“Right away,” Corzina replied. He turned to his quarry. “Get to it then!”

The efficiency of Triton surprised Abalar. Obviously used to the crème de la crème of squads, Jester and Blackjack, anything that could remotely be an excellent characteristic of a squad surprised her. Within seconds, the Tritons had placed and secured charges, and were waiting for the command from Corzina. With a couple discreet hand signals, unknown to Abalar, they retreated to a safe distance and ignited the charges, blowing a hole wide enough for four men abreast.

“Blackjack, lead,” Garryll said simply, and the elite squad jumped to it, with Corvin obviously in the lead. Abalar and Jager were the last ones to go through out of Blackjack, having a similar thought pattern and desire not to get killed. Triton followed Blackjack, then Stalker went through. They regrouped on the other side, communications quickly traveling through the comlinks, which made the process a whole lot easier.

“That’s the street that’ll give us the shortest route,” Lotte stated, motioning loosely with her arm. “More direct, and thankfully, less side paths that could give them an opportunity to flank us. We lucked out with this location.”

“Agreed,” Garryll stated. “Stalker, you take point. Fan out and scout more than anything. Report any suspicious activity. Blackjack, I want you to pair up with a Triton. Keep each other alive. We need them as much as they need us. We’re traveling as a group, but if we get separated, stick with you partner. Now go.”

His orders were carried out quickly, and in the midst of Stalker leaving, she was paired with the Triton SL and the blond-buzzed freckled kid, as there were only ten Blackjacks to their twelve Tritons. She noted that Garryll picked up the remaining Triton, leaving the rest of Blackjack with one Triton partner.

“This is Stro McGellin,” Corzina said quickly to Abalar as he clapped the boy on the shoulder.

“Right,” Abalar said indifferently. “Lets move shall we?”

Unfortunately, she didn’t have the rank or the position to command him, but as Blackjack had the highest ranking SL, they were technically in charge of this mission. Corzina seemed to pick up on this as well.

“Quite the polite Blackjack, aren’t yeah,” he said to her as the two squads picked up a jog, heading after Stalker.

“If you like me now, you’ll love me when I start to feel the cold more,” Abalar said sarcastically.

“Bit of a baby when it comes to the cold, are yeah?” McGellin said.

Before replying, Abalar recalled the information they had been given about the members of the other squads just before departure. From what she remembered, McGellin was a corporal, and in line to take the ASL position if the current one was killed or promoted. That made the three of them pretty closely related in their military careers. It was almost a coincidence that the three were placed together. Almost.

The squads past multiple groups of civilians, all of which looked at the stromtroopers in fear, and either stood there dumbstruck, or high-tailed it inside. They even passed a couple cops within the first few minutes. However, there were too many troopers for them to do anything, unless they wanted their bodies to resembled laser scorched Swiss cheese. However, Abalar guessed that they radioed in the squads’ position once they passed, and that went a roadblock. Once they removed that, then the SWAT teams would be called in, if they hadn’t already.

Progress was slow though. Frequently the pace had to be slowed for Triton, what with heavy artillery strapped to their bodies and all. Abalar was unhappy about the constant pace changes. In Jester, the pace was usually kept fast, pull in then pull out, as fast as possible with as little contact as possible. However, despite her displeasure, she had accepted that this was not Jester, and that things were going to be done differently.

“So,” Corzina started.

“Yes?” Abalar said warily.

“What’s your story?”

Out of habit, Abalar checked and double checked to see if the channel was secure. One could never be too sure.

“What do you mean, what is my story?” Abalar said.

“Who did you have to kill to get to ASL?”

Abalar paused before she answered, noting the possible double meaning behind his words.

“The enemy,” she said simply. She saw Corzina and McGellin look at each other and a wave of uneasiness past through her. They couldn’t possibly be asking what she hoped they weren’t asking. If they were, that meant treason, and her ass would be endangered, because if they killed an ally before, there wasn’t anything stopping them from doing it again. “What about you two?” Abalar said, trying to sounds casual. “How long have you been with the Corps?”

“Several years,” Corzina said.

“About a year,” McGellin said.

Abalar held back a laugh. Here she was, an ASL and not even at her first year. Man, she had lucked out. She nodded though, just to show that she had heard them.

“Contacts ahead,” Lotte radioed in. “A couple clicks ahead, but mobilized and moving towards us. Stalker’s on its was back.”

“Good,” Garryll said. “I was beginning to think that we were going to just walk in and take what we want. How many Lotte?”

“We counted twelve, a police squad.”

Abalar could feel Blackjack flinch. Not cops, it couldn’t be. Blackjack would of course shoot to kill, but still, cops were a sore spot with most of the Blackjacks, especially Abalar. They were by far not equipped well enough to deal with the three squads.

“Only twelve?” Abalar piped in.

“They looked like they were going to create a roadblock. My guesses are that there are more on the way, for support.”

Abalar nodded mentally. It made sense. Send the closest squad to slow the masses down and allow the reinforcements to get closer to the opposition, which would slow the enemy down even more once the two forces collided.

“So boss,” Abalar said turning to Garryll. “What do we do? Continue down our route, or turn down a side street, and hope that there aren't any other forces ready to pop out at us?”

The air was warm in here, melting away the snow and ice that had crusted Corvin's snowtrooper armour as he ran through the streets. Everything felt slightly sticky, and the inside of his helmet was starting to fog up.

The Blackjacks and Tritons were moving through the streets together again, with the Specters scouting ahead ahead of the main advance as they headed for the blockade. Every now and then, Corvin glimpsed a grey-white blur moving out of sight, but it was gone a moment later.

The Specters seemed to take a strange amount pride in their stealth. Corvin wasn't impressed. Their armour was far too light for them to stand up to prolonged fire, and the lot of them were just too damned quiet. They almost reminded him of Jager, which didn't help.

There was a double-click over the joint channel, the agreed-upon signal for a complication. The origin was just around the corner.

Gates raised one hand, gesturing for the squads to halt. The stormtroopers came to a stop, glancing around hesitantly. The only noise was the whistling of a distant gust of wind and the quiet hissing of the snowtroopers' helmet filters.

Would details be too much to ask for? Corvin thought, raising his EE-3 slightly. That's what scouts are for, isn't it?

As though answering his objections, a small window opened in the corner of his HUD, a feed from a Stalker's helmet camera. The vid was at a strange angle and decidedly blurry, but it was clear enough for Corvin to see half a dozen humanoids in body armour and armed with light blaster rifles. There were stun batons clipped to their belts.

Civil protection then. Amateurs who'd probably had to deal with nothing worse than a stolen speederbike or bar brawl. Still, it would only take one of them bawling into a comlink to bring every milita and police squad in the capitol down on their heads.

Straight-up confrontation might have been Blackjack's style, but that wasn't the objective. The enemy knew they were inside, and were reacting with impressive speed.

The problem was that the squad was standing between the Blackjacks and the quickest way to the barricades. Any detour would multiply the time needed. If they tried to go around them again, they'd be lucky not to be facing tanks by the time they got there.

There was another pop as Garryll opened the channel, followed by three clicks in rapid succession. Wait.

The Blackjacks Squad Leader turned to the squad.

"Take them out quickly, before they can sound the alarm."

Corvin nodded, and there were acknowledgments from the Blackjacks.

"You heard the man." Corizina announced to his own troopers. "Quick as you can."

Corvin saw the yellow-tinged Tritons shift, and guessed they were replying on their own channel.

"Now!" Garryll ordered, and the squads sprinted around the corner, weapons raised and ready to fire.

The police officers never got a shot off. Corvin's EE-3 jerked in his grip as he sprayed a burst from the carbine, and there were a series of hacking noises as the Tritons opened up with their blast cannons. The civil protection squad collapsed, cut to shreds in seconds by enough blasterfire to take out a speeder. Blood flowed on the cobblestones, pooling in the gaps.

A figure emerged from the alley the hapless Arkanians had been standing in front of, carbine half-raised. It's armour was speckled with patches of grey, helping it blend in with the shadows. Corvin's HUD identified the Stalker trooper as "Hergan Yaris". Yaris nodded curtly, then gestured at the alley.

The squads followed, barely managing to scrape between the narrow walls on either side. The buildings curved to either side, angular and imposing. Arkanian architecture seemed to follow the same design philosophy as Star Destroyers: efficient and intimidating.

The squads emerged from the alley to find themselves just to the left of a multilane street. Hovercars cluttered the lanes, still humming where they had been parked. The news van the squads had emerged behind still had its rear doors open.

Up ahead, squads of enforcers were frantically moving hovercars into a crude barricade and setting up rows of riot fences. Most of them had blaster rifles, antique designs but still powerful enough to pose a threat.

There was a pop.

"Sergeant Abalar. This is sergeant Slick and we're in position. Awaiting instructions."

"Don't open fire until I give the order." Garryll replied.

"Acknowledged."

The squads waited, ready to charge as soon as Gates gave the order.

"Now."

Blaster fire erupted from one of the rooftops behind the police squads, followed by the whump of a frag grenade. They reacted instantly, spinning around and returning fire with impressive speed. That left the street completely unguarded for a moment.

"Blackjacks, Tritons, at them!" Garryll ordered, gesturing as he did so. "Blood and Iron!"

The squads charged from behind the van, firing as they ran towards the half-assembled barricade. There were flashes of light as the Stalkers seemed to appear from nowhere, engaging the confused and disoriented enforcers at point blank range. There were screams as they quickly cut a swathe through the Arkanians with the jagged blades mounted into their arm plates.

"For the Empire!" Corvin yelled.

Corvin brought his foot down, sending the blaster pistol skittering across the street. There was a sickening crunch as the scorched enforcer's fingers disappeared under the trooper's boot, followed by the man's scream of pain. Corvin squeezed his carbine's trigger once.

The scream abruptly stopped, and the man stopped trying to pull his hand free. Stepping away from the gently smoking corpse, Corvin didn't spare it a backwards glance. These sentients were traitors to the Empire, all of them.

Their government had left the Empire, and was working with the Republic. That alone meant they deserved whatever they got. There were no innocents when treason was involved.

There was a quiet hiss, and the last of the enforcers fell in two parts. The Stalker trooper who'd bisected him stood there for a moment, long-wrist blade still humming, then straightened and deactivated the vibroblade. There was a charred, black streak running down the trooper's faceplate where a stun baton had struck him, and one of his eyepieces was cracked.

Corvin was rapidly changing his opinion about the Stalkers. They might not have proper armour or fight in the open, but they were undeniably efficient. They were almost perfectly still, watching for signs of any more enemies.

Thick plumes of smoke were drifting upwards from the destroyed sled. Alarms shrieked shrilly as the smoke clouds dissipated against the dome's roof, setting off sensors and causing fans to come to life with a roar.

Every idiot with access to a terminal knew roughly where they were now.

"Move, move, move!" Garryll roared, gesturing with his flamer for emphasis. The troopers sprung into motion instantly, even the Tritons and Stalkers. The hissing pilot light and smell of charred enforcer probably helped.

Corvin clambered over the slagged hover-sled, pushing the charred body of its pilot out of his way as he did so. Jumping onto the other side, Corvin started to run, kama flapping against his legs as he did so.

The Blackjacks were wearing a winterized variant of their enchanced armour. The helmet was a standard snowtrooper one, and their red plates were mostly covered by the standard synthfabric oversuit, but their exposed arm and shoulder plating made their identity quite clear.

The effect wasn't exactly subtle, but the Blackjacks weren't that kind of squad. Let the Stalkers do the hiding. The Blackjacks would hit them head on.

The noise of boots slapping against duracrete echoed across the deserted lanes. An automated speaker mindlessly repeated its message again and again.

"All citizens are to get indoors immediately." an emotionless, synthetic voice proclaimed. "Should you find yourself outside, find the location of the nearest public shelter and gain access to it. All citizens-"

The speaker fizzled and died as one of the Tritons shot it in passing, earning himself a glare from Garryll.

"Keep running!"

There was a roar, and two fast, loud objects streaked overhead, slamming into a parked speeder behind the squads. The world seemed to go white for a moment as the repuslorcraft violently exploded, throwing shrapnel and chunks of duracrete in every direction.

"Take cover!" Garryll roared as three angular shapes appeared through the thick smoke left by the rocket. Two police transport sleds were escorting a larger speeder, which had a long-barreled laser cannon mounted on its chassis.  Two SWAT troopers wielding rocket launchers were seated in the speeder's troop bay, both of them pushing new rounds into their launchers.

Corvin abandoned the habit of a lifetime and ran.

There was a deafening shriek as the speeder opened up with its cannon, tearing massive holes in the buildings but missing the moving stormtroopers.

Corvin sprinted, panting as blaster bolts from the speeder passengers whined through the air in his wake. Spotting a bulky van marked with some kind of corporate logo, he dashed desperately towards it.

An energy bolt slammed into his backpack just as he reached the vehicle, sending him stumbling against the hood. Pulling himself up, he fell more than jumped back down, landing heavily between the van and the wall.

Corvin grunted in pain, then started to get back up. He saw someone crouched next to him and blinked.

It was one of the Triton troopers, a Zabrak if the facial horns were any sign. His helmet was on the ground at his feet, half-burned away where a blaster bolt had hit it. He was apparently one "Uzriel Vash" if Corvin's HUD was correct.

With no other ideas and no plan beyond "wait for the speeder with the big gun to go away", Corvin did the only thing he could do.

Babble.

"Well, this is frakking wonderful." he started. "We're hiding behind a van from a bunch of civvies with big guns, hoping they'll go away. Two of them have got rocket launchers, and the main speeder has a kriffing laser cannon. Any ideas?"

"Yes." the Zabrak replied slowly. "First, shut up. Second, let me think. Third, shut up."

"You said shut up twice." Corvin pointed out stupidly. There was a deafening explosion nearby, and a meter-wide portion of wall nearby was replaced by a smoking crater.

There was blaster fire all across the street, and it sounded as though the enforcers had disembarked. Any minute now, more of them would appear to finish the job.

"Yes."

"Do you have a plan?" Corvin asked, slowly moving towards the edge of the van. A blaster bolt slammed into the duracete wall less than an inch away, causing him to jerk his head back.

"Yes, but I need a stuffed Ewok."

"What?"

There was a familiar hiss, then the crackle of flames washing over metal and flesh. The screaming which followed told Corvin that Garryll, at least, was in a position to return fire.

"No, of course I don't have a kriffing plan!" the Zabrak trooper snapped. "Do you think I would be hiding behind here if I did?"

Corvin shrugged, starting to inch forwards again.

Frak.

Corvin heard a pinging and felt a brief, intense sense of deja vu.

The grenade went off with a bang, scattering shrapnel everywhere, and  causing the van to shudder as it rocked from side to side. There was an ominous hissing from the van's side where metal shards had punctured its thin plating.

Uzriel had already started to move, noticing the damage at the same time Corvin had.

Time to move.

Corvin stepped out from behind the van, firing as he emerged. The street was filled with criss-crossing energy beams, punctuated by the regular thud of the laser cannon.

Corvin sprayed a burst in the speeder's general direction, hoping to at damage the vehicle, but failed to do anything more than cause its turret to swivel in his direction.

"Frak."

The cannon roared, and Corvin was pushed to his knees by a pressure wave as the van exploded behind him.

Head blurry, he unsteadily got back up, glancing over his shoulder. There was a massive crater in the duracrete where the van had been. No sign of Uzriel.

"Hit them hard, Blackjacks! Keep them on us!" Garryll yelled, spraying the area around him with ignited fuel. Two of the enforcers were caught in the blast and stumbled blindly away, shrieking as they instantly became living torches.

They collapsed seconds later, their bodies continuing to burn for several minutes before the flames guttered out.

There were two sharp cracks in rapid succession, and another pair of masked enforcers collapsed, blood spurting from the gap between their chestplates and masks where the slug rounds had gone through. Another fell, riddled by half a dozen invisible energy rounds. The Stalkers were constantly moving above the heads of the other combatants, stopping only to take a shot.

Another crack, and one of the sleds flew forwards as its driver slumped against the controls. An enforcer who'd been standing in front of the sled vanished under it with a scream as it accelerated uncontrollably down the street.

Blackjacks and Tritons threw themselves aside as the out of control vehicle barreled past them, then swerved and crashed head-on into a duracrete wall.

There were only six or so enforcers left of the two original squads. That made the speeder the squad's biggest threat, as it was shrugging off the squads' blasterfire. As Corvin watched, a rocket streaked towards the speeder, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake, but the troop transport moved with surprising speed. The rocket went wide, eventually exploding against a parked speederbike.

There was a buzz, and a beam of light carved through a wall above the squads. The cover fire from the Stalkers abruptly stopped.

"Triton, I told you to take out that particle cannon!" Garryll roared.

"We're working on it!" Brock shot back.

The speeder's gun fired again, the shot going wide and soaring down the street. They were lucky, Corvin grimly reflected, that whoever was behind the blaster was a very poor shot.

There were several consecutive explosions near the speeder, and the Tritons whooped. The speeder's hood was starting to smoke, and two of the enforcers were lying in the street, not moving.

"Nothing like a few dets to take care of a problem, yeah?" Brock said over the intersquad com.

"Speeder's still alive." Garryll snapped as the repulsorcraft's cannon swiveled.

The gun abruptly stopped turning, and the landspeeder sank to street level a moment later. The Stalkers had finally gotten a shot off.

The three surviving enforcers just stood there for a moment, then turned and started to run. They didn't get far.

Corvin removed the depleted power cell from his carbine, letting it drop. The Stalkers had rappelled down from the rooftops, and were watching the street ahead cautiously.

"We need to keep moving." Garryll said a moment later.

"Understood." Brock replied quietly. With the adrenaline-high of combat wearing off, the realization of Uzriel's death was beginning to sink in for the Tritons.

"Squads, move out."

Ryan slammed hard into the wall of the 'life of the city'. He peered around the corner and into the atrium of the building, then swore and retracted his helmeted head. Two red bolts burst out of the hotel close behind his retreating head. He turned to stare at Gates on the other side of the doorway, who gave a slight nod. The former mercenary thumbed the activation panel on his grenade and tossed it into the building. Two seconds later there was a rocking explosion as flames and shrapnel bellowed from inside the bowels of 'Life of the City'. A drawn out groan came from within. Ryan and Gates burst into the room, their respective Triton counterparts close behind. Five mangled bodies lay spread across the atrium. If they could have been called bodies anymore. Ryan turned to the Duros who lay on the floor. It was staring dumbly at its missing arms. Korr left the being where it was. As it did not pose a further threat and could potential survive the loss of its arms; it was better that the casualty rate remained less. Apparently, the Triton behind Ryan didn't think the same way. There was a soft bwhop from behind Ryan. He whirled around and saw the Duros; head askew, with a smoking hole in its forehead.

Swearing, Ryan looked up into the shaded eyes of Lcpl Cael and growled, "Stang. Why?"

The Lance Corporal looked stared right back and said, "They are all traitors and enemies of the Empire. This is the price that they pay for resisting us."

Mentally cursing the man, Ryan glowered and responded, "The Duros was not a threat to us. He should have-"

"I'll decide what is and what isn't a threat to us, Private." Retorted Cael, cutting him off.

At that Gates whirled around. His voice was low and threatening, "No. I will decide that, Lcpl. Cael. Both of you shut the kriff up."

The squads began to enter the atrium. Ryan stared up at the ceiling. Apparently, this was a high class hotel. The ceiling was high, high, above them. It was covered in glass that allowed whoever happened to be looking up through it the bright picture of the artificial sky above them. A  gigantic crystal chandelier hung from the center of the glass domed hotel. Ringing the outside walls were staircases that led to the actual rooms. And ringing those staircases there were upwards of a dozen militia with rifles. All of them glared down at the white clad troopers below. Ryan shouted a warning and dived for cover as red bolts began to pour down at them. Gates was shouting orders.

"I want you two to take out those men on the east side. You five go up the staircases. The rest of you provide covering fire."

A Triton shouted, "Contact, eleven o' clock high!"

Loran swiveled, aimed, and fired in one smooth motion. The hostile fell over the bannister he had been leaning against and crashed into the floor meters below.

The Triton grunted as a blaster bolt came from somewhere else and hit him in the shoulder, spinning him around. Ryan stood up from the desk where he had been crouching and fired at the hostile who had shot the Triton. The bolts from his A280 ripped apart bannisters and railings, and the man who was behind them. The enemy slumped against the wooden walls and sank to floor, leaving a dark smear behind him. Ryan ducked back behind his desk again. Flimsi pads littered the air and electronics burst into sparks as another hostile shot the desk to pieces. Granite and wood flakes flew into Ryan's helmeted face as he leaped to one side and raked the stairs where the enemy was with armor piercing bolts. There was a cry of pain and a body tumbled down the steps.

With a cry of "FOR THE EMPIRE!" Several blackjacks rushed the stairs and began to cut down the remaining hostiles. Within seconds all the enemy on the stairways had been eliminated. They were about to start searching the rooms when a thwump sounded from one of the apartments, followed by an explosion from outside the building. Cael crouched in front of Ryan as he stood behind the man and on the corner of the doorway to the apartment. Korr signaled to Cael for a breach, bang, clear. Then he unclipped the frag grenade from his belt. Cael kicked open the door and Ryan chucked in the grenade, then they both leaned away as the room exploded. Together, they rushed into the apartment and blew away the lone survivor in the room. Then they moved on to the next room. This time, Cael tossed the grenade in, only to have it come flying back! Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Ryan turned and leaped away from the grenade as it tumbled through the air. There was an enormous sound from behind him and he felt a pain in his back as he was flung down a flight of stairs. The world seemed to be fading. Fading, into darkness. Then the cold blackness enveloped him.

When Ryan awoke, he was lying at the bottom of a flight of stairs. Something wet and sticky trickled out of one of his ears. His side felt numb. Looking at it, he saw shrapnel embedded in his armor. And some that had gone all the way through it, into his skin. Ryan crawled up the stairs. Every step was agony. Blood came from one of the wounds in his side, leaking through the armor. Korr inched his way over to the fallen Lcpl. Cael was lying on one side. His back was to Ryan. Cautiously, Ryan crawled over to the doorway, stuck his rifle in and sprayed the place until his clip was empty. He reloaded another one and limped into the room. Slumped against the wall was a young man. Ryan guessed that the kid was probably around eighteen standard years. His hair was dark and his hands were still trying to hold in the blood that flowed from a hole in his chest, despite the emptiness of the kid's eyes. It was just an empty shell now. Ryan fell to his knees and crawled back to the fallen Lcpl. He rolled the man over and found that there was a gaping hole in Cael's stomach. Korr felt weak. His vision was fading around the edges. He called weakly into the com.

"Mediiiic."

Then Specter collapsed to the floor. Darkness seized him once again. And he surrendered to the peaceful sleep that unconsciousness brings.

"Define hell." Garryll asked, voice strained. There was a burp of static in the background, followed by a muffled screech that Corvin recognized as an EE-3 on automatic. The screeching stopped a moment later.

Corvin stood still, standing frozen halfway through the motion of smashing his carbine butt into a locked door. Nearby, the Triton who made up the other half of his team also paused, his posture one of confusion.

"Would a street full of militia white-hats count?" Slick shot back, sounding on the verge of panic. "They've brought tanks too."

Gates exhaled slowly, the sound distorted into a hiss by interference.

"Don't fire, and get out of there. We'll meet up at these coordinates."

"But, sir...." Slick replied a moment later, confused. "You can't get outside, they're covering all the exits!"

"No time to explain. Now move, both of you!"

The com channel closed with a pop.

Turning around, Corvin heard the sound of booted feet echoing from the floor below him, and knew that the militia had entered the building. There was a thump, and dust drifted down from the ceiling in thick clouds. The sound of boots stopped. Then there was a groan as the lobby collapsed several stories below them.

Corvin looked at the Triton trooper, who shrugged with exaggerated slowness.

"Nicely done, Wiff." Garryll commented.

"Just a detpack, sir." the Triton ASL replied. "It won't hold them for long."

"Then we'd better move fast." the Blackjack SL replied, and opened the intersquad channel. "Blackjacks, Tritons, change of plans. We've got militia outside with armour support, and they do not look happy."

"Understood. Three tanks and several squads moving towards our position."

"Stang. Take out the snipers, then get out of there. Should take some time for them to reach your floor."

"You heard him," Corzina said coolly, "Me-"

The channel dissolved into yelling and static for a moment. There were calls for a medic, and incoherent shouting.

Corzina's voice reappeared as abruptly as it had stopped.

"They're firing on the the building. They're firing on the kriffing building! What in the Nine Corellian Hells are they thinking? They'll kill their own men!"

"If I had to guess, I'd say they don't care." Garryll replied. "Move, now!"

Corvin grabbed onto the doorknob as the floor shook. An expensive looking vase fell over, shattering on the fine wood floorboards and coating it with porcelin shards. Corvin barely noticed.

"What the frak was that?" he muttered.

The Triton trooper shrugged again. He seemed to do that a lot.

Garryll spoke again.

"Blackjacks, we're regrouping. The militia's firing on this building too and we'd better not be inside when it collapses."

Corvin started to run, with the Triton following a moment later.

The corridors seemed to blur together into one long string of dimly lit halls dotted with tastefully chosen sculptures and rows of fine wood doors.

Corvin didn't spare them a backward glance.  Every couple of seconds, the booming report of laser cannons echoed through the half-open windows. With each volley, the hotel shook, and fire alarms started to blare. Whoever was commanding the militia units was desperate, an imbecile, or both.

"Corvin, Tael, where are you?" Garryll roared. "This place is falling apart!"

Corvin rounded the corner at the same time  and found himself in the turbolift lobby. The Blackjacks and a Triton trooper were standing there, weapons in hand. Abalar was the sole exception, instead crouched next to a pair of troopers lying on the floor. Corvin caught a glimpse of red arm plates and ran over.

Ryan's helmet was on the floor at his side, and he seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. His bodyglove was stained red in places.

Corvin shook his head, then turned to look at Garryll.

Tritons, report." the SL said over the com, shoving a new clip into his EE-3 as he did so.

There was a momentary pause before Brock replied.

"We're in position. Snipers have been neutralized, and we're waiting for your signal."

"Good work. Moving now."

The Blackjacks Squad Leader closed the channel, then looked the squad.

"We're moving to the north side, then taking out the snipers there. We then rappel down to the street, and clean up the Stalker's mess. Any questions?"

The troopers were silent. The building shook again under another barrage, much more violently this time. The fire alarms got even louder, and their shrieks overlapped into one high-pitched note.

"Move, Blackjacks! Hit them hard!"

As they neared the spaceport, the sound of a wailing air siren was heard from where Hassar and Thracken were standing. "Well, if they didnt't know we were coming, they do know." Thracken commented.

"You know, I seriously doubt that if they didn't know we were coming that a measly siren would change that fact." Kyrus answered dryly.

The Triton trooper laughed, shifting the rocket launcher on his shoulder. "Yeah, you're probably right."

As if to prove that they were fully aware of their presence, two medium armored combat landspeeders loomed menacingly around the corner. Following closely around the two tanks were roughly forty to fifty of the Arkanian's elite law enforcers. Kyrus swore. Apparently, they weren't willing to give up the spaceport without a fight, and it seemed they were sending everything they had from within the space port and anyone else they could spare.

"Every get down!" Gates roared over the com.

The air seemed to hang still as a single shot was fired from the tank. Kyrus and Thracken both dove out of the way just as the projectile landed a few meters away from them. The blast from the explosion propelled the two men's dive, and they were tossed away, tumbling onto the permacrete. Kyrus's reinforced snowtrooper armor protected him from the blast and kept him relatively unharmed as he skidded across the ground.

The ringing in his ears persisted as Kyrus cautiously got up. He looked around and found himself standing in the middle of an all out war zone Both sides of the conflict exchanged blaster fire. Neither side seemed to yield to the other, as both were equipped with reinforced armor. The two speeder tanks had slit up and divided their firepower, trying to outflank the three squads of stormtroopers. The Stalkers were pulling back to the other two squads positions, while they returned fire. His hearing had recovered enough to hear a blaster shot sear through the air next to his head. He dumbly ducked out of the way. Suddenly his hearing became restored an he turned to see Thracken shouting at him.

"...get up, move it! Go, Hassar!" Thracken rushed by him, pulling Kyrus along with him. He quickly scooped up his dropped A-280 as he stumbled along behind the Triton. They made it across to the other side of the street, and Kyrus knelt down on one knee and fired at the officers, while Thracken hurriedly smashed through a transparasteel window of a clothing store. Hopping inside he knelt behind the cover of the display stand in the front of the store. Kyrus unloaded his clip, taking down two Arkanians before dropping in after him.

"Tritons! Where are you! Take out those tanks!" Gates barked over the static of explosions on the com.

"We're being pinned down by snipers! Get up there and take 'em out!" Lotte snapped back.

"Blackjacks, get up top and help out Lotte's men. Let's double time it!" Garryll ordered.

Hassar looked back at Thracken. "There should be a rooftop access in the back."

He nodded. "Let's move, then."

Together, they found a narrow ladder leading up to a hatch in the ceiling and ascended it quickly. Kyrus was the first one up top, and he turned to help Thracken up. When they were both ready, they sprinted over to the end of the building and leaped onto the next. There were three snipers on he rooftops. Two of them were on the adjacent buildings across the street and one was laying prone on the next building over. Hassar fired at the two snipers on the other side, killing one instantly with a shot through he head. The other sniper looked up just as Thracken shot it through the head.

As Hassar jumped across the gap of the buildings the third sniper laying prone quickly rolled out of the way as blaster shots sank into the spot were he was previously laying on. The sniper's speed surprised Kyrus as the Arkanian proceeded to pull out a blaster pistol from his side. The sniper got out a trio of shots that punched through Hassar's armor at the close range, before he tackled him to the ground. Pulling out his combat knife, he stabbed at the sniper's chest, but the other caught hold of his hand and struggled to keep the blade away from his heart. Kyrus head butted him on his face, breaking the man's nose with a crack. The sniper faltered, allowing Kyrus to plunge the blade into his adversary's heart. He struggled slightly, gurgling blood as it escaped through his mouth before he grew still.

Hassar stood up and sheathed his knife, not bothering to wipe the blood off. Opening his com channel, he spoke into the small mike in his helmet. "This is Private Hassar, the snipers have been dealt with. Tritons your good to go."

"Copy that." The com clicked as the Triton's Squad leader ordered them to open fire on the tanks.

"Your a private?" Thracken asked, seeming slightly surprised.

Hassar ignored him as he pointed to the rooftop access door. "Looks like we've got some company."

Climbing out of the rooftop access were five stormtroopers clad in white snowtrooper armor save two of them who sported red shoulder pads. He recognized the two Blackjacks as Abalar and Jager. Trailing behind them were two Tritons and a Stalker.

"Nice work, Hassar." Abalar said. Then she turned her head and looked down on the battle going on on the streets before speaking into the com. "This is Blackjack ASL, Abalar. Fire on the tagged landspeeder only. Do not fire on the second landspeeder. I repeat, do not fire on the second tank."

"What's going on?" Thracken asked.

The Blackjack ASL looked back up at them. "We found ourselves a slicer. This Stalker here's going to slice into the second landspeeder and capture her for us, while we drop down and cover him." As she mentioned the Stalker, she clapped him on the back and pushed him forward. The man seemed to stand there, apparently shocked by his assignment.

"Kyrus?"

Hassar looked at the Stalker again. The shock in the troopers expression had not been from Abalar's words as he had previously thought, but from the sight of himself. Finally recognition snapped into his mind as the Stalker pulled of his helmet. Gasping, he stared at the Zabrak's's uncovered face.

"Gaara." he whispered. Before him stood his long lost friend, with whom he'd had countless adventures with in his childhood. The same Gaara that helped him escape from Tatooine. His best friend.

They embraced each other and Hassar felt the same surge of emotion that flowed through him when he saw Loran and his wife embrace; the feelings from long forgotten memories.

Kyrus pulled away from their hug and held Gaara at arms length. "I thought you were killed." he said.

His friend laughed and shook his head. "I thought so, too, my friend."

"Okay, let's break it up, love birds. We've still got a mission to accomplish." Jager cut in.

Gaara nodded and he Placed his helmet back on his head. "Right."

They jogged over to the edge of the building and jumped down onto the next building, which was considerably lower to the ground. When they all stood back up on steadied feet, Abalar turned to the other six troopers waiting behind her. 

"Alright here's the plan. The tank is right over on the other side of the building. We'll jump down and eliminate any of the enemy guarding the tank. Then you, Gaara, will slice into the vehicle's system and take over it.

"We'll cover you while this is going on. This way we'll split up their forces while they try to take out our main force and us. Once you're in, just pop the hood and we'll blast out anyone in there and commandeer the vehicle. Any questions?"

There was moment of silence from the group as they mentally reviewed their objective. "This... sounds like it might work." Thracken thought aloud.

"Did Garryll okay this plan of yours?" Kyrus asked.

"Yeah, we ran it by him before we headed out." Jager spoke out. "Also, I just finished talking with Tritons. They said they had a vehicle crewman who could operate the thing."

"That'd be me." Thracken said.

"Great, then it will all work out perfectly." Abalar said, clapping her hands together. "If this works, we can use it to make our way to the spaceport faster and with little resistance. We'll be that much closer to taking the city," she ended seriously.

Nodding, Kyrus cracked his knuckles. "Let's do this." 

Corvin's heartbeat echoed in his ears as he ran down the street, carbine in hand. There were shouts from behind him, punctuated by the sharp cracks of blaster fire, but the potshots were going wide. Despite their superior numbers and supposed training, the militiamen were still incredibly poor shots.

If the squads hadn't been outnumbered almost two to one with no cover, they would have cut down these amateurs in seconds. As it was, they were leading them on a merry chase through the winding streets. Again.

As planned, the squad had gone down the side street. The tank had ignored them, instead focusing on the fleeing Stalkers. Things had appeared to be going well. Then they'd all but walked into a group of militia armed with heavy blasters, supported by a pair of E-Webs. They'd started to pull back, only to run into a second group of militia. The Blackjacks and Tritons had punched through their lines, and fled with both groups hot on their tail.

"You said something about an ambush?" Brock panted, throwing a grenade over his shoulder as he ran. There was a thump from behind the stormtroopers, accompanied by a sudden rise in temperature and screams, but no one turned around to look.

"I said we should avoid them, not stumble into one!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know they'd set up E-Webs?"

"By looking? Now shut up and run!" Garryll snapped.

The squads emerged onto the street at more or less the same time, having returned to the boulevard where they'd split up with Stalker. The trio of hovertanks were new, however. They were massive, their rectangular chassis hovering inches above the ground. What caught Corvin's attention, however, were the racks of missiles that took up the rear half of each tank.

"Frak." Corvin said feelingly, and then the world turned white. Missiles streaked across the lanes towards the lanes, exploding all around the squad, and setting off secondary explosions as they detonated the fuel tanks of parked speeders.

The squads found what shelter they could from the barrage, crouching behind burned-out speeders or even lying flat on the ground as the rockets detonated all around them.

The shrieking of the missiles seemed to go on forever and ever, and Corvin's audio filters started to whine ominously with the effort of filtering out the noise of the explosions. His visor darkened until it was almost completely black as a missile exploded against a nearby wall, scattering duracrete rubble everywhere.

The barrage suddenly stopped, and the tanks started to advance across the lanes, their launchers temporarily depleted. As the repulsorcraft silently hovered over debris and lane markers, their pilot opened fire with their craft's nose cannons. The blaster fire raked the area, leaving the area covered in smoldering craters. None of the troopers were hit, but it was enough to keep the stormtroopers behind cover.

"Sergeant! I want those tanks scrapped!" Garryll bellowed at his Triton counterpart, who was several meters away.

The demolitions squad leader shook his head emphatically.

"We're out of rockets!"

Garryll's reply was short, terse, and involved some rather odd claims about the militia tank pilots. Corvin wasn't sure if there even were banthas on Arkania.

There was a loud bang as the tank's fire penetrated another repulsortruck, detonating its fuel tank and sending the wreckage flying in all directions.

Crouched behind what had been a rather nice speeder until it had taken a direct cannon hit, Corvin shook his head in an attempt to clear the ringing noise from his ears, then reloaded his rifle.

Two clips left. When those ran out, he'd be left with an SE-14, a combat knife, and his fists. Not exactly ideal for taking on a tank and milita with rifles.

"Frak, frak frak.. ." he muttered. Another cannon blast reduced a nearby speeder to a smoking mess.

"Would you stop saying that?" someone snapped. Corvin turned to see another of the Tritons, who'd evidently decided on the same piece of cover he had. "Honestly, what's wrong with you? Frak this, frak that. Is that the only word you know?"

Corvin simply stared.

Are the Tritons all insane or something?

If they were, Corvin mused, it certainly would explain a lot.

"Militia!" one of the Tritons yelled as grey-armoured figures holding repeating blasters emerged from the smoke. The militia had finally caught up to them.

"Frak." Corvin said again, finding himself at a loss for words for once.

The spaceport was over  twelve square kilometers of landing pads, hanger bays and terminals all skirting off a domed hub in the center topped with a main spire which housed the flight control center. All Adascopolis space traffic filtered through it. Hundreds of Passenger vessels, bulk freighters, trader ships all berthed with the massive instillation on a day to day basis when they entered the city. Now it stood like a mausoleum. Navigation lights pulsed across the length of the spire and flashed rhythmically atop the many communication's towers that were littered across the instillation.

Its shear size and location made it an obvious strong hold for the local defence forces.

Inside, the transit ways and conduits that usually pulsed with activity were littered with abandoned luggage and personal belongings. Shops and stalls stood empty. Many lay in ruins, destroyed in the paniced instigated by the local PDF's mandatory evacuation. The soft tones of music wafted gently over the announcement system, echoing through dark, cavernous halls like funeral hymns.

Two members of the local militia stalked past gate forty-six E, their weapons at the ready. Departure and arrival screens flashed red with the evacuation notices, casting elongated shadows across the tiled floor. The pair moved cautiously through the rows upon rows of vacant seats that lined five deep from the plate-glassed walls that overlooked the outlying hangers and exposed pads. In the darkness it was hard to make out what was what. Suitcases looked like curled up bodies on the seats, blankets like small children.

Unbeknown to them, they were being watched.

A figure. Tall, slender. Glided between the shadows in their wake. They carried matte-black sub machine guns with blaster strapped to their legs. Occasionally they exchanged brief snippets of conversation. A few wary statements at best gripes about their being only working backup generators, about the unnerving silence. Most incoherent to their shadow who stayed well back. He would have to strike soon, but the right moment hadn't presented itself yet. Patients always paided off.

Eventually they came to a large, circular food court with a high glass ceiling. A sea of chairs and tables lay before them, broken by the occasional information pillar or holoscreen. They, like every other monitor in the spaceport, displayed the evacuation notice. A red screen with instructions on where to flee to. Some had shorted out or lost signal, leaving them only with a static laden screen.

The two paused for a short while. They were reluctant to continue into the labyrinth. Too many alcoves, too many nooks and crannies for a would be attacker to strike from. They decided not to cross the center, but instead circle around the outside past the vendors. One went left, one went right. A costly mistake. Their shadow broke as well and began trailing the right side.

The man came in at a little under six foot. Built, but not solid like a rank and file trooper. A reservist or maybe an inducted space port security officer. His uniform and appearance were crisp. Clean shaven, a short cut of blonde hair hidden under the dark grey, cloth garrison cap with a white trim and topped with a badge that his shadow couldn't quite make out.

"Whenever you're ready." A voice whispered in the shadows ear.

He was hunched down, but his pace was still quicker then the militiaman's. A hand took a firm grip on a long, slender knife that was strapped to his boot and held it inverse in his right hand, the blade pointing away from his body.

"Now." He hissed.

A gloved hand took a firm grip over the militiaman's mouth and jerked, causing him to lose balance. Another pressed the knife under his ribs and up into his chest, the slender blade slicing through the skin and muscle as thought it were room temperature butter. He struggled weakly, but it was over, his eyes managing to catch a glimpse of his assailants scarred and cold face before they eventually rolled back into his head. Within seconds he went limp. It was over.

"Target down." The voice chimed in, still in its whisper. He grunted a similar response.

"Good job. Search the bodies, then dump them out of sight." A third voice ordered. The two shadows clicked their comm's in acknowledgement. He retrieved a small comm-unit and a key-card before dumping the body over the counter of a food vendor. By then the rotund court was twitching and shifting with his comrades as they moved in from behind to secure the area.

"Anything useful?" One queried as she moved towards him.

"Comm-unit, key-card." He stated, placing both in her hands, "They'll be missed."

His superior sighed, though she knew full well that would be the case. "At least we'll known when" she stated, sliding the comm-unit into one of her pouches.

"How you doing?" he queried before she could turn away

"Uh... yeah. Could be worse." she shrugged meekly, "At least its not Eradiu."

He gave his usual part-smirk, mostly grimace which hid the subtle shudder that ran through him. The legacy of that assault was still a little too fresh for his taste. "Nights still young" he retorted dryly as he checked his weapon. His counterpart nodded. Another one of the shadows darted and weaved its way towards them from the other end of the food court.

"We're two terminals away from the flight control access lifts." he began as he approached "If we kick it up a gear, we'll be there in a half hour."

"We'll take our time. Give us the full hour." he began,  "If Gates asks, tell him we had to bypass some resistance." His superior shoved him playfully as he finished,

"I could have sworn Gates said 'Follow Abalar' earlier"

"Fine." he scoffed in his deadpan as he turned to the other trooper, "Disregard that. Ab's, whats the plan?"

"We'll take the full hour to get there. Tell Gates resistance is a little heavier then we thought" she stated with authority. The trooper nodded and moved off to join the others.

"Good plan." he stated, "I like your cautious approach to things."

"Years of experience." She smirked, "Stick by me for a while and you might learn a thing or two"

"Guess I'm still point then, Boss?"

"Guess you're still point then, Luth." She stated before opening the squad channel, "Alright, we're moving out. Groups of three, keep it spaced and keep it staggered and watch your corners. Luth's on point."

The dozen figures quickly moved towards the large archway to the east that acted as a conduit onto the B and A Terminals. Within a few seconds the food court was returned to its unnatural stillness, the lights from the food vendors continued to cast elongated shadows across the length and breadth of the court as the gentle, calming music looped softly through the speakers.

Ryan had grown tired of this constant barrage of militia men. It had happened once too many times on this mission. He wasn't keen on getting in to anymore firefights until they reached the Flight Control tower. The former mercenary growled in annoyance. With quick, fluid motions, he slung his rifle onto his shoulder and withdrew his blaster pistol from its holster. The elite trooper strode out from where he had been crouching. What the five militia men saw was a figure clad in what might have once been white armor, but was now covered in dried blood and coated with dust from broken permacrete, as well as burn marks on the plastoid, where a shot had been deflected. The figure that the militia saw turned its trademark stormtrooper helmet towards them. Ryan depressed the trigger on his blaster pistol five times in rapid succession. The patrolmen collapsed to the floor, or sagged against the wall. Korr motioned to the squad, giving them the all clear. He then holstered his pistol and grabbed his A280. The day still wasn't over yet. They needed to get to that Flight Control Tower, before anything else happened. Sooner or later the two patrols that they had eliminated would be missed, and then all the nine hells of Corellia would break loose.

As the squads scampered through the spaceport, Ryan's thoughts turned inward once more. After the smuggling crew he had been with was captured, fifteen year old Ryan Korr had started his own operation. He had gathered up a human, a Rodian, and a Duros as a crew. Business had gone well for almost two years, but then Ryan got a deal from one of the Hutt crimelords, who needed a shipment of glitterstim delivered to Nar Kreeta. Everything had been going as planned. Ryan had gotten the shipment, was ready to depart for Nar Kreeta, and everything seemed to be going smoothly. However, he overheard his crew discussing a plan to get rid of him. Without hesitation he unholstered his pistol, walked into the room, and shot all three of them. He made sure that he delivered the shipment, because one never wanted to get into trouble with the hutts. The Hutt there had somehow heard about what he had done and offered him a job as a private mercenary and bounty hunter. And that was how Ryan had become known in the underworld as a ruthless man. He was still a ruthless man.

Ryan's group of three, Slick, a Stalker, and himself, moved past another terminal. They had one more to go before they reached the Flight Control access lifts. So far there had been no further sign of any patrols, but appearances could be deceiving. The area that the trio was currently in contained long upreaching pillars and was comparatively empty, save for the waiting seats and restrooms that they came across. Nothing seemed to move across the deserted place that was usually home to the teeming masses. The three troopers moved with silence and stealth.

After a short while they came upon a large waiting area. The room was filled with plants and vegetation, overfilled. Most likely it was to compensate for the barren landscaping outside the biodome. A fountain trickled water in the center. It had two levels. The lower level held the fountain and some other diners and deserted shopping stores. The second level held diners and cafes that catered to the waiting patrons during normal times. The second level was accessible by a steep, wide staircase.  The railings on the second level were littered with the occasional tree or plant, but it was nothing compared to the lower area. Vegetation seemed to grow from the ground, it was so thick.

The three troopers spread out across the room. Ryan crept by some tables and a small deserted diner, then he was among some plants that covered him from view. Suddenly, two guards walked into view. Ryan held his breath as they looked around. They exchanged a few words, but one of them moved off; seemingly to patrol the area. The other guard stood where he was. Korr was positioned a little ways behind him. The man had his back to the fountain and his eyes on the staircase in front. With slow, cautious, stealthy movements, Ryan crept towards the man. There was a barely audible swish as a knife left its sheath, then the former mercenary had the guard by the mouth and was jabbing his knife into the indent at the base of the arkanian's skull. He slammed the knife upward at a forty-five degree angle, scrambling the medulla oblongata and the motor senses were cut off immediately. A silent kill. Ryan carefully lowered the body into the fountain's pool. If he dragged it anywhere somebody would notice. As it was, the pool began to slowly turn a reddish hue. Ryan crept back into the decorative vegetation as the second guard came back. The arkanian looked around, bewildered. Then he stared down into the pool at the body of his dead compatriot. The near-human was stunned. The Stalker took that moment to act. Silently, he leapt out of hiding and grasped the guard around the neck, with a twist, he broke it. The second body fell into the fountain with a splash. And then the trio were off again.

Within ten minutes they reached the end of the second terminal and came out onto a short open space between the last terminal and the Flight Control Tower. It was dotted with the occasional storage shed and some buildings that Ryan did not know the use of. Slick halted Ryan and the Stalker and they all waited for the rest of the group to arrive. A few barricades surrounded the Tower. Ryan counted at least three E-Webs. Two were on the ground, with criss-crossing lines of fire. Another one was positioned out a window of the tower. The former mercenary grimaced. They would need snipers for this one.

The rest of the three squads arrived in around a minute. They all crouched behind various objects so as not to be seen by the enemy. Gates was discussing the plan of attack with the other two squad leaders. Ryan peered around the durasteel crate he was hiding behind. There were four militia to an E-web and twenty to thirty riflemen that were around the barricaded area.

Finally, the three squad leaders seemed to come to a decision. Four Stalkers moved out and crept to various positions adequate for sniping. The rest moved out and settled down in covering fire positions. Triton squad crept to the left side of the enemy line. They were not in view, but ready to break out from behind cover at any moment. Gates spoke through the com.

"Alright, here is how it's going to work: Stalker is going to snipe each E-web operator. Once they do, Triton is going to toss some detonite at the barricades and grenades at the men." Gates paused and held up a smoke grenade, "This is a smoke grenade. We will be tossing three right where we will be attacking. Once they start to unleash the stuff, we move forward and crush the enemy in a frontal assault. Triton will come around the left, and Stalker will be providing covering fire. Ready?"

The squad chimed in unison, "Yessir."

"Let's do this."

Gates gave the thumbs up signal to the Stalker squad leader. Four bursts of red plasma sped towards their targets. E-web operators slumped and collapsed as they were struck down. The militia men began to run around like a flurry of ants. Something came from the building Triton was hiding behind. Small objects dotted the sky as they arched over the building and into the barricades and men. Detonite exploded. Shrapnel flew. Men screamed. Arkanians died. Three spiraling canisters landed next to a shattered barricade and smoke began to fill the air. Ryan heaved himself to his feet and rushed forward with the rest of the Blackjacks. The air was filled with particle beams of red and blue. Magnetically contained plasma darted between the lines.

Ryan opened up with his A280. His green eyes stared through his helmet's eyes and through the sights of his rifle. A militia man in the blue and white uniform of the Arkanian guard stood with a blaster in hand. The arkanian's white hair was blowing in the wind. Ryan glared through the sights and fired. Plasma ripped through the arkanian militia man. Korr was still running. He was going to fast for accurate aiming. Ryan leaped over the broken barricade and poured plasma at the enemy, not bothering to take precise aim; just sweeping them with the energy bolts. His side began to pain him slightly, but he ignored it. The former mercenary gritted his teeth and began to shoot down men he did not know, nor have a quarrel with....save for the fact that they were on opposite sides in this war. And so he killed them.

More militia poured out of the tower and began to rush towards the E-webs. White smoke clouded the air. Ryan could only see the shadows and shapes of men in front of him now. Red and blue bolts seemed to come out of nowhere. The Tritons entered the fray from the left. The hard-pressed militia fought on. These arkanians were a little different from the main militia. Their uniforms seemed better. Their weapons were better. And their morale was unwavering. These militia were tougher than the regulars and were putting up a hard fight. Ryan wondered how many more of them lay behind the doors of the Flight Control Tower. But he couldn't think about that now. Ryan focused on eliminating the arkanians surrounding him. A blaster bolt skidded off his shoulder plate, leaving a black scorch mark on his armor. Korr ejected a spent clip and loaded another one into place. His last. An Arkanian burst out of the smoke next to him. He grabbed his rifle and smashed it into the near-human's face, spraying blood as something broke beneath the rifle butt.

They needed to end this battle and quickly. Before anymore troops arrived.

Private Nekoda-

The squad stood aside as those with specialization in combat engineering stepped forward.

One of them, a certain Pvt. Nekoda, was skeptical of the leadership he was under. While Gates may have meant 'get this open' in the explosive sense, that really wasn't how it was done. You simply couldn't level a MiniMag PTL missile launcher at a door, pull the trigger, and poof have a magic entrance way. What would end up happening, if you did that, was a lot of body parts flying on the outside of the door. This particular door was a blast door. You didn't blast open a blast door. Everybody knew that. The man set to work. He disassembled the control panel for the blast door and began to rewire the circuiting. It took him and the other three combat engineers about two minutes. Then, the door slid open.

Pvt. Nekoda froze. That wasn't supposed to happen. Somebody had opened the door before he had had time to move out of the way and let the heavy weapons guys do their business. It had all gone wrong. He knew he was dead from the moment the blast door slid open. The five blaster bolts burning their way through his armor and flesh didn't come as a shock; it was more of a deep sadness. A tear leaked down his face, unseen beneath his helmet. His life had been looking good. He had finally found a job he was good at. There was so much more left for him. Rosy was waiting for him back on Kuat. Two more years and he would have been able to get a discharge for some engineering there. He should have had a good life. He would have had a good life. A...good....life. Too young...he was too young. Everything went black.

A few days later Rosy and Pvt. Nekoda's family would receive a message from the STC. It would tell them how sorry the Corps was that Nekoda, a "Brave, distinguished soldier.", had died in the line of duty. That he had died an honorable death. They would never know that he the reason he had died was just another accident. A door that had opened too quickly. His family would never know. They would only remember him as the dead war hero. His squad and those who fought alongside him knew the truth. Nekoda had died because he hadn't done his job correctly. He had died, because life was survival of the fittest, and Nekoda had slipped in the game called life.

***

Ryan let the body slump back to the ground. The young combat engineer was dead, so were the ten or more militia shock troops in the room beyond. "Well I guess that was his worth then." Thought Ryan. That was how you could tell men apart. How many men they had managed to take with them at the end of their life, or what they contributed to the galaxy. Korr scowled beneath his helmet as he stepped over the bloody remains of a blue and white arkanian. There was only one worth in battle. The men and women around you didn't recognize you for your good deeds to society. They only valued you because you were a resource to them. That was how Ryan viewed the generals in command. They were simply men in charge of a certain amount of resources. The only reason they cared about you was because they didn't want the unnecessary expenditure of their resources. He stepped over another dead carcass. A blaster bolt whizzed past him. The former mercenary fired off a hip shot, catching the arkanian in the shoulder and spinning her around so she fell onto the floor. The woman's face was beautiful, even as she screamed in pain. Ryan put a bolt through her chest. The screams stopped. He stared at her face for a moment and then turned away.

The lance corporal standing next to him, Corvin, cocked his helmeted head. Ryan ignored the man and stepped out of the cadaver filled room. A stairwell lead up and up and up the winding center of the tower. Ryan took point. There was a constant clank as they filed up the stairs. They went on and on. It winded upward, ever upward. Finally, they came to a platform that broke off into several doors, three doors, to be exact. Gates stared at the three doors.

"Split up. A third through each door."

The squads nodded in unison. Ryan rushed through the door in front. The room they entered was seemingly empty. It seemed to be an office place for those who worked at the tower. There was a quiet rustle as air blew in through some ventilation shaft. Ryan put one armored foot forward. A blue and white adorned being rolled out from behind a desk and burned a scorch mark across the side of the former mercenary's armor. Ryan dropped to a knee, raised his blaster to his shoulder, and fired, all in one fluid, practiced motion. The arkanian dropped dead. Abruptly, the room was filled with plasma bolts. Ryan dropped from his knee to his belly and rolled behind one of the office desks. The room grew silent again. With a near silent movement of his lips, Ryan spoke into the com.

"Someone sneak around the other side."

There were to squawks on the com in response, an affirmative. A little while later another squawk came over the com. Whoever was there was ready. Ryan sprayed blaster bolts through wood and steel, not aiming precisely, just wrecking the place with scattered fire. The white and blue soldiers who had been standing up crouched back behind various objects. Until a trooper came around the corner and littered their bodies with blaster bolts.

Ryan and the rest of the troopers stood up. The room was now void of any enemy presences. Korr walked over to the door in front of him, labeled in the arkanian's language. A stairwell crept up from the doorway. The Elite Trooper opened up the com to his SL.

"Sir, this is Specter. I found a staircase, not sure where it leads though."

Corvin squeezed the carbine's trigger, sending blaster fire flying through the air in a continuous stream and causing his HUD to flicker white every few seconds.

Kriffing thing wasn't filtering the light as it was supposed to. Corvin wasn't sure if it was due to blaster damage or if this suit variant lacked that feature, but knew there was nothing he could do about it.

There was a clack, and a quiet hiss as whisps of leftover gas left the carbine's barrel. His last power cell had been depleted.

Quickly, he pulled a looted E-11 from his belt and continued firing, the stolen rifle shuddering in his grip as he held the trigger down. Sparks flew in all directions and molten durasteel started to drip onto the floorplates as the Blackjacks' blaster bolts ate away 

Whatever its detractors might say, the E-11 was one of the better weapons on the market. Not a marksman's weapon, but it was easy to use, had a high rate of fire, and was more than capable of punching through most body armour.

Garryll gestured, and there were a pair of pings as Slick and Hatim rolled frag grenades down the central aisle. There were a pair of loud thumps as they went off, and Corvin's visor blanked out completely for a moment.

The militia troopers who'd been hiding behind the consoles were now sprawled on, or smeared over, the floorplates. The terminals they'd been hiding behind were either riddled with shrapnel or smoking wrecks. It didn't matter. The Blackjacks would need the control room, the data mainframe, and a very specific handful of pads. Anything else came second, if at all.

Garryll waited a moment, then gestured for the Blackjacks to advance. The stormtroopers advanced through the darkened room, boots crunching on shattered transparisteel and pieces of terminal.

Corvin heard a ragged hissing noise and turned. One of the militia was still breathing, albeit barely, despite the ragged hole shrapnel had left in his stomach. His face glinted in the darkness where shrapnel shards had embedded themselves into it. The man was half-pinned beneath a console, with his rifle several meters away, well out of his reach. He would probably be dead from blood loss in a few minutes.

Corvin raised his E-11 and pointed it at the man's head, finger tightening on the trigger, then stopped as Ryan brushed past him, kneeling besides the dying trooper. Corvin watched, bemused, as the Private removed his helmet, whispering something to the militia trooper.

Quietly, Ryan drew his sidearm, and pulled the trigger. The man twitched, then fell still. Still completely silent, Ryan then got back to his feet and started to follow Garryll and the others.

Corvin blinked twice, bewildered.

What the frak was that about?

Corvin didn't get along well with Ryan at the best of times, and the two didn't quite see eye to eye. The man was tight-lipped about his own past, something that left Corvin suspicious. He wasn't sure why the man was so reluctant to speak about his past, but he was sure it wasn't because of something as relatively innocuous as a lost wife. Besides, his attitude grated on Corvin's own.

Surely even Ryan wouldn't emphasize with these traitors? That was what they were: traitors. They had betrayed the Empire and were allies of the Republic. That alone meant they deserved no mercy.

The idea that there was an ironic echo of the Corp's defense of Tadath in the Arkanian's own never even crossed his mind.

The squad advanced through another darkenned terminal room. Wall to wall processors hummed to themselves, lights blinking on and off in the darkness as the squad passed them.

This time, there was another sealed doorseal. It was a standard one this time, not a heavy blast door. A simple shaped charge or fusioncutter would be enough. They were close to the control room now.

Garryll waved Hassar and Orobos forwards.

"Get it open..." the Blackjack Squad Leader ordered, unconsciously echoing his earlier order.

"And don't kriff up like Triton did." he added in an undertone, more to himself than to the Blackjacks.

OOC:

Didn't mention the other squads as with the Blackjacks as I'm not sure what's going on with them.

"Not again." Hassar groaned as doorseals slid open around the squad and Orobos roared in warning. Then the firing began.

There were at least two squads of Arkanians pouring into the hallway, most of them carrying heavy blaster rifles. These bulky weapons would normally be ill-suited for indoor combat, but their high rate of fire and powerful bolts posed a significant threat to the Blackjacks.

The stormtroopers had skidded to a stop and raised their weapons as soon as they'd heard the noise, and they opened fire at once. Three, then four Arkanians fell as they emerged from the side rooms, but more appeared, screaming slogans or, more unnervingly, moving in complete silence.

"Take them down!" Garryll roared, firing his E-11 in single shots. The corridor was filled with the constant whine of blasterfire, echoing until it was a high pitched hum.

Corvin strode forwards as he fired his weapon, cackling as the blaster sprayed energy bolts into the flanks of the enemy. This was what he lived for.

Regardless of what that untrustworthy backstabber Korr said, they were traitors. They served a government that had left the Empire, and refused to surrender. That meant they deserved their fate at the Blackjacks' hands. There could be no mercy for enemies of the Empire, regardless of their level of guilt, and their deaths would serve to help...persuade others to return to true Imperial rule.

Besides, it was simply so very satisfying.

"For the Empire!" Corvin yelled loudly.

Ryan quickly glanced at him mid-shot.

"Get a new catchphrase." the Private muttered, then turned back to the doorway.

Corvin ignored the other trooper and continued to fire, sending another miltia trooper sprawling as the Arkanian started to moved back. Another fell nearby, his chest almost completely vaporized by sustained blaster-fire from Abalar and Slick. The survivors didn't stop firing or even glance at their fallen comrade; instead continuing to fire on the stormtroopers as they moved backwards.

For all their dedication and skill, the Arkanian elites were simply too lightly armoured for a prolonged firefight. They might have been able to stand against standard Army or Republic troopers, but not the heavily armoured Blackjacks.

The squad thrived at this kind of close-quarters combat, and it showed. Against troops whose enemies had previously been pirates and raiders, it wasn't even close to fair.

"For the Emp-" Corvin began to shout, then doubled over as a blaster bolt ricocheted off a nearby wall and hit him squarely in the gut. He gasped for breath, dropping his rifle and clutching his stomachplate with one hand.

His vision was suddenly filled with what looked like an armoured kneecap, and then the world flashed white as the militiaman kneed him neatly in the face.

Corvin fell over backwards, arms flailing at thing air. Still dazed, he quickly sprung back to his feet and swung a wild punch.

The Arkanian elite dodged with almost contemptuous ease, grunting something Corvin couldn't quite make out. The commando was trying to bring his long-barrelled rifle up. The cramped walls were slowing him down, but it was almost raised.

Corvin lunged at the militiaman with an incoherent yell, hands outstretched and grasping for the Arkanian's neck. They found nothing but air.

The man dropped his rifle with a clatter then sidestepped and swung, his right arm coming down in a motion so swift it seemed to blur.

The stormtrooper gasped in pain as the well aimed blow slammed into the lower side of his helmet, throwing him into the wall. Had it hit his neck as the commando had intended, it would have probably have killed him instantly.

Corvin pulled himself from the wall in time to see the militiaman about to strike him again. Quickly, he raised his arm...

There was a hiss, and the man's right eye vanished in a spurt of blood as the combat knife Corvin had thrown sank into his socket. He screamed, tearing at his own face as blood trickled down it.

Corvin charged, knocking the militiaman to the ground. Knocking the man's arms aside with a vicious blow, the stormtrooper grabbed the combat knife's handle and pushed.

The man spasmed, then shuddered and was still. Blood started to trickle onto the floor tiles from his ruined face.

Corvin grinned in insane glee.

He tugged hard on the handle, and the combat knife worked itself free with a squelch. Shaking it and sending droplets of blood flying from its serrated blade, Corvin drew his sidearm with his other hand .

More and more of the soldiers were showing up from the doors behind the squad. Corvin suddenly noticed that there were only four troopers between the squad and the corridor ahead.

A trap. It had to be. Not even mercs made that kind of mistake, not often at least.

Not as though there were many other options at the moment, not counting the one where they were buried under militia.

"We tear through them and take the tower!" Garryll roared, bringing his E-11 around and clipping a militaman in the side of his helmet with the weapon's butt. He fired, and the pale-skinned alien went down with a spray of charred flesh.

"Hit them hard, Blackjacks!"

The last Arkanian dropped to his knees, eyes glazed as he stared dumbly down at the charred hole in his stomach. There was a pop, and he fell with a neat, smoking circle in his temple.

Corvin lowered his SE-14, thumbing the power setting back up as he did so. No need to waste battery charge on a dying hostile.

The Blackjacks advanced slowly towards a sealed blast door, two of them bringing up the rear and watching for any survivors who might be following them. The red-white armour the squad wore was now battered and charred, pocked with craters where glancing hits had failed to penetrate. They were still alive, but it had been a close call.

Raising his hand for the squad to stop. Garryll tried the control panel, then sighed when, inevitably, the door failed to respond.

"Hassar, Orobos, get to work. Loran, cover them."

The two combat engineers moved to the glowing panel, fusioncutters in hand, while Loran stood behind them with his weapon raised. The rest of the stormtroopers took up formation around him, covering both the hallway and the sealed blast door.

The incident with the Tritons was still fresh in everyone's minds, and Hassar seemed apprehensive as both he and Orobos powered up their fusioncutters. The cutting torches activated with a beep, and there was a hiss of contained plasma.

There was a crackling noise, followed by an intense blue-white light and showers of sparks as the two troopers started to cut through the thick blast door.

"Estimated time?" Garryll demanded, pushing another power cell into the side of his E-11.

"A minute tops, sir." Hassar reported after a moment. "Door isn't that thick."

A blob of half-molten durasteel came loose and slid down the door, starting to spread across the floor before cooling.

The Blackjacks stood around, weapons aimed at the doorways and the dark hallway they'd come through. Muffled alarms blared from somewhere else in the complex.

No sign of more militia though, which was somewhat of a relief. For all their skill and armour, the Blackjacks had nearly been overwhelmed, if only through sheer numbers. The narrow corridors had helped, but not by much. 

Not a relief, Corvin corrected. A sign they were doing something somewhere else. Judging by the lack of communications from the Stalkers and Tritons, despite Garryll's occasional attempts to contact them, he had an unpleasant suspicion what that something might be.

"Sometime today would be nice, Hassar..." Ryan said jokingly, and there were quiet chuckles from several of the other troopers.

"Almost." the combat engineer replied absently, adjusting a knob as he cut horizontally. On the other side, Orobos was doing much the same thing, white hot durasteel scaring his armourplates and burning away what was left of his pauldron.

"Done." the trooper announced, moving back as he drew his carbine. The stormtroopers covered the blast doors, which now had a glowing rectangle in their middle where the two engineers had cut completely through the metal.

"On my mark..." Garryll muttered.

"Now!"

The rectangular section came free with a shriek of metal as Orobos slammed the butt of his axe into it, clattering on the floorplates on the other side. The Blackjacks pushed through the opening, ready to throw flashbangs or fire. The problem was, there was nothing to fire at.

"No contacts." Hassar reported, looking from side to side as his helmet sensors scanned the area. "Thermals are negative."

"Keep moving." Garryll ordered, keeping his E-11 raised. "The stairwell has to be nearby, and the control room with it."

OOC:

Edited to remove continuity goof-up.