Garryll Gates, Platoon Sergeant and Squad Leader of the Elite Blackjack Squad, pride of the Stormtrooper Corps, was looking out the window. The window was a gunner's position on the VSD Dominion, the chief support ship of the Vast Empire's Stormtroopers. The brilliantly white, unmarred ball of ice and snow below the ship acted as a point of reference, and moved slowly as the massive capital ship orbited it. He shivered in the cold air of the space ship; no ship in the frigid vacuum ever seemed to have sufficient heating, despite the massive fusion generators that were the size of a main battle tank.

A small form tapped him on the shoulder. He turned; his Assistant, Sergeant Abalar, all of five and a half feet tall in armor, nodded to him.

"What's up, Abalar?" Gates asked, turned fully to face her.

"Boss wants you in his office," she replied. "Dunno what for."

"Which boss?" Gates asked, beginning to head down the edge of the Star Destroyer, towards the main bridge and STC barracks aboard the ship. "One of the big three or Tanus?"

They began to emerge more onto the main drag of hallways, and Navy personnel began to pass them - mechanics, technicians, the occasional pilot and deck officer. They gave the tall man with a brutally short haircut a wide berth, and Abalar scooted after in his wake. "Tanus. Don't see why Rizzit, Angel or Jeg would want your head on a platter, after all. We did that mission right."

"Oh, so optimistic, Abs," Garryll grinned. "Perhaps they had wanted to congratulate me for single-handedly ending the war?"

She chuckled lightly at that. "And maybe pin a medal to your forehead."

"That too. After all, my dress uniform is so full of 'em, I don't know where else they'd put another one."

They passed into the Stormtrooper territory aboard the Dominion. All at once, Navy crewman-traffic dropped to nil, and lean, short-haired men and women walked the halls, a confident swagger in their walk, always the symptom of a highly successful mission. Some of the more relaxed threw lazy salutes to the two Blackjack officers when they realized the small unit crest and the triple-chevron of a platoon sergeant. Both Blackjacks returned the salutes in the nature they were given, without much effort or formality.

"So what's personnel like?" Gates asked over his shoulder. Abalar listed off her fingers.

"Jager, Orobos and Hassar have been rotated into reserve forces. Loran too some leave, on account of his discovered wife; we did, however, get a new trooper in PFC Drexhel," she stopped for a moment. "The Commander of Training says this one's competent."

"He'd better," Gates sighed. "Though I'll have to take it, what with the high turnover."

They stopped in the Officer's Hallway, the platoon- and company- level officers' barracks; each got a personal room and an armed guard, but most of the guards were at either end of the hall, smoking and playing dice. There were so many Stormtroopers in the general area that an assassin would have to be suicidal and stupid to try to kill any of these men and women. On top of that, all of the officers were generally promoted by merit and had proven themselves in the field before they'd climbed the command ladder.

Gates knocked heavily on the door bearing the inscription: "Platoon Sergeant Tanus Solvona - Wildcard Platoon Commander."

"Enter!" a calm voice called through the durasteel door. Gates waved his hand in front of the scanner and stepped in. Abalar was tight on his heels. Tanus had his feet up on his temporary desk; behind it, his massive, trade-mark warhammer rested against the wall, and scattered pieces of armor lay on his bunk and floor. A pair of rickety chairs had been provided for his visitors. "If it isn't my favorite Squad Command."

"Me, boss?" Gates asked, grinning.

"No, Abalar," Tanus replied, same tone of voice. "She's a hell of a lot cuter than you, Garryll."

"So what'd you want me for?" Gates asked. "I've got half a squad, for cryin' out loud. You can't be sending us somewhere already!"

"Iron Horse shipped out three days ago," Tanus replied.

"Good for Iron Horse," Gates replied. "We just had the toughest damn mission in the STC."

"And you'll keep getting the toughest ones, 'long as you wear red on your armor," Tanus said, more seriously.

"I'd like to recommend that Elite be camouflage," Abalar inserted. "Red seems kinda self-destructive."

"Anyway," Tanus said, ponderously bringing the three soldiers back onto topic; "Arkania is a huge center of trade. They act as middlemen, as well as shipping lot's of...stuff. I dunno what it is, I don't particularly care. However, the merchants of Abridon do care with whom they trade with, and they apparently find the Vast Empire a distasteful trading partner."

"So what? Get the dammed negotiators out there," Gates said. "They're not part of the Republic, right? You don't need us to act as some cannon fodder for the diplomatic corps."

"Oh no, it's much more interesting than that," Tanus said, and outlined the plan.

** ** ** ** **

"Count yourselves as lucky, boys and girl," Garryll said to the assembled Blackjacks - all five of them. "We'll be blowing crap up and risking our necks, all for our measly salaries. Here's the target planet."

At the touch of a button, the planet of Abridon appeared from the holoprojector, a pleasant, small, green-and-blue planet. In the corner of the image, smaller zoomed-in images showed a pleasant, rolling planet with many open fields and large forests. A half-dozen major industrial cities were also shown.

"The major export of this particular piece of paradise is starships; if you hadn't realized before, the Vast Empire is at war, and ships are a precious commodity. In other words, we'll need 'em en masse. Warships, freighters, tankers, transports, fighter craft; we need all of them in equal, vast quantities."

Another press of a button, and the planet's large-zoom feature concentrated on a a particular city. "This is Sayan, the major shipbuilding city. Its merchant class has decided to not sell ships to the Vast Empire. I don't know why, and I care even less; after all, political motivations aren't my thing. I'll leave that to the Moffs and Admirals."

"So what can we do?" Corvin asked. "I'm not too keen to take on a planet again."

"We'll be persuading the merchants of Sayan that selling to the Vast Empire would bring them more profits then not. That is to say, not selling to us will be an expensive and annoying endeavor."

"So we're going to blow up some of their stuff."

"That's the jist of it, yeah," Gates said. "We'll handle the military side of this particular op, while some of those diplomat pukes handle the whole swinging them to our side thing. 'Course, it'd look bad to go in full battle regalia and tip our hand that the Empire's on both sides of this particular issue. We'll deploy in camo-fatigues and light body armor; good thing the weather is supposed to be nice and cool, easy and pretty damn good."

"Just us? Seven people against a planetary defense force and whatever guys the merchants have guarding their stuff?" Corvin asked. "That's piss-poor odds, even for me."

"Well, the Army has gracefully decided to contribute," Gates, flipping to another hologram. "They'll provide an additional four squads, all recon and wilderness specialists; Sayan is a pretty sprawling city, and is in the middle of more or less a forest. The factories are largely isolated, so as to reduce noise pollution, and most of the resources come from off-world imports and asteroid mining corporations. It's a very neat system."

The hologram dissipated, and the lights turned back up, signifying the end of the briefing. The soldiers rose from their seats. "Gear's onboard the Royal Flush. Corvin, make sure Drexhel finds his way there."

OOC:

Okay, mission is up; here's the planet: http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Abridon
We'll be deploying in camo-clothing and light body armor. So if you get shot in the chest, you're going to die.
Do a little bit of CD and stuff, get onto the ship on your own time; I'll move us forwards in a few days

Corvin was far from happy. Holding a rucksack in one hand, the Lance Corporal swung it from side to side as he walked through the compound’s small spaceport, heading to where the Flush was waiting. The hallways were almost deserted, strangely, with the exception of the occasional naval trooper or pilot.

Normally, he would have been gleeful about the prospect of a fairly simple “kriff stuff up” mission, let alone one to somewhere where the squad wouldn’t freeze to death. Instead, the briefing had left him with an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach.

First, no armour. Again. Second, they’d be replying on a gaggle of scouts to make up their numbers. Corvin had his own doubts about that. Then, there was the little matter of the entire fraking planet being against them. Again.

Worst comes to the worst, we can always use the diplomats as meatshields.

The morbid thought made him smile.

Corvin came to the sealed blast door leading into the Blackjack hanger. A holopanel mounted on the wall to the left blinked on and off, lights flickering in sequence. Irritably, the stormtroooper let his bag drop with a clatter and pressed his right hand to the panel. There was a shrill beep as sensors scanned the standard-issue chip implanted into the trooper’s hand at indoctrination, and the lights briefly flashed green.  The durasteel plates slid open and Corvin walked through.

The hanger was fairly spacious, and smelled of fuel. A multi-armed service droid whirred past Corvin, treads crunching as it ran over a discarded ration box. The insectoid droid spun around, quickly scanning the stormtrooper before dismissing him as an organic and heading towards the Flush.

There was a scream of rage and shock from the Flush’s lowered boarding ramp. Wordless and filled with emotion, it echoed through the bay. Corvin froze for a moment, briefly sure that there was somehow a Kohlma reanimate in the bay, before reason reasserted itself and he relaxed, lowering the E-11 he’d pulled from his belt.

“Get away from my ship!” the owner of the voice roared. Corvin frowned, suddenly struck by a sense of familiarity. A moment later, he knew why.

The man who ran down the ramp was short, grubby and looked like he’d spent a month or two in a Naboo swamp. His uniform looked even worse off, covered with grime and oil. He hadn’t been swinging a vibrowrench or had a droid blaster tucked into his belt the last time Corvin had seen him, though.

“Genner.” He sighed, then plastered a hopefully calming smile on his face. Maybe the loony would let him on board. “Good to see you again.”

The man blinked, looking as Corvin as though he’d just noticed he was here. He probably had, realized Corvin.

“Oh, hello, Blackjack. Haven’t seen you in a while.” He said cheerily, then looked at the service droid. “I said, get away!”

The droid ignored him, instead probing at a patch of carbon scoring on the Flush’s hull with a long, jointed arm. A moment later, it was flying back with an electronic squeal of pain as Genner pulled out the droid blaster and fired it.

With a yell, the Flush’s borderline-insane engineer ran past Corvin and started to chase the fleeing droid, alternating between firing off crackling energy bursts and swinging his wrench. The two started to circle
the bay, the droid honking in distress and Genner laughing madly.

Corvin watched the spectacle for a moment, then shrugged and walked up the ramp.

Drexhel was slumped in one of the lounge’s seats, his head tilted back and equipment piled in a heap at his feet. He was snoring faintly. Corvin walked past him, heading for the armoury.

As he stepped around the deactivated holotable, he realized suddenly just how quiet it was on the Flush. The last time he’d been in this room, it had been full of noise and motion. There had been a sabacc game around that table. The weapons officer, DeAngelo had been her name, had joined in. Now, most of those troopers were gone, rotated out of Blackjack. Corvin would miss them. They’d been reliable, and a few had been good friends.

Loran, for one. The Private First Class had been secretive, but Corvin had found him reliable and trustworthy. Now, he’d left the Corps to have a new life, newly reunited with his wife. Corvin silently wished him well. 

Of course, there was a bright side to the squad’s losses. Gunnery Sergeant Jager Luth had been one of those rotated out. Corvin was more than happy to see him go. The man was a psychopath, and Corvin had never felt at ease around him. He’d always expected to find a knife stuck in his back, especially after the mission to Sianat. Despite Luth’s skill, Corvin knew he would breathe a lot more easily with the cyborg half a sector away.

Then there were Orobos and Hassar. The Whipid’s axe had saved Corvin on multiple occasions, and his strength had pulled the Blackjacks out of many a jam. Hassar, too, had been a dependable squadmate.

Too many people gone. Corvin thought as he walked into the armoury, glancing wistfully at the crimson plated suits before pulling down a set of the fatigues instead. Too many Blackjacks missing, and it couldn’t have happened at a worse time.

The private quarters in of a Stormtrooper squad leader aboard even a ship the size of the Dominion were not that large. They held enough for a small desk, couch, bedroom, and restroom. Little else was really needed anyway. The lights were automatic, and the door was about the same as a blast door. The security lock was controlled by hand print. It was pretty secure.

Garryll Gates, Blackjack's squad leader only took a small amount of security from his room. Like most stormtroopers that had made it as far as he had because he was cautious. Garryll had not been at this as long as some though.

When the squad leader entered the room he immediately headed towards his small desk so that he could check his datapad there for messages. As he sat down his eyes went down to the datapad and the new message that was displayed there. Something in the back of his mind, maybe a sixth sense, told him to look up. When he did he cussed and shot to his feet, grasping for a blaster.

The figure on his couch rose with a subtlety of movement that gave him a snake-like appearance. He, for it was definitely a male, stood so still he seemed like a coiled spring that was ready to move in any direction at once. Wrapped in Shadowsilk the figure had been next to invisible against the black leather couch in Garryll's office. Ice blue hair matched frozen eyes.

"Good evening Death Leader." Came a hissing voice from Garryll's desk. Garryll slowly looked down at his desk to be met by a holo projection of a Barabel. Not just any Barabel either.

"If you're watching this then I would please ask you to lower your blaster. He will not harm you." Alater said, motioning with a heavily clawed hand for Garryll to lower his blaster. Slowly the heavy blaster lowered from where it had been leveled at the man's chest. His fingers iched, ready to raise it in a heartbeat's notice.

"This is Cyllell Llafn, though I'm not sure if he'll answer to that name anymore. I'm sure you're wondering why he's here. He is mine, or was. For the past few years he has been apprenticed to me when I was sent on more...subtle missions for the Empire. He is skilled, quick, and obedient to a fault. He does not speak much, but please listen when he does. Other than his usefulness as a warrior I know little about him; he does not speak much. I'm sure if you were to order him to speak about it he would, but I have not yet done so. The only thing he has ever answered to was the name we gave him: Iâ or Ice in Basic. He has my rank, and the Empire has seen in its infinite wisdom to give him my Callsign. Either will work, though much more than that I cannot be certain." The hologram Alater chuckled a bit in a deep rasping laugh.

"As you know after my injuries I was sent back to Barab I to serve as a sort of ambassador. If you  need me you know where to reach me. Good luck Death Leader. Hunt well." And the hologram clicked out.

"Well..." Garryll muttered, plopping down in the chair of his desk. He looked down at his datapad and then back up at Iâ.

A shadow suit covered most of Ice's body. It's black Shadowsilk seemed like a black hole, absorbing all the light around it. A forcelance and a heavy knife hung at his belt; a heavy slugthrower pistol hung on the other side. On a thigh holster hung an 8 gauge shotgun. He stood perfectly still, and his eyes were locked on Garryll.

"Very well. If you were trained by that big lizard then I suppose you must be alright. Welcome to Blackjack." Garryll said, hand finally moving from the blaster, but not too far.

OOC:

Small, short, but I thought I'd put this up before Garryll had an aneurysm. Still trying to write Bio. Going to be really long and drawn out so I posted first.

"Ice" hit the ground and rolled off into the underbrush. The sound of thumping boots followed him as the rest of the Elite squad hit the ground. The two younger non-coms made a noisy pair. At the end the Squad Leader and the lead rope thumped to the ground. Like a well oiled machine the group formed a small circle, silenced light weapons scanning the immediate area for any threat.

Iâ, as he thought of himself, was way ahead of them. Being the first to hit the ground he had swiftly checked the area. His ice blue hair was wrapped up and hidden in his Shadowsuit; his profile was that of a quick stalking shadow. The forest was quiet, and not the type of quiet that you wanted to have. Animals were hiding; the creatures of the forest knew predators when they saw them. Most had fled. Iâ returned to his squad.

Garryll looked at "Ice" for a moment before nodding. If there had been something out there he would have known about it by now. The Squad Leader turned his attention back to the rest of the troopers.

"Right. Abs you take Iâ with you and take point. Corvin, you're with me. Keep to a sixty meter spread. Double time, and keep radio chatter to a minimum; these guys may be not well equipped but I would hate to lose the element of surprise. ETA is seven minutes. Let's move people." And Blackjack broke into groups and silently slipped off into the forest.

Abalar started to take the lead, but quickly found out what it meant to try and keep up with somebody trained by Special Forces. She was quick, stealthy, well trained, and worthy of her position; She was not Iâ. He was like a shadow in his black armor, and he moved like a snake. The suit absorbed what insignificant noise that he did actually make.

"So, Ice is it." Abalar asked as she leaped over a protruding root. The two of them looked almost like running monkeys the way they swung around trees and branches rather than taking the time to slow down.

"That's what Iâ means." He responded, his voice barely audible from inside his suit.

"So, where are you from?" She asked, trying to make some sort of light conversation over the controlled breathing.

"Tadath." Iâ responded.

"Like, the Empire's home world?" Abalar asked, ducking under a low branch.

"That's where my training began." He responded, voice strained. His toned betrayed that he was only talking because she was his superior.

"No, I mean where are you from; where is your homeworld?" Abalar asked, obviously confused.

"I don't have one." He responded.

"Alright Blackjack, target is approaching. Do you have a visual Abalar?" Garryll's voice cut in through the Comm.

"Roger. Tree line has been cut back a good twenty meters. Appears to be two organic guards outside: medium armor and heavy blasters. Nothing we can't handle." Abalar cut the Comm and looked at Iâ.

Iâ was crouching at the very edge of the tree line and had drawn one of his silenced slugthrowers from its holster. She watched as the strange human leveled a blue eye with one of the guards. A sound like wind through a tunnel, followed by an insignificant flash, was the only announcement that he had fired. The second guard did not even have time for his brain to register what had happened before he too was on the floor.

"Good job." Abalar said, putting a hand on Iâ's shoulder. "Ice" turned and looked at her with a cold stare. Not one of hatred or distaste; the stare was one that went down to the depths of your soul. Looking into his eyes was like looking at a mirror; there was nothing inside those eyes.

"Targets eliminated." Was all he said.

As Drexhel sat staring down the hallway, covering as ordered, he looked around at the other troopers.
One slip from himself or others could mean life of death no time for heroics.
the facility was quiet maybe a distant murmur of machinery or pipes clunking somewhere.
These noises where unnerving like waiting for something to happen, he slipped on his vibroknuckler just in case.
DE-10 blaster pistol in the other hand he felt a little more secure,four men down none by his hand but still he felt a little guilt.
Observing the situation Gates and Ice seemed to be in a deep hushed conversation Abalar sat listening in.
Slick and Corvin where doing pretty much the same as himself sitting, watching and waiting for there next orders.
Drexhel lost his focus to far into his own thoughts to notice corvin trying to get his attention.
A small light shone behind Drexhels head, forcing him into an alerted state of mind.
He spun rapidly and dug his vibroknuckle into the small droids core.

It crackled loudly and with the metal on metal between the droids system and his own weapon,
it sent an electrical charge strait through his right arm, the droid fell with a loud crash.
Drexhel sat in shock for a moment then the searing Burns pain kicked in Corvin moved quick.
He covered Drexhels mouth to stifle the scream attempting desperately to hush him.
The pain subdued to a dull throbbing but as he looked down he realised his fist was clamped shut.
As a result of the electrical heat the vibroknuckler had become infused into His hand.
Crisp black with a sharp blade welded to the bone structure that was his knucklesowch.
Gates motioned the squad to form in closer.

"Alright, no doubt someone or something picked that up" Gates sighed looking at Drexhel.
"We stay here we might as well be a shooting gallery"

Drexhel looked up "sorry sir" he mumbled.

"save it till after we get outta here" Gates replied sharply.

Abalar waved her hand to draw attention "times waisting, where are we headed"

"Head over to the opposite side of the facility, if we move quick we'll lose any patrols that come looking.

"Any contact keep it quiet and i mean quiet any more attention we might as well call it a day".

"And Drexhel try to keep your head down", with that he stood and motioned the squad to move out.

All stood and all followed taking cover at any opportunity scouting each corridor as they moved with quick grace.
Drexhels arm was numb and paralysed flailing as he moved, he was now combat useless until it came back to life.
The squad came to a larger room probably a mechanical assembly area Ice moved quick to a safe point scouting for threats.
Many large plate pressing machines blocked the view Ice signaled five, three on the floor, two on the walkway above.
Gates whispered to Drexhel "wait here keep an eye out for anything coming from behind" he then motioned the squad to take position.
Ice sat where he'd taken point already with a clear shot at one of the men on the upper walkway, Gates took point to clear the other.
Corvin and Slick moved second getting a clear line of fire for two men on the floor in conversation.
Abalar drew her double-vibroblade and steadily moved into position to strike, The com opened with Gates's hushed voice.
"Check, Ready to fire?" Ice"ready" Corvin"Ready" Slick"Ready" Abalar"Ready" Gates"go".
Drexhel could only see so much he caught a glimpse of Abalar impaling her mark and slowly dragging him to the floor.
The two grunts of the men fired upon by Slick and Corvin followed by a body crashing to the walkway and another falling off the rail to the floor.
Gates came on the com again "all clear".

At the last minute a scared factory worker sprung from under a machine diving on Drexhel, with one arm it was hard to push him off.
Struggling as they rolled down the corridor a little, the worker firing fists at Drexhels head.
He managed to get his feet under the worker to push him off, Standing up he swung without realising his burnt arm.
The infused Vibro-Knuckle cut across the workers jaw, he stumbled back into the room, the figure of Abalar and her blade again impale and floor.
She motioned Drexhel forward. The com came once more Take point at the other end of the room" Gates ordered.
Drexhels head throbbed that worker could hit hard for a non-combatant least the arms working againthey reached the other side.

Gates looked Around "ok looks clear, We should clear out".

"what about the body's?" Corvin inquired.

"No time, Blackjacks move out".

His arms still gave out an occasional jolt but it was wearing of.
The vibro steel had melted and welded his hand into a charred mangled fist.
This arm is useless he unholstered his side arm leaving his rifle hanging loosely at his side.
The squad alerted to any danger orders to incapacitate unless resisting.
Drexhel wasn't confident enough with his shot but his best was all he could give.
The jolts and burning sensation had distracted him, he'd trailed behind the squad.
Taking a mild jog he caught up to find the Blackjacks crouched and hushed.
Garryl motioned Drexhel to get down and hush.

"Four droid from the looks heavily armed and armored, take caution" whispered the SL.

Drexhel nodded appreciation at the update.

Ice slinked into scene "This corridor gets us round behind them".

"We flank em" Gates smiled "Slick, Drexhel stay here distract them, the rest of you with me.

Gates, Abalar, Corvin and Ice moved out round the hallway out of sight.
Slick looked over to Drexhel giving a small nod, arms still down but ill give it a go.
Using to two walls on opposite sides of the hallway facing the droids they popped in and out firing.
Afew bolts here and there nothing to make a mark but non the less a hit.
Droids now returning fire heavy weapons it was and they where dug in deep.
Using old blast doors propped up in the middle of the hallway making them hard to hit from both ends.
One of the droids picked up something big.

Slick Looked for a second "Drexhel move.. cover now, concussion rifle".

Both men up and moved only just quick enough as the blast radius sent both men flying into the wall ahead.

Slick grumbled "you good?".

"Yea i think"

"Am i?" He asked as he stood up.

"Yea think so" Drexhel Stood up "Back to position?"

Slick nodded.


Taking up the corner covers again Both concentrated fire on the Concussion wielding droid.
A few bolts lucky enough damaged its arm wont be firing that thing again.
The com came on line with Gates in an urgent tone "repeat are you ok down there".
Drexhel took up the com his fire was less important for now "we're good little scare".
"Good ok now we're in position ready when you are", Slick nodded "we're all go sir".
Gates and the rest of the team came out of the back end of the hallway all guns blazing.
The droids never stood a chance leaving nothing but spare parts in a pile on the floor.

Gates smirked "easier than i though, what the hell happened?"

Drexhel answered with haste "concussion rifle knocked us over a bit".

"They had a concussion hmm heavily armed indeed, we watch our step from here on"

Abalar looked round "best not to stay in one place to long"

"sure , move out"

Drexhel felt a little more competent with his task the last shook him but it kicked him into gear.
Adrenalin flowing And gun hand at the ready it was time to start pulling is weight.
With something to prove he was damn well ready to prove it the squad moved on.

Blaine looked around at the three scout troopers that had escorted him to the factory. This was his first mission and he hadn’t even started with his squad. Instead he had been dropped off over seven kilometers away, and was hoofing his way there now. His standing orders were to meet up with black jack squad and on the way cause as much damage as humanly possible. Since the factory was so remote, the only thing he could do was blow trees down to block the road they paralleled.

After covering more than three kilometers, they came upon a small sensor station. It was partially camouflaged, with the tree line less than five meters short of the wall. Blaine counted less than three guards; two of them were at the front of the station, the third working on a computer panel. Blaine looked at each trooper, they all nodded and drew there weapons. Blaine loaded his 10 gauge, and circled round to the front. He signaled that he was in position, and waited, les than thirty seconds later he burst out of the bushes, and fired both barrels into the unsuspecting guards. The three scouts finished of the other guard, and planted demo charges.

They were well on there way when they heard a loud satisfying blast. And with in 20 minutes they had reached the factory. Blaine said good bye to the scouts and radioed in, “Topdog1105 reporting in sir”. He then waited a few minuets, and then his SL Gates radioed back that they were finishing up clearing out the factory and he should meet them at the rally point. Which was less than a  hundred meters into the forest.

There was a whistling noise in Corvin's ears as he slid down, the rope swaying slightly from side to side as a sudden gust of wind brushed against it. Two meters below, the hill seemed to ripple as the force of the dropship's repulsors caused the grasses to sway from side to side.

He landed with a thump on the top of the grassy hill, his boots crushing a patch of the grass. It was yellow and dry, part of him noted abstractly. According to the briefing, it was early summer here on Abridon. Certainly felt like it, too. It wasn't quite as warm as Verdan's summer, but it was pleasant enough.

Corvin shook his head and stepped away from the rope. No time for random thoughts. Reaching over his shoulder, he unholstered his rifle and clicked off the safety.

Garryll slithered down the other cable one handed, A-280 clutched in the hand not holding the rope. Letting go just before hitting the ground, the Blackjack squad leader gestured impatiently at the open cargo ramp.

"Get a move on, Jacks. We haven't got all day!" Garryll barked into his helmet's comlink.

Two camouflaged figures appeared at the end of the ramp, each grabbing onto one of the two ropes hanging from the roof. One of them, Corvin saw, was Ice.

The man slid smoothy and silently down the rope, moving with the same precision he applied to everything else he did. Although Corvin wouldn't admit it, he was spooked by the newest Blackjack. He was just too damn quiet, and Corvin found his dispassionate efficiency unnerving. A battle droid would probably have shown more personality by now, Corvin thought.

The other trooper, a new addition with the slightly odd sopiquet of "Topdog", touched the ground a moment after Ice, dropping to one knee for a moment before getting up.

"Hurry it up, hurry it up..." Garryll growled, looking from side to side, his rifle raised.

The other five Blackjacks quickly clambered down in pairs, with Abalar coming down last. The Blackjack ASL nodded to Garryll, then waved at Korvu, who was half-leaning out of the cargo bay.

"We're good to go, Flush!" Garryll yelled, struggling to make himself heard over the buzzing of the Flush's repulsors.

"We read you, King." Godby replied over the comlink, Corvin's helmet unit coming to life with a sudden pop as he did so. "Call us if you need anything."

With that, the ropes retracted into the Flush's belly, and the interceptor rose upwards even as the cargo ramp slid closed.

"Bloody flyboys." Garryll grumbled.

"Your com's still on, sir." Corvin pointed out.

"Shut it, Corvin. Time's a wasting, Blackjacks. Move out!"

The squad snapped into motion, moving down the hill in a standard V-formation. Long-stalked grasses brushed against leg plates and crackled underfoot as the squad jogged across the hilly ground.

The area around the factory was dotted with small hills, something that made a covert approach much easier than it might have otherwise been. Why the Abrigonians had decided to build a factory in an unlikely location, Corvin didn't know, and cared even less.

A klick to the target. Shouldn't take that long.

Corvin's foot brushed against a droid head as he advanced towards the doorway, sending it skittering away.

Abalar shot him a glare.

"Watch it!" the ASL snapped. "If you trip a sensor, they'll be all over us."

"Yes, ma'am." Corvin nodded, paying much more attention to where he was stepping than he had a moment earlier.

The squad advanced past the still-smoking pedestals where the guard droids had been mounted, a pair of slug-riddled torsos still barely attached to the pillars. Corvin glanced at them as he walked past, long-barreled slug pistol held in both hands.

The M4 slugthrower felt strange in his grip, very different from his usual SE-14 blaster pistol or EE-3, and he'd even have preferred the A-8280 slung over his shoulders Still, Garryll's orders had been clear. Slugthrowers could be silenced. Blasters couldn't. That, and the pistol had plenty of stopping power, as the guard droids had found out.

The doorseal slid open as Corvin approached, and he tensed, expecting an alarm. A moment of silence later, he nodded.

"Clear."

The Blackjacks moved into the factory.

Corvin's first impression was one of bleakness. The walls and floors were bare duracrete, and there was a constant humming noise in the background.

The Blackjacks boots thudded dully off the duracrete as they cautiously advanced further into the complex. Here and there, panels blinked on and off next to doorways, which turned out to lead to side rooms and storage closets.

The squad encountered two guards in total. Both went down quickly, and before they were able to sound the alarm, and their bodies were quickly dragged into side rooms. It wouldn't hold to a concerted search, but the Blackjacks hopefully wouldn't be around long enough for that to a problem. Hopefully.

One room was filled with rows of data terminals, their screens dimmed. Like every other room the squad had checked so far, it was empty. A quick sweep with a portable scanner, and Slick gave the "all clear" gesture. Garryll followed him into the room, with the rest of the squad filing in after him, weapons raised and covering the doorways.

Garryll tapped the nearest console, and it came to life. Icons appeared, each signifying a different data folder.

"No security." Garryll muttered. "Sloppy."

"It's pretty convenient, though, sir." Corvin commented, and Garryll irritably waved him off.

With that, the squad leader quickly clicked several folders in rapid succession, opening a copy of the factory schematics. A few clicks later, the information had been copied to his datapad, and from there, the eye holoscreens mounted into the Blackjack's helmets.

According to the schematics, if the squad followed their current path down the next couple of corridors, they'd come to the factory's central corridor.

The manufacturing facilities were mostly split down the middle, with the left processing the raw materials, and the right assembling the components into working hyperdrives. Working hyperdrives, ready to go into enemy starships.

"Right." Garryll said, pushing a new clip into his slug-pistol. The cartridge went home with a sharp click. "We're splitting up at the central corridor Abalar, your team's taking out the processing lines. My group handles assembly. Regular reports over short-range com and try to avoid contacts. RV point is outside the factory. Any questions?"

There was silence.

"Hit 'em hard."

OOC:

And...I'm still a bit rusty.

"What the frak?" Corvin muttered, as the high-pitched whining of an alarm started to echo through the hallway.

"They're onto us." Abalar snapped. "Move!"

The fire team ran down the hallway, throwing caution to the winds.

A doorseal hissed open, and Corvin twisted to the right, raising the long barreled slug pistol clutched in his right hand.

A short, blond man with mousy hair and wearing drab grey overalls was standing in the doorway, eyes slightly widened. There was a holster strapped to his equipment belt, but it was empty.

Corvin's finger twitched twice in rapid succession, each gesture accompanied by a snapping noise. The man shuddered, then collapsed, a pair of expanding red patches appearing on his uniform.

As the man dropped, Corvin saw the contents of the room he'd been rushing from. There was a dejarik table in the centre, surrounded by chairs, and a wall was dominated by a holoscreen. A rec room, then.

Corvin was much more interested in the nine or ten men either standing around and starting to rise from their seats. One or two already had short-muzzled blaster pistols in hand.

The Lance Corporal saw all of this in the moment it took for him to step to the side, pull open a pouch clipped to his belt, and pull out a gleaming metal sphere.

His shoulders pressed against the metal wall, Corvin thumbed the  activation switch, and rolled the grenade into the side room. There was a ping as it bounced off a wall.

Then he realized that he'd thrown a thermal detonator instead of a frag grenade.

Frakking hell.

"Grenade!" he yelled, then was momentarily blinded and deafened as the baradium explosive detonated. The wall and floor shook, and the corridor was briefly filled with an intense bright light. There were yells of surprise from the other Blackjacks, yells mingled with curses.

Corvin blinked, his vision slowly recovering. Black spots seemed to be flickering across the corridor wall, and there was a constant buzzing in his ears. Nearby, Specter was picking himself up from where the force of the detonation had thrown him off his feet.

Where the rec room had been, there was now only a twisted mass of ceiling tiles and half-melted girders. The wall across from the rec room entrance was pitted with sunken globules of metal, and Corvin suspected he might have brought down part of the roof.

"Whoops." Corvin said quietly, still slightly dizzy. "Made a bit of a mess."

"Understatement of the kriffing-" Specter snarled, only to be cut off by Abalar.

"We haven't got time for this. Now move, and hold back on the damn explosives this time!"

The fire team stormed down the hallway.

Abalar sounded even angrier than Specter, which was remarkable enough. The fact that the normally impacable trooper was swearing showed just how enraged he really was.

Corvin knew they had every reason to be furious. He had made an amateur mistake, one that had doubtless given away their position and could have killed the entire fire team.

It had been a sloppy mistake, an amateur one. He should have known better, he should have done better.

There was a high-pitched whine, and a flurry of bright-red blaster bolts flew past Corvin's right shoulder. The sudden wash of superheated air seared his cheek and arm, causing him to jerk reflexively as he skidded to a halt.

There were three factory guards, each holding a grey E-11 blaster rifle. The real threat, however, came from the pair of humanoid figures in their wake, each towering a head over their escort.

The security droids were bipedal, their frames bulky with armour plate.  Where their hands should have been, there were a pair of repeating blasters, linked by cables to backpack generators.

As the Blackjacks ducked to the side, they hosed the corridor with automatic blaster fire, reducing patches of wall and floor tiles to slag.

As blaster bolts thumped into the side of the pillar Corvin was pressed against, he glumly wished that he'd brought another couple of detonators.

Things could still be worse, Corvin decided. At least the guards didn't appear to have grenades.

The droids were slowly but steadily down the hallway, their armour scorched and glowing as precisely aimed blaster bolts slammed into it. The guards were hanging back, using their lackeys as cover as they sprayed inaccurate fire down the corridor.

One of the hulking security droids stopped for a moment as a lucky shot hit a gap between its armour plates, shuddered slightly as the energy dissipated, then continued its unhurried march.

Corvin swore and moved to the side as a bolt flew into the wall behind him, coming close enough to singe his armplate. He felt a prickling sensation in his shoulder as the cloth undercoat blackened.

He'd probably sustained moderate burns, but there wasn't time to deal with that now. The pain wasn't a problem right now. The droids were.

There was a scream from up ahead, which quickly broke off into a gurgle. One of the guards had fallen to his knees, hands scrabbling at his throat as he dropped to his knees. The stray blaster bolt had burned away most of his lower throat, fusing what was left to his tunic.

After several agonized moments, the guard twitched, collapsed, and was still. The other two guards had stopped firing for a moment, looking at their fallen colleague in shock. Hardly surprising; they were only civvies with guns, after all. The droids didn't seem to even notice.

The moment of distraction was all the Blackjacks needed. Catching Abalar's hand gesture out of the corner of his eye, Corvin raised his A-280 and squeezed the trigger repeatedly. The rifle shuddered in his grip, sending waves of agony up his wounded arm, but Corvin didn't stop firing.

The lead droid, already holed with blaster shots, was forced back by the continuous stream of energy from the four troopers. The guard droid let out a metallic shriek as at least some some of the bolts hit something vital.

This was followed seconds later by a clang like an accident in a forge as the crippled droid fell over backwards, severed power cables scattering sparks in all directions. The droid directly behind it stepped through the remains, firing on the fire team and forcing them back into cover.

There was a thump, and a fist sized crater appeared in the wall next to Corvin's head. Swearing viciously, the trooper raised his rifle and fired again.

The shot hit the security droid in the middle of its forehead, leaving a blackened patch in the dull metal plate, but doing nothing else. Unconcerned, the droid continued to advance, now only a handful of meters away.

"What the frak does it take to put these tin cans down?" Corvin yelled, discipline forgotten for a brief moment.

"Shut up and shoot!" Abalar snapped back, firing her slug pistol one-handed. Her other hand was pressed against her side, the armour plate marked by a long streak of carbon scarring.

Another of the guards went down a moment later , taking three bolts to the head. It and most of his upper torso vanished into gas in a moment, leaving what was left to topple lifelessly onto the carpet.

In a moment, the tables had turned. Miraculously, the squad now outnumbered their opponents two to one.

The last guard seemed to have noticed that he was alone, and was now extremely pale and shaking badly. His badly-aimed shots were going in every direction, one or two even plinking off the droid's rear armour.

There was a hiss, and the last droid slowly toppled over, its head tilted back at an extreme angle with severed cables dangling from the stump. There was a thump as the massive drone collapsed onto the floor, causing the ground to shake.

The guard finally lost his head at this and turned to run. There was a blurred whine as three troopers fired as one, and the last guard fell.

There was silence for a moment, only broken by the crackling of snapped power cables and the ragged breathing of the fire team. That had been too close, far closer than Corvin would have liked.

A team of guards and droids shouldn't have posed much of a threat. Corvin briefly cursed the decision to go armourless, before  he remembered that the order had come from the higher-ups. That alone meant there was a good reason for it.

"Blackjacks, report." Abalar finally said, sounding slightly winded.

The three troopers replied one by one, most with light burns or other minor injuries. It was a good thing none of the droids had gotten a good hit in, as the squad's light armour wouldn't have stood a chance of even slowing the high-energy bolts down.

The fire team moved cautiously past the remains of the search team, putting several bolts in each of the droids as they passed.

Probably unnecessary, give the amount of firepower they'd poured into the constructs, but droids were often surprisingly resilient. One of them was still jerking when a final bolt put it down for good.

Passing through deserted, the constant shriek of alarms echoing in their ears, the four stormtroopers finally came to a massive blast door.

Abalar raised her hand, and the fire team stopped.

"This is it. The objective's just beyond this door."

Raising one hand to her earpiece, the ASL changed frequencies.

"Garryll, we're at the objective. Moving in now."

With that, she waved Specter forwards. The quiet trooper nodded in reply, rifle raised as he approached the doorway. The Private Second Class pressed his hand to the touchpad, which instantly turned green. The blast doors groaned as they slid open.

"Trap?" Slick asked, almost conversationally.

"Trap." Abalar replied.

Corvin wasn't overly bothered by the prospect of encountering more hostiles, or he would have said something about having a bad feeling about this.

It felt good to be back in Blackjack. Loran had been on a leave of absence for two months. In that time he had flown half way around the galaxy in search of his daughter. He had fatefully found his wife working as a doctor aboard the Tadath space dock. There he was re-united with her and he soon decided his family needed to be whole again.

But now he was back in Blackjack and it was time to get down to business and get his head back in the game. He looked around. The Royal Flush was settling down near Gate's position. Word was a few of the Blackjack soldiers were wounded and needed a med-evac. Well, Loran thought, he would do everything within his power to make sure his comrades made it home safe.

And as Loran thought back to the many battles he had fought in with Blackjack under the VE banner, he felt a sudden warmth flowing through his veins. He knew it was just the adrenaline, but Loran liked to think it was something more deep. A warriors sense that he was going to battle, to do war upon the enemies of the Empire. To make anyone, whoever they be, pay for any slights they may have wrought against the Empire.

The Royal Flush had settled during the musing of his thoughts, and as the hissing gases of the lowering ramp signaled the approach of comrades sorely missed, Loran steeled himself for the task ahead. He took his blood red helmet from under his arm and settled it upon his head. And as various components flickered to life within his helmet, Loran proceeded down the ramp. Two injured troopers in blood red armor rushed past him to board the ship. Amateurs, he thought.

It was at the bottom of the ramp that Loran finally realized where he belonged in life, and as Platoon Sergeant Garyll Gates approached him, he finally understood what he needed to be. It was his calling. He was an Elite Trooper in Blackjack Squad.

"Good to see a familiar face," Gates greeted the PFC. "Haven't missed much."

"Thanks, sir," the man replied. "Where to?"

"Contacts, not friendlies," Ice said crisply. "Permission to fire?"

"Granted."

The sound of laser bolts blistered the night air. "That's where, Private. Ready your gun."

“Sir!” Loran acknowledged.

He threw himself to the ground and rolled behind the partial cover of the boarding ramp. Just then he heard the Royal Flush shower it's rain of fire on the enemy contacts. Loran snapped up his EE-3 and started methodically firing it around the ramp. There were at least a dozen men out there in the forest and it was soon apparent that they were little more than poorly trained conscripts. They had little or no armor, and between the cannons on the Flush and the hail of blaster fire Blackjack had unleashed on them, it was over in a matter of moments. There was a stubborn pocket of resistance at the end, and Loran seized the opportunity to neatly drop a frag grenade into their midst.

I've definitely missed the action, Loran thought as he listened to the screams of the dying enemy.

After the battle and subsequent explosion, Gates stood up brushing himself off and eyed Loran.

He shrugged, “Did I do something wrong?”

“It's not that Mustang. I just didn't think you remembered how much I like explosions and guts splattered all over my armor.” Gates replied.

Loran winced, “Sorry about that sir.”

“Don't be” Garryll said, as he removed his helmet and wiped blood off his visor. Then he winked at Loran, “That's Blackjacks signature Private.”

The other troopers in Blackjack chuckled and Gates whirled to face them. He addressed a few Loran didn't know, “Pay attention to Mustang boys. He's really good at CQB and you could learn a few things from him.”

Then he replaced his helmet, took up his rifle, ejected the mag and slammed a new one in, “Let's move out.”

“Sir” Blackjack replied in unison and they headed out.

Lasers zipped past their heads as the Blackjacks made a run for it. The troopers blindly fired back at their pursuers, lasers chaotically bouncing every which way.

"First team, turn and fire!" Gates barked, suiting action to words, spinning lightly and dropping to one knee, his rifle coming up to his eye. A split second to aim, and he depressed the trigger; four and a half pounds of pressure equaled a whole lot of death. The better-aimed lasers of Gates' team of A-280s took care of the frontrunners of the guard force. "Fall back! Second team, cover us at the next intersection!"

Gates turned again and flat-out sprinted away, the drumming of combat boots echoing around him and the crackle of ionized air prevalent as the guards found their resolve and advanced again, spitting inaccurate fire. Abalar had her team in cover on either side of an intersection. They opened up as soon as they got an open look, but only fired for a handful of seconds before they turned and ran.

"Do...we...even...know...where...we're...going?" Drexhel asked between breaths. "Where's...the...map?"

"Screw...the...map," Gates replied. "There's a goddamn exit in ten meters. See?"

"It's closed."

Gates shook his head, raised his rifle on the run, and emptied the rest of his clip at the door. The powerful laser bolts slammed into, around and through the door; one was lucky enough to hit the handle, melting it, and the lock, into a pile of low-grade metal mush. He hit the door with his shoulder at full speed, slamming the door open into the night air. Blackjack poured out, running across a clearing and into the brush, before turning around and diving into the shrubbery, rifles trained on the doorway.

A droid, one of the few that was left, emerged, arm-weapons seeking a target. "Fire."

The crackle of a half-dozen rifles and pistols firing split the calm air, and the smell of ozone swamped around them as they poured gunfire into the machine. It shuddered under multiple hits, its weapons blindly firing as its sensors were blasted away. A couple more droids came out, firing at the Blackjacks, but the first had by then collapsed, dozens of holes smoking in its torso, and the Stormtroopers could focus on the other two machines. They too, began to shudder under the multiple hits.

"Flush!" Gates barked into his headset. "Get your asses in gear and get a missile on this location!"

He sighted his rifle, activating the tiny laser that was used for spotting. "Copy, ground team. Firing now."

The scream of a hyper-sonic missile boomed across the landscape, and the Blackjacks rolled into depressions and covered their heads. Someone muttered a quick prayer, half-finished when the missile slammed into the ground in front of the doorway and threw ten meters' worth of dirt into the air, and mangling the droids and door beyond all comprehension. Gates raised his head, ears ringing.

Corvin was yelling something and punching his fist in the air, but Gates couldn't hear him; he couldn't hear anything, except his own breathing, blearily. The sensation only lasted a minute, though, and soon he could begin to make out what Corvin was repeating; "No kill like overkill!"

"Geez," Gates muttered. "No shit. Flush, pick us up, soonest."

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

Chief Negotiator Petronzio steeped his fingers, and stared blandly at his opposite number across the table. The man was not cooperating very much. They'd managed to agree on several small, insignificant points, but they'd reached the main topic of discussion - free trade continuing between the Vast Empire and Abridon as it had between Abridon and Arkania - and hit a brick wall. The diplomat fumed, all while displaying an amicable smile as his opposite talked.

The Abridonian's datapad lit up, and the diplomat finished up his demands hastily, before checking what the readout said. As he read further down, his face grew redder and redder. Man doesn't know how to control his emotions, Petronzio mused, nearly gloating. Get him feeling good and hook, line, and sinker.

"May I ask what is the problem?" the VE diplomat asked.

"You liars extend the hand of negotiation while attacking the very interests you seek!" the man barked back. "I have at least a dozen reports of attacks on major factories and the detonation of at least three large weapons in the Western hemisphere!"

"I can assure you," Petronzio said. "It was not the Vast Empire. Just think for a moment; if we had attacked you, we would have sent Stormtroopers and Army men. In uniform. They'd be beating down this door at the moment, if this is the best you can offer militarily."

He sneered at the overly-pompous Abridonian soldiers, who had been glaring at the faceless Stormtroopers for the duration. The diplomat continued. "Did you see a single Stormtrooper? They're not too hard to spot, considering they wear bright white armor."

The Abridonian re-read the memo more carefully before conceding that no, none of the raiders had been wearing white armor. Petronzio leaped in; "We'll search for the aggressors and help you rebuild your factories in exchange for continuing your trade relationship with the Vast Empire as you had with the Arkanians."

The diplomat chewed it over for a moment, and then agreed.

As the two men shook hands, Petronzio smiled genially, but he was gloating inside. Hook, line and sinker.

OOC:

Story done