Star Wars - Republic Commando - Hard Contact

by Karen Traviss

  "You can't get it to do tricks," he said. "But you can start, steer, and stop it now."

  "Brain bypass, eh?"

  "I've seen a few people with those ..."

  "So we ride it into town?"

  "How else are we going to move all this explosive?"

  They couldn't pass up the chance. Niner had plans for the charges, places to lay them all around the Imbraani country­side. They also had a temptingly neat window of opportunity to take out the ground station at Teklet, and rendering Ho­kan's troops deaf to what was happening around them would double their chances of pulling off the mission. It meant they could use their own long-range comlinks at last.

  "Tell you what," Niner said. "I'll take this one to Teklet. You hotwire another and take Fi and our friend as far back down the road to Imbraani as you can get with as much as you can carry." He took out his datapad and checked the

  chart. "Lay up here where Jinart suggested, with the droid if you can, without it if you can't."

  A bulldozer droid on a steady path to the screening plant would attract no attention. It just had to overshoot by a few kilometers. It would be dusk soon, and darkness was their best asset when it came to moving around.

  Niner hauled Guta-Nay out of the building. "Is the ground station defended in any way?"

  Guta-Nay had his head lowered, looking up from under his brows as if blows to the head normally accompanied ques­tions. "Just fence to stop merlies and thieving. Only farmers around, and they scared anyway."

  "If you're lying to me, I'll see that you get back to Ghez Hokan alive. Okay?"

  "Okay. Truth, I swear."

  Niner summoned Fi from his cover position, and they loaded two droids. One carried enough explosives to reduce the ground station to powder several times over, and the other took everything they could lay their hands on, except for some detonators and explosives to keep the blasting droid busy for a few more hours. There was no point letting the quarry's silence advertise the fact that they had liberated some ordnance. It would spoil the whole surprise.

  They loaded Guta-Nay last, bundling him into the huge bucket scoop with his arms still bound. He protested at being stuck on top of spheres of explosive.

  "Don't worry," Atin said dismissively. "I've got all the dets here." He bounced a few detonators up and down in his palm; Guta-Nay flinched. "You'll be fine."

  "Jinart's quite an asset," Fi said. He took off his helmet to drink from his bottle, and Guta-Nay made an incoherent noise.

  "She could be right behind us now and we'd never know. I hope they stay on our side." Niner removed his helmet, too, and they shared the bottle before handing it to Atin for a last swig. "What's that Weequay whining about now?"

  "Dunno," Atin said, and took his helmet off as well. He

  paused, bottle in hand, and they all stood and stared at Guta-Nay, loaded in the scoop of the droid like cargo.

  His mouth was slightly open and his eyes were darting from one commando to the next. He was making a slight uh-uh-uh sound, as if he was trying to scream but couldn't.

  "It's Atin's face," Fi said. "Don't stand there being so ugly, man. You're scaring him."

  Niner gave the Weequay a quick prod with his glove to shut him up.

  "What's the matter?" he asked. "Haven't you ever seen commandos before?"

  They were here.

  The break that Ghez Hokan had been waiting for had come: a farmer had rushed to notify the authorities that Republic soldiers—one man, one woman, both very young— were at a house on the Imbraani-Teklet road.

  Hokan studied the dripping foliage at the side of the farm­house. The maze of footsteps in the mud and the crushed stalks were no different from those on any farm, and they were disappearing fast in the rain. Behind the ramshackle collection of sheds and stone walls, the land sloped away to the Braan River.

  "It's a mess in there, sir," Hurati said. "One wall nearly blown out. All dead. And that was just two enemy commandos."

  "One," Hokan said.

  "One?"

  "Only male clones in the front line. The other had to be a Jedi." He turned over the body of an Umbaran with his boot and shook his head. "That wound was made by a lightsaber. I know what a lightsaber wound looks like. Two people. I wouldn't even have that information if it hadn't been for in­formants. Do I have to rely on dung-caked farmers for intel­ligence? Do I? Do I?"

  He regretted having to shout. But it seemed necessary. "Why can't anyone manage to call it in when they make an enemy contact? Think! Use your di'kutla heads, or I'll show you how to recognize a lightsaber wound the hard way." Two

  droids began lifting the Umbaran's body onto a speeder. "Leave that thing where it is. Get after your comrades and find me some enemy."

  Hurati put his hand to the side of his head. "Droids have found something else in a house up the road, sir." His expres­sion fell blank as he listened to his comlink. "Oh. Oh." He turned to Hokan. "I think you should see this for yourself, sir."

  Hurati didn't strike him as an officer that would waste his time. They mounted the speeder and worked their way back up the road to another small, dilapidated hovel set among the trees. Hokan followed Hurati into the farmhouse, where a couple of droids had illuminated the rooms with spot-lamps.

  For some reason he would never fathom, the first aspect of the chaos that caught his eye was the soup tureen lying on its side on the filthy floor. It was only when he turned his head that he saw the bodies!.

  "Ah," Hokan said.

  Soldiers used blasters. In a pinch, they would use knives or blunt objects. But he had never known anyone in uniform, not even his ragtag militia, who used teeth. The three adults were ripped and torn as if a large carnivore had attacked them. All had crush injuries to what was left of their throats. One woman had so little intact tissue in her neck that the head was bent over at almost ninety degrees. Hokan found himself staring.

  "There are others outside in the shed," Hurati said.

  Hokan had never considered himself easily disturbed, but this worried him. It was an act by something he didn't recog­nize and couldn't comprehend, beyond the scope of a sentient creature's simple revenge. It might have been coincidence, an animal attack on someone who happened to be an informer— but he couldn't think of any species on Qiilura that could or would bring down humans.

  Hurati studied the bodies. "I didn't think killing civilians was the Republic's style."

  "It's not," Hokan said. "And commandos wouldn't waste time on work that wouldn't aid their effort."

  "Well, whoever killed them wasn't motivated by robbery."

  Hurati picked up a large metal bowl from the floor, dusted it with his glove, and set it on a shelf. "This is probably our in­former. I wouldn't count on much assistance from now on. Word will get around fast."

  "You're certain there are no blaster wounds?" It might have been simple predation. He knew in his gut that it wasn't. But what had done this?

  "None," Hurati said.

  Hokan didn't like it at all. He beckoned Hurati to follow him and walked out briskly to summon two droids. "I want a ring around Imbraani. Pull all the droids back. I'd rather lose Teklet than risk Uthan's project."

  "We could arrange for Doctor Uthan to be evacuated."

  "Moving her and her entourage is going to be slow and conspicuous. We're better off defending a position than mov­ing. I want half the droids blatantly visible at the facility and the other half around the villa—but discreetly, understand?"

  There was a rattle of metal in the distance, and Hokan spun around to see droids swarming toward the riverbank.

  "Have they found anything?"

  Hurati pressed his hand to his head, listening to the com­link. "Two enemy sighted five klicks west of here, sir. The droids have engaged them."

  "That's more like it," Hokan said. "I'd like at least one alive, preferably both if the girl's a Jedi."

  He swung onto the speeder bike and motioned Hurati to sit up front and drive. The speeder zipped down t
he track heading west as Hurati confirmed coordinates with the droid patrol.

  Hokan hoped the droids could manage an instruction like take them alive. He needed real troops for this, actual sol­diers who could get into awkward places and see subtle things. He now had just thirty organic officers remaining and slightly under a hundred droids: ideal for a small set-piece battle, but next to useless for countering a commando force spread over terrain with plenty of cover.

  They'd definitely have to come to him. Just this once, though, he'd humor them and join the pursuit.

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  Darman had taken down quite a few tinnies on Geonosis, and one thing he'd learned was that they were built for con­ventional infantry combat on nice, flat ground.

  They weren't so clever on treacherous terrain—or without an organic officer calling the shots.

  He could see a group of trees a hundred meters away that appeared to be skylined against nothing, and he hoped that meant there might be an escarpment on the other side. "Down there," he yelled to Etain, pointing. "Come on, and get ready to jump."

  He'd almost forgotten the pain in his shoulder. He clutched his rifle tight to his chest and sprinted for the tree line. It took him ten seconds. The land sloped away below, all thorn bushes and muddy soil right down to the river, broken only by a natural back-sloping terrace that formed a small gully. When he looked back, Etain was right behind him— and he wasn't expecting her to be.

  "Keep going!" she panted. "Don't keep looking back."

  The blasterfire of the advancing droids was hitting branches far too close for comfort. When they got to the edge he sim-

  ply shoved her. She tried to right herself for a second before falling and rolling down the slope. He launched himself and rolled after her.

  Darman had the protection of Katarn armor, but she didn't. When they came to a halt at the bottom of the gully, Etain was minus her outer cloak and plus a lot of scrapes. But she still had two sections of the E-Web cannon strapped to her share of the pack. She was clinging to them with grim deter­mination.

  "Next time, let me jump, will you?" she hissed. "I'm not completely helpless."

  "Sorry." He checked his grenades. "I'm going to run short of ammo soon. I'm going to have to sacrifice some demoli­tion ordnance."

  "Tell me what you're planning."

  "Bringing down the slope. With them on it." He paid out the line of micromines and scrambled a few meters back to string them horizontally between the trees. "Can you dig out some of the bore-bangs from that pack, please? Four should do it."

  "What are they?"

  "The long red sticks. Custom ordnance."

  He heard her gasping her way up the slope behind him. When he turned his head she was gripping a bush with one hand, and holding out tubes of explosive in the other. Her fin­gers were covered in blood. He felt suddenly guilty, but he'd have to worry about that later.

  "Thanks, ma'am," he said automatically. He balanced pre­cariously, feeling the strain in his calves, and scrambled from bush to bush. He held each bore-bang perpendicular to the slope and twisted the end cap; the cylinder whirred and bur­rowed deep into the ground. He spaced them at five-meter in­tervals.

  The chinking noise of droids on the move was getting closer, carrying on the still, damp air.

  "Run!" Darman hissed.

  Adrenaline was a wonderful thing to see in action. Etain grabbed her pack and bolted along the gully. Darman fol-

  lowed. Fifty meters—a hundred—two hundred. He paused to look back and saw one thin metal faceplate peer over the edge.

  "Down!" he yelled, and squeezed the detonator in his palm.

  A chunk of Qiilura blew apart at approximately eight thousand meters a second. Darman heard it and regretted not seeing it, but his head was shielded by his crossed arms and he was facedown in the dirt. It was pure instinct. He should have told Etain to cover her ears, although it wouldn't have helped her much. He should have made her run a lot sooner. He should have done a lot of things, like ignoring Jinart, and instead stayed on the mission.

  He hadn't. He'd deal with it.

  The noise of the blast overloaded his helmet for a few mo­ments; there was a crackling silence. Then sound rushed back in again and he could feel clods of soil plopping against his back like heavy rain. When he got to his knees and turned around, there was a brand-new landscape to be seen. Trees jutted out from a sharp cliff of packed mud at bizarre angles. Some had intact branches, and others were snapped off and splintered. A single metallic leg protruded from the debris. Dirt was crumbling away from the face of the cliff like wet permacrete, and one tree was sliding slowly downward.

  Darman looked around for Etain. She was a few meters ahead, kneeling back on her heels with her hand to one ear. When he drew closer he could see a thin trickle of blood run­ning down the side of her face.

  "Okay?" he asked.

  Etain stared at his mouth. "I can't hear you," she said. She nursed her left ear, face contorted with pain.

  "You've blown an eardrum. Take it easy." Stupid: she couldn't hear, and she couldn't see his lips with his helmet on. It was reflex reassurance. He was about to look for his bacta spray when she looked past him and pointed franti­cally. He turned. A droid was peering over the edge of the crater. It didn't appear to have seen them.

  Darman didn't know how many there might be. He de-

  bated whether to deploy a remote, then wondered what he'd do if it showed him a hundred more tinnies coming. He wasn't sure where else to run. He estimated that he could hold them off for about an hour, and then they'd be out of everything except his vibroblade and Etain's lightsaber.

  Then he heard a shout.

  "Droids, report!"

  Darman flattened himself into the side of the slope beside Etain. He could hear the voices, even if she couldn't. She stared up at the cliff and squeezed her eyes shut. For a mo­ment Darman thought it was plain terror, and he wouldn't have blamed her. He'd blown away half a hillside and still hadn't stopped the droids. He was starting to feel a gnawing emptiness in his gut as well.

  He concentrated on the voices, trying to guess numbers. Two humans, two men.

  "... they've booby-trapped..."

  "... can you see anything?"

  "... there's nothing else down there."

  Darman held his breath.

  "No, they're gone. Must have speeders."

  "Droids, form up and return ..."

  The metal face pulled back and the clinking gait faded on the air, along with the whir of a speeder engine. Then there was silence, broken only by the occasional creak of a splin­tered tree being pulled slowly apart on its journey down the shattered slope.

  Darman glanced at Etain. Her eyes were still shut, and she was breathing hard.

  "I didn't think I could do that," she said.

  "Do what?" She stared at him. He took off his helmet so she could see his mouth. "Do—what?" Darman mouthed, exaggerating the syllables. Her gaze fixed on his lips.

  "Influence them. Both of them."

  "Was that some sort of Jedi thought trick?"

  She looked baffled. She obviously wasn't used to lip-reading. "It's sort of a Jedi thought trick," she said.

  Darman stifled an urge to laugh. It wasn't funny at all.

  She'd achieved something he found almost magical. At that point in the crisis, it was the best military option, better than letting loose with all the ordnance at his disposal, and some­thing even Kal Skirata couldn't do.

  They were alive. They could move on.

  "Nice job, commander," he said. "Very nicely done." He touched his glove to his forehead and grinned. "Let's get our­selves sorted, eh?"

  Darman took out his medpac and removed two sharps of painkiller and the
bacta spray. He fixed his own shoulder first, jabbing the needle hard into the blue vein in the crook of his left elbow so that the drug dispersed faster. But it still made his eyes water when he sprayed the blaster burn.

  Etain watched with grim resignation and swallowed visi­bly.

  "Come on, Etain," Darman said. "Hold still."

  He aimed the spray like a pistol into her left ear.

  Darman had no idea that Jedi could curse fluently in Huttese, but he was learning more about them every minute. A lot more.

  The excavation droid rattled down the road, managing to find every pothole and rut between Imbraani and the screen­ing plant. Niner bounced each time, too. Buried in the scoop under a layer of loose rubble, with enough explosives to level everything within half a kilometer, he was ... anxious.

  The detonators were disabled. He kept checking that.

  Now that night had fallen and the rain stopped, he could ease himself into a position where he could see ahead. Blue navigation lights picked out the droid's front fender, and an amber hazard light whirled on its canopy, illuminating the trees on either side of the track. It was a lumbering thing that wouldn't get out of anyone's way. Behind it, a convoy of identical droids followed. They were an intimidating proces­sion.

  Even the column of tinnies marching toward Niner moved to one side of the road.

  He picked them out in his night-vision visor, although the

  sound alone identified them. Clink-rasp-clink-rasp. It was the knee joints. Nothing but battle droids marched that regu­larly, not even clone troopers. There were no voices, not even the occasional command to form single file, or shut it back there. It was all grim mechanical purpose.

  Niner closed his fingers around the grips of the DC-17. He really didn't want to engage them. It was going to be hard enough to direct the excavator to the target and get away in one piece without pausing for skirmishes along the route. Walk on, will you? Just walk on. He didn't want to test the manufacturer's assurance that a few blaster bolts wouldn't set off the charges. He was sprawled on top of them. Proxim­ity made you skeptical.