Sitting at his desk on board the interdictor class Black Star, Rogueboy was once again filing reports so that General Rizzit would have something to wipe his ass with when he used the refresher. The Stormtrooper Corps executive officer sighed as he reached over to grab his datapad and looked at the Imperial Army commanders’ reports; the twenty-third division of foot has taken the western side of the capitol city of Ginteem with minor casualties. The second and third battalion of foot are covering the northern and southern flanks of the twenty-third division. There was an additional two troops of AT-STs that were to be used as reserves in case the fighting got fierce on either flank.

Once again Rogueboy sighed; with sixteen thousand troops and two hundred AT-STs the capitol of Sirador Prime was still not captured. The council of the planet that the Black Star was orbiting had decreed conscription for all men and women, and while the IA easily had over a hundred thousand prisoners of war, the cost of feeding and housing them had been a major draw on the budget set aside for this campaign, not to mention the amount of soldiers lost in having to guard the prisoners.

Rogueboy reflected on his capture on the planet below; which had occurred only three weeks ago and how Wraith squad acting as his honour guard had managed to save his sorry rear. Since that mission Wraith had been reassigned and his new honour guard was Blackjack. It was a bit awkward since Rogueboy had at one point been a trooper for Blackjack but at the same time he knew he was in safe hands, and at the very least he knew the squad leader rather well.

Just as he was about to sign his initials on the report; the Black Star lightly jolted causing Rogueboy’s signature to go up the report, he sighed again. Picking up his comlink he switched it on. “Executive officer Rogueboy to bridge what is the nature of this disturbance?”

“Junior communications officer Hilak to executive officer Rogueboy, we’ve currently engaged combat with a smuggler, we have them in our tractor beam so there should be no more interruptions.”

As soon as he lowered his comlink Rogueboy got a fantastic idea. Raising his comlink, he changed frequencies. “Blackjack, gear up as soon as possible and head to the hangar, you guys are going on a mission.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be guarding your boring ass?” Blackjack’s squad leader, Garryll asked.

“My boring ass just got exciting now, less thinking more doing.” Rogueboy countered.

A little while later and Rogueboy was sitting at the hangar control room along with a couple of navy officers who were watching the arriving ship slowly get tractor beamed. “Hmm... ship’s definitely a Corellian Engineer Corporation but I don’t recognize the model.” Rogueboy said aloud to no one in particular.

“It’s a YT-2400.” One of the navy guys said before adding. “Sir.”

“Thank you.” Rogueboy responded before picking up his comlink. “Alright Blackjack,  first we’re going to offer them to come out peacefully, if they disagree, well the Navy engineers are going to cut the door open and we’re going to take it by force, got it?”

There was a chorus of affirmatives and the executive officer sat back in his chair, ready to watch the next couple of events just unfold.

“Unidentified YT-2400, please lower your boarding ramp and exit the spaceship with your hands above your head, you have ten seconds to comply with this message.” One of the naval officers spoke through his comlink, and the voices was magnified inside the hangar.

The ten seconds seemed to take forever to pass, but when they did the naval officer signalled to the engineers to begin cutting through the hull of the ship.

Watching the engineers work was starting to bore Rogueboy and it took a little while longer before one of the engineers finally came over the comlink. “Hatch is ready to be brought down, good luck stormies.”

“Thanks.” Garryll said before asking. “At your go ahead RB.”

“You may proceed with boarding action.” Rogueboy commanded as he watched one of the troopers placed a small detonator in the center of the cut through hull. With a loud bang, it exploded knocking the hull inwards. Immediately following the explosion was a chorus of blaster fire from the inside of the ship spread outwards, hitting the hangar walls but not hitting any troopers. Blackjack retaliated firing burst after burst inside the ship, one of them threw a grenade in, and after the explosion the squad entered the ship and out of Rogueboy’s line of sight.

OOC:

You guys are boarding a smugglers ship have fun

Kit had been busy looking over the new weapons he had managed to procure, both from his homeworld and while he was training, when the the Executive Officer had gone over the comm systems. Looking at the large piece of machinery on the floor he decided that would probably not be the best thing to take into a fight. Grabbing his blaster and strapping the two ceremonial blades to his back, Kit hustled out the door.

Kit shook his head, trying to clear the ringing out of his ear. He had been standing a little to close to his new Squad Leader when he had decided to fire his shotgun in the confined space. While he was grateful that Garryll had noticed the other guy, it still made his ears ring.

"Well it looks like this has two points of entry," Kit said, gesturing to the two separate hallways on either side. "If we can go down both at the same time, we might be able to come out wherever they meet, creating a pincer effect. We can do two fire teams, one left and one right."

With that Kit started moving towards the left bulkhead, peeking around the corner.The quick peek that he got before someone unloaded blaster fire at him wasn't very promising. It looked like the mercs had had time to fortify before they got on. There was a barricade made out of what looked like small cargo crates, and two or three guys sitting behind them. Looking over his shoulder he could see Wrex and Garryll coming up behind him.

"Well they have a decent fortification, fairly sturdy, but if we can get close enough to shoot over the crates at them we might be able to disrupt them. We just need some kind of shield. . ."

Kit looked around, trying to locate something that would make a suitable defense against a hail of blaster bolts. His eyes lit up as he spotted what looked like a lose floor panel. Scooting forward the Trooper wedged one end of one of his Ryyk blades, popping up the panel and hefting it.

"Are you serious Kit?" Said his new Squad Leader, "Your going to use a floor panel as a shield? Are you nuts?"

Shrugging his large, furry shoulders Kit stood behind the large panel, "Maybe a little bit, Sir, but isn't that how all the best plans come together? All I need is for you two to follow behind me, I'll keep us from getting shot, and you guys can shoot the bastards behind the barricade."

Using his sharp claws for better gripping power, the Wookiee hedged out from behind the corner, the large panel just barely short enough for this. Kit could feel the force of the bolts pushing agaisnt the sturdy metal, as well as hear the surprised outcry from the merc ahead of him. Apprantly they weren't prepared to see a walking metal sheet coming towards them. Moving up the hallway Kit could feel the metal starting to get warm from all of the blaster fire, even iff this metal was ment to withstand heavy punishment, this was pretty rough.

"Almost. .There. . guys! You ready?!" He called over his shoulder, struggling to keep moving forward. As Wrex and Garryll gave the go ahead Kit jumped forward with the metal sheet, slamming it down directly in front of the barricade, a large torrent of dust and small debris being blown towards the mercs from the force of his fall, making them duck their heads.

Wrex and Garryll opened fire, pummeling the mercs with blaster bolts. One of the mercs tried to reach his gun over but got his hand shot, a loud yelp coming from behind the crates.

"Guns over the crates, hands up, or you go home in a body bag scumbags!" The Squad Leader spat, his gun right beside the Privates head as he got back up on his knees, drawing his blaster. Two sets of guns, three pistols, then three rifles came over the barricade, then three men stood up, hands raised.

"Good choice, if you hadn't I may have had to have Kit here rip your arms out and feed them to you" said Garryll, laughing as the Wookiee gave a loud growl towards the men.

Wrex moved forward as the other two kept their guns leveled at the men, waiting as all three of them were subdued, hands cuffed behind their back, guns kicked out of their reach.

"RB?" Said Garryll, "Yeah we got three prisoners here, look to be mercs, send someone in to grab them, they are up the left hand corridor after entering the ship, we still got the crewmen and whatever mercs are left to mop up."

Kit stood up, his body shaking with adrenaline as Garryll let his communicator go. This had been his first real combat, he wanted to remember the feeling. Opening his eyes and grabbing his rifle he feel inline behind Wrex, following the Squad Leader as he began to move down the corridor.

“Ship secure!” Wrex called out, his off-hand grasping a now-unconscious crew member.

“How many bodies is that?” the esteemed XO asked calmly into their comlinks. He’d gotten a first-person taste of the action from the visor-feed from the two Blackjack officers’ helmets.

“Eh, two bodies out front,” Gates ticked off his fingers. “Three Kit took out with the floor panel -” RB snorted - “four mercs in here plus two crew men, one KIA.”

“Standard crew for a ‘2400 is the three, plus max eight passengers. We’ll get scanner crew up there in a minute, find those last two.”

“Hey!” came a call from around the corner. “I checked under the bed, and look what I found!”

Drexhel and Razor frog-walked a scrawny Bothan in a repellent orange ex-Rebellion flight suit. “Says he’s the captain, and demands to know why his ship was tractored into an Imperial Star Destroyer.”

Gates gestured at a seat, and took his helmet off. For a soldier, he had a remarkably intact face - only a couple scars, all his teeth and eyes in place, and a long thin nose that had never seen the indignity of breaking. It was startlingly different from the imposing crimson helmet he had worn a moment ago. The Bothan sat silently, and Gates rested his arms on his armored thigh. He set the shotgun down and plucked a cigarette from a battered pack from his waist. Without looking, he extended it  to Wrex, who picked up on the gesture, removing a decorated zippo and lighting him up. At long last, Garryll put the smoking cancer-stick in his mouth and inhaled.

“So, Captain,” Gates said sarcastically, stressing the man’s ‘rank.’ “You wished to speak to a representative?”

The Bothan raised a bushy eyebrow, but opened his mouth nevertheless. “I demand to know why you have impounded my ship and killed several of my crew and passengers!”

Gates gestured at the proud, harsh, war-battered Imperial symbol on his breastplate. “This is why. The Imperial army is conducting exercises in this sector.”

Drex snickered behind Gates at the grand understatement. Tens of thousands of Army and Navy troops and hundreds of ships and tanks could hardly be called an “exercise” especially when the other team had dwindling supplies.

“You attempted to break the blockade, despite repeated warnings from our starfighter patrols. You even had enough speed to out run some of the older-series TIEs. Anyway, you’re under arrest, and we’d like some information.”

“You can’t touch me,” sneered the Bothan. “Your mamby-pamby superiors won’t let you.”

“Last chance before I get my new trooper Kit here to earn his interrogation merit badge.”

“Screw you, Imperial pig!” the Bothan snarled in what he imagined was an intimidating tone, but was really just high and squeaky.

Gates smiled at the man, his perfected, predatory smile that said - Oh, you’d just love to see that happen, wouldn’t you? Then he flicked his handheld comlink open and spoke into it. “Loot, you want me to do this the hard way? He does.”

“You bet, Gare,” RB said from his side of the link. “After all, he called me a mamby-pamby.”

Gates smiled that smile again, and shut his comlink down. He reached into his bucket and turned the HUD camera off. “Abs, Wrex, stay in here. Drex, Razor, Kit, go put the door back on and search the rest of the ship.”

He’d been given the green-light for his brand of self-taught interrogation. It wasn’t usually too pretty, which was why he had Wrex to hold the Bothan down and Abalar to make sure he didn’t die. The three named troopers trundled off the bridge, and Gates pulled his combat knife, a large, serrated blade from its shoulder sheath.

“Now, captain, we’ll get our information,” Gates said, his bright blue eyes staring right into the captain’s quavering, rapidly blinking black ones. Wrex stepped behind him, and rested two gauntleted hands on the Bothan captain’s shoulders. The Bothan twisted in fear to face the other Stormtrooper. “Focus now, captain.”

His head snapped back  to Gates, who was playing with the knife, spinning it between his fingers, nimble despite the bulky armored gloves. “What were you transporting?”

“Nothing illegal!” the Bothan cried. “Relief supplies for the refugees!”

Abalar shook her head. She was getting reports from the three troopers searching the ship; they’d found something else.

“One lie, you get off with a warning,” Gates said. He rubbed a tiny fleck of rust off of his combat blade. “Two lies, I start cutting, capishe?”

The Bothan realized he was serious. “Uh, perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. I’m captain Na’mun. This freighter is my ship, the Long Road.”

“And you’re a smuggler captain, Gates produced.

“Err.. that’s a harsh term.”

“Nevermind. Why are you carrying weapons?”

“Shit.”

“That’s a poor reason. What’d I say about giving me straight answers?”

“Err, private job.”

“You know what?” Gates said. “Give me the codes to your ship. Now.”

“Seven-five-three-A-nine-nine-D-L-M-nineteen.”

Gates flipped his comlink back on and spoke into it. “RB, we’ve got data.”

“And I’ve got a plan, I’m coming down to meet  you.”

“Yessir.”

A few minutes later, engineers were swarming over the ship, and a couple of Marines were escorting the esteemed figure of the Stormtrooper corps’ Executive Officer. Gates stood up and barked, “Officer on deck!”

The rest of Blackjack, who had been buffing scuffs from their most recent action out of their armor, snapped to attention. The bridge still stank of ozone and charred blood. Rogueboy waved for them to stand down, and then waved his escort off the bridge.

“So second-biggest-boss-man, what’s the plan?” Gates asked brightly. “You know we’re the guys for it.”

“Good to hear such a gung-ho attitude,” Rogueboy smiled. “We’re going to end this damn stalemate once and for all.”

Engineers paced the halls, splashing new paint over the char marks and cleaning the blood off the decks. Rogueboy moved off a particularly large bloodstain and let an engineer move in to clean it off.

“Give me a sitrep on the mission of this ship.”

“Gladly; it’s the Long Road, a small-time smuggler with no idea just how dumb it is to piss the Empire off,” Gates began. “Some NR general big-wig type hired him to run guns to the resistance to bleed us ever more on this backwater. They picked up a squad of mercs, too. Nav computer says direct from Sullust, so your general’s probably there. Hell, he might even be in charge of the damn Republic’s task force designated to fighting us. Anyway, the captain kept some notes; he and his crew were going to get a bonus if they made it down to the ground; the general apparently had contacts who would make sure the guy got well paid.”

“All I need to know. You’re going down there, Garryll.”

“Pray tell how six Stormtroopers - even us, with our fearsome reputation - are going to break a stalemate 200 Scout walkers couldn’t.”

“With this ship,” RB grinned. “You ever want to be a mercenary?”

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

The Long Road dropped into the atmosphere. Its engines were pretty powerful, and it slammed into the atmosphere quickly. The Navy crew, a trio of rumpled looking men, were masquerading as the crew, with the documents and electronic data to match. Gates and the Blackjacks were the mercenary substitutions, weapons and body armor on. Their crimson Stormtrooper suits were in several of the smuggling compartments - courtesy of its previous owner.

In the front window, they breached the cloud level, and could see the warzone that Sirador Prime had become. A massive POW camp was behind Imperial lines, outlined by dozens of long range artillery siege pieces and triple-A guns. In front of them, were thousands of infantry and AT-STs.

“Holy crap,” mumbled one of the Navy men. “That is one ugly war.”

“Can it,” said the pilot, masquerading as the captain, and, therefore, in charge. “We’ll be coming in range of our own triple-A in a moment, and they’re supposed to make it look good.”

As if in response, the ship began to rattle as the pilot threw the ship into a steep dive and VE AAA cannons began spitting some flak into the sky. Gates wrapped his arms around a nearby chair and very nearly prayed. “Fuckin’...flyboy shit.”

They were only a few hundred meters off the ground when they leveled out. “No problems, see?” said the pilot, though Gates could see beads of sweat on his forehead. They were behind the Siradorians’ lines, and the AAA flak couldn’t dip this low.

“Here’s the co-ordinates, don’t screw it up. Make sure you boogie out and only come back when we give the call, gotcha? And make sure you visit that General’s contact, pick up the captain’s bonus. Otherwise, shit might go down that ain’t to nice for me or you.”

“Yeah, I got it, I got it,” the pilot replied. The ship coasted in for a landing on an abandoned park that had been cleared. Garryll went back to the cabins, where the Blackjacks were lounging.

“Get ready to move, Blackjacks. We’re finally almost there.”

OOC:

Alright, here’s the plan: we’re going to be behind enemy lines in this war-torn zone; the weight of an Imperial Army is leaning on this place, so it ain’t pretty any more. We’ll be doing recon, pinpointing and sabotage eventually, but for now, we’re getting acquainted with the locals and the area. Most of the soldiers are just quick-recruited people who live here, so they’re not pros - they’ve brought in some mercs and there are some professional soldiers, but they’re few and far between.

Kit descended the ramp slowly, tugging the large holsters that were keeping his Ryyk blades in place, the large sword variation strapped to his back in a sheath, the two smaller ceremonial ones attached to his thighs, also sheathed. He shook his head, fiddling with the uncomfortable translator around his neck that would make him understandable to the natives.

Stepping off the ramp Kit ran into the Squad Leader. Squinting Kit could JUST make out the form of Razor as he headed towards what looked like a sparring zone. Grinning, the Wookiee rubbed his blades, wondering if he would have time.

"Don't bother Kit, were not here to kill people remember?" Said Garryll, "Why don't you make yourself useful and go get us some grub huh? We could all use it."

Kit looked over his shoulder, nodding at the human, taking the hint to walk around. Stretching his long limbs, the Trooper set off at a slow pace, keeping his ears and eyes open, trying not to draw attention to himself as he walked toward what looked to be the cantina.

Kit was almost glad he didn't have his usual armor on today, it was bloody hot! It didn't help that he had a gigantic fur coat either. Entering the smokey, dimly lit cantina Kit's nostrils were immediately invaded by the scent of sweaty bodies and cheap drinks. Giving a low growl of distaste he moved slowly towards the counter. If you wanted to learn something, the cantina was always a good place. More often then not the people in here had way to much free time, and had a habit of drinking more then was appropriate.

Wedging himself up to the counter the Wookiee ordered something small, not wanting to get drunk on his first real mission. Closing his eyes he began to listen to the hustle and bustle of the cantina, sipping idly at the drink that appeared.

"Watson hasn't shown up for duty three days in a row! It's impossible to keep him on a shift. . ."

"Did you see the crew that brought the weapons in? Not looking to friendly are they?"

"Were moving some of our younger conscripts out, couple of the mercs that we have in town are leading them on a nighttime raid, seem to think they might be able to get in and sabotage some of the artillery and grab some guns. A couple of the boys on guard duty at the supply camp just west of us are sympathizers!"

Kit opened his eyes at that revelation. They must be hometown boys He thought, downing his drink in one gulp and heading slowly for the door. Once outside in the boiling heat he made an escape down a side alley, looking around before growling into his communicator.

"There is going to be a night raid on the supply camp west of the town. Guards are going to let through a small raid to grab some of our weapon crates and sabotage the artillery. Check the roster, they might be from this planet"

Letting the relay button go Kit exited the alley, trying his best not to look like someone with something to hide. Giving his blades an irritated tug, the Trooper slowly let his feet carry him away from the cantina, heading towards the sparring range. I'll just see how their form is he thought with a smile.

Razor walked back onto the broad main road that ran through the almost vacant city.  The HUD showed a green marker.  Razor had attached a small tracker on the weapons cases and it was now emitting just enough charge to show Razor which way to go to get to the weapons cases.

Razor walked nonchalantly down the road appearing to have no true direction as he meandered left and right down the main avenue. The weapons were still moving.

Then Razor saw a tall man flanked by a small group of the rag tag soldiers as the man walked up to a building and dismissed the soldiers.  The tall man walked around a corner and down a side alley where he tapped a code into a keypad and pulled the door open. 

Razor hurried after him but was not fast enough to catch the closing door.  Razor thought hard and remembered what he had learned about slicing a terminal.  He had learned the exact programs to run and which wires he needed to pull out of the terminal. 

He wedged his vibrodagger between the wall and the terminal and turned it on so that the terminal door was vibrated open.

He ripped the red wire completely off of the terminal and plugged a patch cord from his datapad directly into the lock terminal.  He downloaded the pad's recent security actions.

The computer on the inside of the door told him everything he already knew.  The door had been recently opened and the password could not currently be  entered because of a recent loss of contact with the outside terminal.

Razor opened his logarithmic program and downloaded the code number.  There were twenty digits in the code. 

Numbers flashed by on the screen.  They blurred and no longer were visible as individual numbers.  The first number flashed up after a minute or so.

Razor pulled the wires out of the door.  He wrapped the blue wire around the purple wire.  This would create a direct port into the inside computer.  He took out his wire strippers and stripped the plastic coating off of the outside of the red wire.

He then wrapped the red wire around the antennae of his data pad.  Then he stripped a green wire wrapping that too around the antennae.  His data pad could now work as a makeshift key pad for the large door.

The datapad finished computing the numbers needed to open the door.  Razor hit the send button and the door creaked open slightly. 

He entered the small hallway and listened carefully as he crept forward down the hall.  He snuck into the room that had a messy sign spray painted  on the door that said "VENTILATION". 

Razor saw there were numerous vents leading away from the room and into the wall.  He removed a grill that covered one of the vents.  He crawled carefully into the vent and moved forward inching along and stopping every couple of feet to listen.

As he moved forward he began to hear voices.  He turned left at a metallic venture and as he looked down into one of the grates he saw the man he had watched enter the building along with a few other men.  Razor listened as these men hammered out a plan.

He slowly backed out the way he had come and once he was back in the ventilation center he replaced the grate on the vent.  Razor then crept out of the hall and closed the door. 

Razor replaced the front of the keypad.  While Razor was finishing putting the last screw into the keypad a guard walked around the corner of the building.  Razor jumped away from the door but the man shouted out, "Hey what are you doing to that door?"

Razor slipped into broken Huttese, hoping that the man did not speak it, "I was simply attempting to repair the door good sir." Razor said holding up his hands innocently.

"Huh?  You speak basic off-worlder?"

"Your parents were born of bantha dung and you my dear man could not have more brains than my left boot."

"Right well just move along, and don't let me catch you by this door again, off-worlder."

"You, my dear nerf-herding simpleton, can go and frak yourself to death.  I hope you enjoy the taste of my blaster bolts when Blackjack and I come to blow you up."

Razor walked off and, chuckling to himself reported in switching back to speaking in basic, "Sir, the enemies are planning on attacking our base but not in  full force.  It is a ploy so that they can sneak a small contingent of saboteurs and thieves into our base.  They will use bombardment cannons to cause the distraction."

Razor then walked briskly toward the cantina hoping to find himself a strong ale.

Razor burped as he finished off his third glass of the spiced ale.  He stood up and stumbled drunkenly towards a beefy man who had been downing shots of a brownish liquid for about an hour. 

“Any man who can put it away like that is quite an incredible drinker.” Said Razor to the large man. 

Razor’s voice was a drunken slur as he challenged the man to a drinking contest.  The bartender slammed a bottle of Dobri Whiskey onto the counter along with two shot glasses. 

Razor instantly grabbed the glass and chugged it down.  The robust man put the small amount of liquid away quite easily too. 

Many more glasses followed until the gigantic man started to slowly drink one, dribbled it all down his shirt, and crashed to the floor in a drunken stupor.  Razor pulled out the man’s wallet and took the gold plated vibrodagger that was on his belt. 

He straightened up and fixed his slightly askance armor and walked perfectly erect out of the bar saying cheerily to the bar man, “Do let this poor chap know what happened.” In perfectly understandable basic while flipping the bar tender a credit. 

“Gar, I’m en route to the subway.  I have an explosive package and will have it set up for our friends within the next ten minutes.” 

The burst transmission was sent and Razor jogged along the road.  He had not previously felt the weight of his pack but he consciously felt the weight of the explosives and extra ammunition packs in his field pack. 

He entered the large subway station and saw that, despite the layer of dust that coated the store fronts Razor liked the look of the state of the art subway system.  He followed the signs onto the two track rail network.

“I’m in the subway.  I’ll have the snare set up in about five minutes.”

Razor walked about ten meters into the darkness on the railway tracks then activated his helmet flashlight.  The wall was a tiled orifice and curving orifice.

Razor put his backpack onto the ground and began pulling out the numerous things he needed.  He placed four Mk 37 Mod 8 grenades on the ground next to his pack then placed four more flash-bang grenades next to those.  Then Razor pulled a roll of super thin wire that was reasonably strong. 

Razor again was sad that he couldn't just place HE and fragmentation grenades along with the anti-tank mine he had but His SL had been very persistent when he had told Razor not to collapse the tunnel.  It was too inaccurate.  Garryll wanted these men put down for the count then they could easily be picked off by Blackjack.

Razor wrapped the wire through the pins of the three concussive grenades and released the handle.  He then pulled out his roll of duct tape and put the three grenades on the wall at varying heights. 

Once Razor was sure that the grenades were secure on the wall he pulled a nail out of his pack and walked across the tunnel.  He dug into the mortar between the tiles and pushed the nail deep into the wall.  He wound the wire around the nail then pushed the nail deeper into the wall. 

The wire was just above Razor’s stomach level, and after walking by it once he was satisfied that his trap would work.  Razor repeated this task two more times putting up the flash-bangs and the EMP grenade.

The one thing that Razor really needed was a light.  He walked up to the store in the station and smashed through the front window with the butt of his rifle. 

After climbing through the window Razor got on top of one of the shelves and pulled a light down from the ceiling.  He unscrewed two of the bulbs and screwed them into the jack on his weapons repair console where smaller lights had previously been.

Razor then took out a small knife and cut the top of the glass casing on the old filament bulb off.  He wrapped the durasteel wire that he had used in the tunnel around The two prongs where the filament he had just removed had been.

The trooper walked back down into the subway tunnel and placed the console on the ground.  He walked behind it and then sent a burst command from his wrist watch.  The bright light flashed on and flooded the tunnel with bright light. 

Razor grinned as he walked underneath the wires of his carefully laid trap and placed the console on the ground.

Razor then trotted back out of the station and headed toward the ship.  This is gonna be one heck of a night, thought Razor.

“Wrex, Abalar, with me,” Gates said, standing abruptly, and nearly bashing his skull on the low cockpit ceiling. “Drex, guard the ship.”

Wordlessly, the two pseudo-mercenaries followed in his wake, rifles held at various levels of apathy. Gates pulled a battered-looking assault rifle from its leaning position just inside the door. One of the Navy men looked up from his seated position just outside of the ship, shrugged in indifference and went back to eating his bagel.

The war-torn city bustled into the evening, but soon the soldiers would go to their bunkers, their bomb shelters, their basements and their hiding places. Gates and his two escorts walked quietly down a side-alley that was adjacent to the subway entrance, and then stopped beside an access tunnel.

“Coast clear?” he asked, removing his combat knife from his belt and beginning to pry the lock apart.

“Yes sir,” Wrex replied. Abalar made an affirmative sound.Gates focussed more readily on the lock in front of him, wiggling his knife around and using it as a lever to eventually yank the lock into two pieces. At the drop of the parts, he tapped the two Blackjack non-coms and walked into the access tunnel.

“Razor, give me a sit-rep on any renovations you’ve made to the tunnel.”

“Yes sir, boss,” Razor said. “Say, ten meters down the tracks, I set up some trip mines and such; watch out for the trip wires, they’re hard to see. Me’n Kit are set up down here.”

“Alright, got it,” Gates replied. “Let’s go, ‘jacks.”

With that, the three soldiers set out, eyes scanning across the tracks, looking out for the nigh-on invisible trip wire that Razor had set up. “Watch it, right there.”

At Wrex’s keen eye, they ducked under the wires. Razor had been there for a few minutes before them, as had Kit, who was hiding his large frame behind some rubble in order to get out into ambush-mode as soon as their enemies set the trap off. Razor was crouched in a busted-looking alcove, rifle in hand. Gates nodded, and then the three most recent arrivals scattered to take cover. Gates settled behind a small, un-powered console that was apparently a maintenance machine, and then began the waiting game.

It wasn’t long - before ten minutes had gone past, Gates heard the slam open of the upper subway entrance. The whistle and crash and explosions of mortar shelling reached through the doors into the lower subway system. The Vast Empire forces had begun their assault once again. Gates clicked their link three times in rapid succession - get ready. Each soldier eyeballed his or her weapon one more time, settled into a more comfortable firing position, and then sat tight for the shooting to start. They didn’t have to wait long.

Flashlights played across the Blackjacks’ positions, but they were well concealed, and the Guardsmen failed to see them. They also failed to see the trip wires, and the subway was filled with noise, screams, and bright white light. Even with his eyes closed, Gates could see brightness. He rose, safe in the assumption that the guardsmen were likely bleeding from the ears, totally disoriented, and deaf, dumb and blind.

“Open up, Blackjacks,” he ordered crisply, as if ordering a roll at a restaurant. His rifle stayed at his hip, and he fired into the rolling, bleeding, moaning mass of stunned guardsmen. The other troopers followed suit, firing their rifles in short bursts. In seconds, all the men were dead.

“Shall we clean it up, sir?” Kit asked, having never had to use his blades, and instead having drawn his rifle from its sling.

“Why bother?” Gates asked. “This is pretty much what the boss wanted. Leave a big ole mess for those sons-a-bitches upstairs to gawk at.”

His comlink buzzed, and he activated it. “Gates here.”

“Something has come up,” RB’s voice piped across the device, small and tinny. “Blackjack’s needed for a special mission.”

“We’re on a goddamn special mission, RB!”

“This one’s specialer.”

“That’s ungrammatical.”

“It’s acutually not a word, but that’s beside the point. Get back up to the Black Star, and then we’ll have you on the first ship back to Tadath.”

“Damn. This had better be good, RB.”

“It should be. Havock’s replaced Tanus as PC, and she’s got her first mission all primed to go. I can spare you from this boring backwater for something much more crucial, I imagine?”

“You can count on it, sir.”

OOC:

Alright, story done. We’re all set to go for the platoon story starting soonish.