Star Wars - dark forces - soldier for the empire

by William C. Deets

  A pair of TIE fighters made the third of three consecutive runs, declared the asteroid "clean," and vectored away. The assault boat, just one of hundreds of support craft carried aboard the Star Destroyer Imperator, shuddered slightly and dumped speed as the pilot fired his retros. It required skill to match velocities with an asteroid and AX-456 was no exception. Maybe the pixel pixies back on the ship knew why the Rebs chose 456 for their relay station and maybe not. Not that it mattered much. A ride is a ride and the pilot went where they told him to.

  The sun broke over the planetoid's horizon and activated the polarizing filter in the pilot's face mask. He checked course and speed, pushed the nose down, and chinned the intercom. "We are three repeat three - to dirt. Check life support and prepare for insertion."

  Frightened though Kyle was, he'd been trained for this moment, and reacted without thinking. "Systems check - top down. Katarn green."

  The names came in order, starting with his second in command, Sergeant Major Hong, followed by the members of squads one, two, and three. Everything checked, leaving the entire outfit "green and clean."

  Kyle tried to report, heard his voice crack, and tried again. "Cadet Leader Katarn here - all systems green. Ready for insertion."

  "Roger that," the pilot replied matter-of-factly. "Atmospheric decompression commencing now. Thirty to dirt."

  Kyle chinned the command freq and gave the appropriate orders. "Decomp underway. Thirty to dirt. Lock and load."

  The stormtroopers sat on bench-style seats with their backs to the bulkheads. They brought their assault weapons to the vertical position, aligned power paks with receiver slots, and shoved them into place. Forgetting to do so was the kind of thing greenies did and got killed for.

  Kyle checked to ensure that his power source was "locked," verified the "full load" reading, and released the safety. The cadet carried a side arm as well. But he knew better than to check it. Not with fifteen seconds remaining.

  Time seemed to slow. Lead filled his stomach and he was unexplainably sleepy. What was the quote? The one carved into the mantel above the fireplace in Cliffside's ceremonial dining room? Something about how cowards die a thousand deaths . . . ? Then, before Kyle could count how many times he had died during the last few hours, the assault boat hit. It bounced once, twice, and stuck. Like the first landings he had attempted, only better.

  The port and starboard hatches opened and the squad leaders led their men into hard vacuum. Hong stood between the hatches with his back to the cockpit. He had a small body and a big voice. "Move it, move it, move it! What the heck are you waiting for, Briggs? An engraved invitation? Get out there and kill some Rebels!"

  Kyle felt an ice-cold hand grab hold of his stomach, forced himself to stand, and wondered when the fighting would start. The Rebs should have reacted by now, should have opened fire with everything they had, but nothing had happened. Why? Or, better yet, why not? Maybe the rumors were true. Maybe the optimists were right for a change. Maybe ninety percent of senior missions were walkovers.

  The hand released his stomach for a moment and Kyle shuffled towards the bow. Gravity was tenuous at best, and even though the entire platoon had spent two days in a prestrike acclimation tank, it took time to adjust. Hong snapped to attention. "Troops deployed, sir - no sign of opposition."

  Kyle wondered what was taking place behind the dark gray lenses and white armor. How much did Hong know? Did he have any idea how frightened his commanding officer was? How close to crumbling? There was no way to tell. But one thing was for sure, Hong's opinion would weigh heavily when his final score was tallied. Assuming he got that far . . . Kyle knew the proper response and delivered it in the calm, matter-of-fact style favored by Cliffside's instructors. "Thank you, Sergeant Major. Let's get on with it."

  "Yes, Sir."

  Kyle stepped out of the hatch first, followed by Hong. Dust fountained up around his boots and fell in slow motion. The ground was rugged and almost universally gray. Impact craters marked the spots where meteorites had slammed into the surface. They provided excellent cover and the troopers took advantage of it. The assault boat crouched on a rise where it could lift quickly - or offer fire support if called upon to do so. The whole thing looked like a text-book scenario, which added to Kyle's confidence. Maybe, just maybe, he would survive.

  Kyle, more from curiosity than bravado, remained standing. The electrobinoculars provided magnification and range as he scanned the enemy base. The installations included a comm dish, a boxlike structure, and a landing pad. They had a raw, improvised look. The pre-mission simulation had portrayed the constructs as only fifty-percent complete, but that data was two weeks old, and the Rebs had been busy since then.

  The purpose of the facility, and others like it, was a matter of conjecture. Intel's best guess was that the Rebs were trying to establish a network of relay stations that could pass intelligence and psyprop broadcasts from one sector to another. All part of the battle for the hearts and minds of the civilian population.

  Not that it made a heck of a lot of difference. Whatever the purpose, Kyle knew that what he saw on the surface didn't say much about the rest of the complex. No, based on the

  intelligence gathered by an Imperial probe droid, there might be as many as a hundred Rebs living and working beneath the surface. Especially during the construction phase. So where were they? Was the situation a walkover or a trap? He turned to Hong. "Send the scouts. Tell them to keep a sharp eye out. This place is too darned quiet."

  Hong, who privately agreed, thanked the gods of war for a greenie who had some brains, and gave the necessary orders. "Dobbs, Trang, Sutu . . . take a look. Somebody built that dish - find 'em."

  The scouts, each from a different squad, cursed their rotten luck and low-crawled forward. Ribbons of slowly falling dust spiraled up around them and marked their progress. They knew that made them easy meat for a sniper, had there been one to shoot at them.

  Kyle scanned the area. The stars were smears of distant light. The crags, those that had survived, stood as they had for thousands of years. In spite of the fact that everything looked normal - it didn't feel normal - and that was what bothered him. Both because he'd been trained to make fact based decisions, and because the feeling was so strong. Someone, something, was watching. That's the way it felt. But the reports said otherwise.

  "Trang - lots of tracks - nothing else. Over."

  "Dobbs - ditto. Over."

  "Sutu - looks clear. Over."

  The fear was back and Kyle swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. "Sergeant Major - the second squad will blow the lock, one will provide cover, and three will follow me."

  Hong nodded. "Yes, sir. You heard the Cadet Leader, Sergeant Morley. Let's get cracking."

  Based on information provided by the probe droid, demolitions charges had been prepared in advance. They had been placed and were ready for detonation by the time Kyle arrived.

  The entry was a massive affair built to withstand a meteor hit. Two magnetic demo charges had been attached to the metal faceplate. It was a standard prefab affair set into

  quick-drying permacrete and controlled via numeric key pad. The straight-ahead "here-I-am" vid pickup located next to the frame had been blinded with spray seal, as had the tiny pinhead lens hidden into the right-hand sidewall. Very sneaky. How many more existed? And where were they located?

  Morley spoke with his characteristic drawl. "She's ready to blow, sir.

  Kyle looked around. The troopers assumed it was one last check prior to giving the order, but he knew the action for what it really was. A search for an excuse, any excuse, to scrub the mission. None presented itself. The hand took hold of Kyle's stomach, sweat prickled his skin, and his voice sounded thick. "Take cover - detonate on my command."

  The stormtroopers pulled back and found cover. Kyle stepped around the corner of the building, took a deep breath, and gave the order. "Now."

  Morley triggered the remote and an eruption of dust
signaled that the charges had been detonated. This was the moment Kyle had been dreading, when he would step through the hatch and take a blaster bolt in the chest. He wanted to speak, wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words. His movements were jerky, like those of the toy soldiers his father had fashioned for him. Miniature robots that marched this way and that, saluted when they saw him, and tripped over irregularities in the workshop floor.

  Suddenly, without remembering how he had arrived there, Kyle was inside the hatch. He had no more than entered when Morley brushed past him, slapped another charge against the inside door, and hollered "Duck!" The "sir" was an obvious afterthought.

  The inner charges exploded with a flash of light. Morley jumped up, shoved the heavily damaged slab of metal to one side, and swore as a blaster bolt bounced off his reflective armor. An ambush? Kyle's worst fears had been realized. A wave of self-pity swept over him. He had joined to get an education, not die on some asteroid. It wasn't fair. Or was it? After all, no one had forced him to attend the Academy, he had chosen to do so - and the men were waiting for an order. Four years of hard, rigorous training kicked in. "Contact! Two grenades - one concussion - one high-explosive."

  The words were no more than out of Kyle's mouth than two grenades sailed through the door, exploded, and threw shrapnel in every direction. Morley passed through the hole first, followed by Kyle, Hong, and the members of squad two. Suddenly, Kyle was faced with the harsh reality of what war does to people. He swallowed to keep his breakfast down and looked ahead.

  The next lock, a backup in case a meteorite destroyed the first one, opened automatically. Kyle entered ready to fire. The second door was closed and there was little doubt as to what waited on the other side. "Second squad? Heavy weapons to the front - pack the lock."

  Two stormtroopers, both armed with blaster cannons and the power modules necessary to operate them, took up positions in front of the door. Ten additional troopers filled in behind. Hong slapped a button and the door cycled shut. Kyle clenched his teeth. "First rank, prepare to fire - second, third, and fourth ranks, rifle salute."

  The rifle salute, normally rendered to officers while under arms, forced the second, third, and fourth ranks to hold their weapons in the vertical position and guarded against an accidental discharge.

  The hatch slid open, the first rank fired, and reeled as the fire storm hit them. The first line of stormtroopers died within a matter of seconds, quickly followed by at least half of the second. Not without cost, however, since there was little to no cover in the room beyond, and the Rebels were exposed.

  Kyle felt anger replace the fear that had very nearly paralyzed him, fired his weapon, and yelled encouragement. "Come on, men! Take them out!"

  Kyle stepped out of the lock and shot a woman through the chest. She fell in slow motion and the cadet felt shock course through his body. This was a person, not a target - and the realization froz e him in place. He felt a terrible sense of remorse, and stood frozen while Morley clutched his faceplate and fell over backwards.

  The Rebel who killed Morley was little more than a boy, but he was old enough to take a life, and Kyle shot him through the chest. The words came from deep within and boomed through the command channel. If his men thought them strange they had no opportunity to comment on the matter. "Morley was a person, too!"

  The battle raged on. The Rebs were a diverse bunch. Kyle saw men, women, and a scattering of aliens, some of which he recognized and some he didn't. They came in all colors, shapes, and sizes and fought with weapons as varied as they were. Kyle saw blasters old and new, plus some low-velocity projectile weapons, and at least one pre-Empire vibroaxe of the sort used to board enemy starships. It was an ugly weapon and cut through Imperial armor as if it were constructed from paper. Hong shot the axeman through the head, shot him a second time just to make sure, and led the charge that secured the room and fifty feet of passageway.

  With that accomplished, Kyle took a moment to assess the situation. A quick count revealed that the platoon had suffered thirty percent casualties, with the second squad being nearly all killed, the third having lost two men, and the first, which had passed through the locks last, almost untouched. So much for the walkover theory. If this was the Academy's idea of easy, it was a wonder that anyone survived to graduate.

  A hand touched Kyle's arm. He turned to find a medic standing beside him. He had a blaster burn along one side of his helmet and other people's blood on his arms. "How 'bout the Rebs, sir? Give 'em aid or put 'em out of their misery"

  Kyle knew what ninety-nine percent of his fellow officers would say put them out of their misery. He couldn't bring himself to give the order though - not in cold blood. He looked around. The floor was littered with bodies. "Our people come first, the Rebels after that. Military intelligence will want to interrogate the prisoners."

  The medic nodded respectfully and hurried off to inform his team. Hong appeared, removed his helmet, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. Hong wore his hair high and

  tight but allowed himself a carefully tended mustache. If he was worried he gave no sign of it. Kyle wasn't absolutely sure, but he thought he saw respect in the other man's eyes, and felt some pride trickle into his chest. He realized that in spite of the fact that the fear remained crouched in his belly, he controlled it, instead of the other way around. The cadet removed his helmet and held it in the crook of his arm.

  "So, Sergeant Major, our instructors taught us that when things go south, and we need advice, we should ask for it. What do you think? Should we pull out? Or press ahead?"

  Hong's already high estimation of the young officer's ability went up a notch. He knew from sad experience that nine out of ten of Kyle's peers would have been too proud to ask for advice. "I say we call for reinforcements, then press ahead, sir. The Rebs have got to be hurting, and I'd hate to use up even more lives breaking in all over again."

  The advice made sense and served to validate Kyle's instincts. He nodded, chose the correct tac frequency, and spoke into his wrist com. "C-1 to R-1. Over."

  He heard the crackle of static followed by the pilot's voice. The signal was scrambled in both directions. "R-1 here - go. Over."

  "I need a sitrep, One - any activity out there? Over."

  "The Rebs sent some coded comm traffic, C-1 - and I've got a feeling they have backup on the way. Over."

  Kyle winced at his own stupidity. He'd been so scared, so stupid, that he'd forgotten the comlink "Grease the antenna, R-1 - and tell the Imperator to send some reinforcements. We took thirty percent casualties getting into this place, and there's no end in sight. Acknowledge. Over."

  "Burn the link and call for backup," the pilot said calmly. "Got it. Hang in there, C-1. Out."

  Kyle looked at Hong. "All right, Sergeant Major. Enough goofing off. Move 'em out."

  Hong grinned, popped a salute, and did an about-face. "Okay, people, you heard the Cadet Leader, let's finish what we started. First squad first, third squad second, second squad hold." The few surviving members of the second squad, most of whom were wounded, watched dully as their comrades entered a large underground passageway. Three heavily armed troopers led the phalanx, with Kyle and Hong immediately behind.

  The corridor was wide enough to accommodate heavy equipment, and the walls bore the marks left by the mole miner used to create it, plus some not very original graffiti regarding the Emperor. Blood left by the wounded and two widely separated bodies gave mute testimony to the fact that the Rebels had suffered heavy casualties as well.

  Side tunnels branched left and right. Some of them could accommodate humans, while many couldn't. The function of the passageways wasn't clear, and Kyle didn't care, as long as the Rebels didn't launch an attack from one of them. He sent scouts down the larger ones and waited for the all clear before continuing on. A quiet trip mostly, the silence broken only by their footsteps and the sound of his own breathing.

  So it went for a kilometer or so, until the ground shook
, and Kyle heard a loud cracking sound through his external comlink. It came from behind and the cadet turned in tune to see the tunnel collapse.

  Suddenly, without knowing hove he knew, Kyle glimpsed the future. Where the well-lit corridor had been he saw only darkness and the flash of energy weapons. The words tumbled out of his mouth. "Hit the dirt! Low crawl forward!"

  The orders made no apparent sense, but if the Imperial stormtroopers knew anything, it was how to obey orders, and they did so to a man. Kyle's vision, and the resulting order, saved many of their lives.

  The moment the lights went out, the Rebels opened fire through hastily drilled holes. The fire, most of which passed over the stormtroopers' heads, splashed against the opposite wall. Kyle, knowing a frontal attack was on the way, elbowed forward. They needed cover, any kind of cover, if they hoped to survive. His helmet light wobbled across the back end of a

  much-abused crawler, and the alternating black and yellow stripes that covered the bumper "Take cover behind the crawler! Prepare to engage!"

  The words were no sooner out of Kyle's mouth than the Rebels dropped grenades through the weapon apertures. The explosions came two seconds apart and were followed by the screams of wounded men. Hong, his voice harsh, remonstrated those who cried out. "The tac frequency is intended for verbal communication. Use it that way."

  It seemed as if the mission had turned into an unending nightmare, where everything that could happen did happen, and was immediately followed by something even worse.

  The lights flashed on and the stormtroopers fired as a wall-to-wall line of droids rolled, hopped, glided, and lurched in their direction. Kyle recognized a pair of heavy-duty construction droids, a spidery freight loader, two A-types, and a forlorn R2 unit, all condemned to an electromechanical suicide mission. None of the machines were armed, or programmed for combat, but they were bulky and provided cover for the Rebels behind them.