogueboy, "If I was any frostier, my balls would fall off."

"Cut the chatter, fire on my mark," Gates replied over his team's comlink. Tanus' voice could be heard on another channel, dimly, giving similar orders to his team on the other side of the road.

The mercenary convoy crawled down the valley, weapons swinging casually by their hips. They were totally confident in their ownership of the world, totally oblivious to the vengeful, blood-thirsty Vast Empire Stormtroopers waiting to drop the heavy end of the hammer on their necks.

The lead speeder scooted into the kill-zone, followed quickly by a squad of infantry. Slowly, the rest of the mercs filed into their designated positions, as if given a script to die by.

Gates crouched to give himself a more stable firing base and rested the primitive iron sights on the second APC. He adjusted his aim a hair.

"Mark. Fire at will," he said softly, pulling the trigger and letting the rocket, and all hell, break loose.

The mercenary infantry moved into defensive formations and began their firing on Blackjack who were still partially concealed to them. Orobos shifted his position amongst the trees so the enemy couldn't trace his fire to his location.

Another rocket flew down towards the APC, which had shifted and was continuing its firing on Garryll's group. The armour of the carrier buckled under the armour piercing capabilities of the advanced weaponry system.

Orobos watched as the APC burst into flames, shrapnel flew out striking down even more of the infantry platoon that was still in the open ground. The repulsorlifts underneath the vehicle cut out and the APC crashed to the ground in a burning wreck.

The squad continued their onslaught against the remaining men on the ground. They pressed on with their advantage of holding the higher ground. If the mercenaries wanted to find and kind of cover their only option was to try and scale the steep slopes covered by trees. Several of their number tried this but were cut down almost instantly by blaster fire from the stormtroopers carbine.

An enemy squad grouped down behind the wreckage of the tank and APC held out against the precision fire. There was a lapse in the fire as rockets were loaded in weapons and magazines were checked and changed. Grenades were primed by both sides.

Taking advantage of the break in combat, Orobos glanced around the squad. Garryll and Tanus seemed to be doing the same. RB was focused on the combat and didn't seem to have anything else in mind.

Orobos was till on edge after the mans outburst. He threw his glance over across to where Loran was crouched behind a tree. The trooper was still hyped up on stim pacs and pain killers that would last him a few more hours if the squad was lucky. Maybe even long enough until they could be picked up from the planet.

A grenade sailed by and Orobos snapped back into focus. The explosion shook the trees and a layer of snow fell from above on top of Orobos. Ignoring this he leveled his carbine and fired at the entrenched squad behind the broken steel. Blaster fire flying from both sides, up and down the ridge another grenade flew through the air, this time thrown by one of the stormtroopers.

The mercs dived away from their cover to avoid the explosion. They managed to clear the shrapnel and flames but were now left prone and in the open. The stormtroopers pressed forward and finished them off.

The whole conflict had taken about twenty five minutes which had given the enemy enough time in which to call in reinforcements. The ambush spot was no longer viable.

"Alright we need to move now," Tanus said over the squad channel, "No doubt they've called in reinforcements. We'll try and move away from this woodland, clear around them and get as close to the fortress as possible."

Tanus darted through the trees as blaster fire ripped through the forest behind him, filling the air with a stench of ozone. Damn it all, the tank needs to go. If that bastard doesn’t go, we’ll never make it to the fortress. Another heavy round tore through the forest, splintering a tree into pieces; luckily the tank cannon operator was not a good shot. Tanus jumped over a rock as the squad weaved through the trees, the mercs hot on their tail. Tanus started looking around for a good hot point. We need a funnel, and we need it now.

“Blackjacks, listen up. We’re taking that tank out, and we’re gonna do it hard. Garryll, you stay down here with Corvin, Hassar and Jeg; draw their fire. Rogue, you take Faridoon and Loran up that ridge. I want you to lay down some heavy fire. Grab the J-4 and a particle cannon. Orobos, come with me. Get your axe ready.”

The squad fanned out immediately, the repulsors of the tank waving calmly over the landscape. The attack should cripple the group, and if nothing else, the tank would be blown apart and Blackjack could push through the rest of the mercs. This was the best plan they had right now, and Tanus was still only 50% sure it would work. With Abalar and Jager still gone, the fight would be a little more hectic than usual, especially with the squad medic out on a scouting mission with the squad cynic. Tanus ran behind a tree, grabbing his war hammer as he did so. Orobos took up residence behind a larger group of trees; a murder of crows flew off into the sky as Tanus drew in a breath. This place will know death soon… Hopefully it won’t be ours.

The mercenaries started to come into view a few minutes later, looking around the forest for signs of their prey. Tanus looked up through his vantage point and saw Rogue and the others taking aim over the ridge. He looked back and saw Garryll’s helmet against a small line of trees.

“Fire on my mark. I want this as clean as possible. They know how many we are now, and I want them to know 9 men took out 40 of theirs and a tank. Now Rogue, make the fireworks happen.”

Two seconds later, a rocket streaked out from the ridge, hitting the forward line of troopers. Their bodies sprawled out in pieces against the forest, spraying blood and gore across the snowy landscape. Blue-white particle bolts and grenades followed next, lighting the ground up in a cavalcade of color and mayhem. Tanus looked back at Garryll’s group, who was still quiet against their makeshift cover.

“Garryll, have some fun.”

“With pleasure. Blackjacks, rip ‘em apart!”

Garryll spun off from the tree, opening up with his rifle as a rocket and particle bolt ripped two trees out of the ground, giving the artillery team a clear shot at the tank. As its cannon swung around to take aim at the exposed fireteam, a grenade slammed into its armored hull. Next came a salvo of rockets and particle bolts as the tank struggled valiantly to raise its cannon up to the ridge. As the tank went up in a massive fireball, Tanus looked to Orobos.

“Let’s see how sharp that axe head is, soldier.”

Tanus ran out from behind his tree, Orobos crashing through the snow behind him. As the mercenaries attempted to find cover, the Blackjack squad leader descended upon them, his hammer smashing and crushing any exposed limb it could find. Broken limbs and skulls dotted the field of battle, and the groans of the dying could be heard through the cold winter air. Bits of skull and brain were smeared against Tanus’ armor as he stepped out of the trees, walking past a dying merc on the ground. Tanus looked down at the man and grimaced as he swung his hammer down, driving the spike through his skull. The others came down and looked around at the mess they had made, feeling rather proud of themselves. Tanus looked at Rogue.

“How’re we for heavy ammo?”

“We’re good. We have enough rockets to level a small compound, and the particle cannon’s doing beautifully.”

“Small compound? Like, say, a fortress?”

“I’d say so, yes.”

“Excellent. Now, what we need to do is get back to the original area. With that tank, their armor should be gone, but the fortress is going to be hard to take even without that.”

“So what’s the plan?” Jeg asked, leading him on.

“Simple. We’re going to hit it – from above.”



Once the squad had gotten back to their original holding area, they saw the mercs had all pulled back; Jager told them they had started making their way back to the base and had just started down the pass to get there. Blackjack was hot on their heels. They came to within a hundred meters of them before opening fire, slamming into their flank with a ferocity most people had never seen before. When all was said and done, many a soldier lay dead with Blackjack walking amongst the corpses, basking in the chaos and death they had just wrought. They looked out over a low ridge, peering out at the fortress a mere kilometer away.

“Well,” Garryll said. “This should be fun.”

“I suppose it should be, and trust me when I tell you I’d rather be going in there myself, hammer swinging and guns blazing.”

Garryll looked at Tanus for about 5 seconds before shaking his head and looking back at the fortress below.

“Do you have a death wish?”

“Only in the mornings. Now it’s time to call in our friends.”

The snow had tapered off to a light dusting by now, and even then the snow was still heavy. Jager and Abs were still nowhere in sight, which made Tanus nervous. They hadn’t sent out any messages recently, so Tanus assumed they hadn’t been captured, but still – the situation made him nervous. Tanus opened all frequencies to the gunship that had brought them down. After a few minutes the pilot picked up.

“Yeah? What?”

“Oh, so gruff, and here I thought you didn’t like me.”

“What do you want?”

“I want a Star Destroyer commander on the line. I have a request for a giant hole to be made planetside.”

“All right, hold on. I’ll head to the bridge and get him.”

The line closed with a buzz of static as Tanus simply waited. Minutes passed by for what felt like an eternity. As Tanus started to look around, half expecting more mercs to magically appear, the line opened again.

“I am commander Tyvar Kross, commander of the Star Destroyer Argaeus. With whom am I speaking?”

“Commander, you are currently speaking with Sergeant First Class Tanus Solvona of Blackjack squad. We need your help.”

“Very well then. What do you need, sergeant.”

“Sir, I need a very large hole made where a fortress is currently taking up residence.”

“Ah yes, your scout hailed me earlier, a one Jager Luth. He told me you might be coming to call sometime soon.”

Tanus only smiled at that. Way to think ahead, Jager. Tanus continued.

“Yes, you’d be correct. I take it you have the coordinates logged then?”

“Oh yes, we’ve been waiting for some time now. I take it you want it precise and as destructive as possible?”

“Oh yes, I want to remember this as one of the most spectacular artillery strikes in all of my life.”

“Done. Airstrike inbound in ten minutes. Argaeus over and out.”

The line closed as Tanus turned to look at the squad and started to chuckle. They all looked at him queerly, some even cocking their heads to the side as Tanus’ shoulders started to shake from laughter.

“Just watch. In ten minutes, this will be a war zone – and one of the best fireworks displays ever.”

The time passed by slowly; anticipation crept up on the squad, and the adrenaline they had been running on for so long was starting to wane and sour. Many took up a seat against the rock face, talking as if a massive airstrike was not about to take place. As Tanus looked up at the rock ridge, the distinct scream of TIE engines could be heard over the clouds. The snow had finally stopped as 6 TIE bombers broke through the clouds. As they bored in straight toward the sitting fortress, proton torpedoes lanced out from the secondary pod, slamming into the ancient walls in a storm of fire and metal. More torpedoes lanced out and struck the fortress, cracking it wide open. Tanus stood up and yelled in victory, and the others did the same. As the first six bombers peeled off through the sky, another six came down. Tanus looked up and smiled; he almost waved goodbye to the base as the six bombers released a stream of proton bombs, which broke through the opening made by the first run. The inside of the base blew apart, sending fire and stone streaming into the sky in a storm of destruction.


The squad walked out of their hiding spot and down the hill, running the remaining distance towards the smoking shell that was once their target. As they got closer and closer, they heard shouting and screaming – and shooting. Tanus drew his disruptor as he came to the large hole that now led into the base. When he looked down, he saw Jager and Abalar, weapons drawn and walking around, walking amongst the dead. As Tanus descended, Jager raised his rifle up, then lowered it immediately.

“Oh. It’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me. Good call with the air strike, by the way.”

Jager grunted as he shot a groaning man in the chest. The man slumped down, his head hanging as death took him. Tanus looked over at Abalar, who was busy doing the same thing. Tanus looked back to the large trooper and tilted his head.

“How long have you been here?”

“Eh, about 5 minutes. We were waiting on the outskirts when the airstrike hit. It shook us a bit, but not enough to kill us. We moved in to finish the dead.”

“Any sight of those merc leaders?”

“None. With this airstrike, I’m surprised they even have wounded. That was one hell of a light show.”

“Aye, it was. You finish down here. I’m going to get our ride.”

“Don’t bother, I already made the call.”

“Wow, you’re quick on your feet today, aren’t you?”

Jager grunted again as he shot another dying soldier in the head. He climbed out of the fortress, looking up to see the gunship breaking through the clouds. The sky was starting to clear up and the sun could be seen clearly through the mountains. Tanus smiled to himself as the gunship landed and the doors opened. Today was going to be a good day.

OOC:

Story end.