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Old Habits Die Hard - Android 17 - 06-26-2018
Seventeen glimpsed at the clock on his desk. At some point, he had lost track of time, and it had become the early morning hours.
“Great,” he muttered to himself as slid the stack of unloved forms further into the dark recesses of his workspace. They could give him shinier bling and fancier dress clothes, but there was no way in hell he was going to do all that administrative nonsense. Requisitions forms? Payroll modifications? Leave applications? There had to be people whose jobs were to deal with that crap.
The cyborg glimpsed at his computer screen and saw that the other player had already logged out of the game. They had been on the verge of rage quitting just a short while ago, because the grand strategy game had turned against them. All those subject peoples were aching for that sweet taste of freedom.
Saving the game, Seventeen resigned from the program and waited for his desktop to reappear. There was an intra-office memo hovering in the right hand corner of the screen notifying him that there was a meeting tomorrow morning. Trixie was going to be debriefing all of them on what their next mission would entail. He’d tried to get some details from her when the idea first slipped her lips after their fancy ceremony, but she insisted on silence. That usually meant one of two things: They were either requisitioning a donut and pie shop or being sent to get shot at and stabbed some more.
Looking over his shoulder, Seventeen noted that the bed was too far away. He could teleport, sure, but that felt almost like cheating. With a yawn, the man clicked off his computer monitor, set his head on the desk, and drifted to sleep.
***
After sitting through the meeting, Seventeen understood the reason that Trixie had insisted on waiting several days to debrief everyone.
“Can we talk?” The cyborg asked softly once the majority of the more green-faced members of their unit had departed the meeting room.
Trixie, who had already turned her attention to other matters, glanced over her shoulder. “Yes, of course.” She answered after a pause as she gestured to a nearby seat.
Once they had sat down, Trixie took a moment to stretch out her legs and exhale. Seventeen recognized them as things she did when she was trying to relax. For all the glitz and glamor associated with her rise up the imperial bureaucracy, the redhead was still fallible. Her bones and muscles ached just like anyone else, especially with their recent scuffles still in fresh in their memories. Elsewhere in the room, Nova, Aisha, and a few others had remained to talk softly in other parts of the meeting room. “Did you like the layout of the operation?” Trixie finally asked.
Seventeen shook his head. “It’s bullshit,” he replied, and while he didn’t look away from the woman’s face, he knew that his remark had been loud enough for the others to hear. “Since we did we become attack dogs?”
Major Zulenka bristled. There was a split moment when the cyborg saw a look of disbelief before it hardened over. “Excuse me, Lieutenant?”
He knew where this conversation was going to go. He had choreographed it in his head a dozen times over the last few days. This was the part where he had a snide remark and spat out her fresh new title at the end. For the sake of his friend, the cyborg paused before he spoke.
“Tier 5?” Seventeen asked. “We’re taking a company of Imperial soldiers down to a nearly lawless part of the city?”
“There’s a rebel nest down there,” Trixie replied. “People who would like nothing better than to see individuals like you and me dead.”
The remark was incredulous enough that Seventeen had to squeeze his knee to not laugh. “So your course of action is to deliver us to them on a silver platter? How many transports have to get shot out of the sky before you fulfil your quota?”
“This is a necessary military action.”
“No it isn’t,” Seventeen replied. “The Empire has given up on those places. They did it years ago. There just pits of despair where the have-nots can tear each other to pieces over scraps of contraband. If the Empire wanted to do something about it, they could have done so years ago.”
“Resources aren’t like that. Everyone is needed where they are needed.”
“So we’re needed to go get shot by rebels on Tier 5? What’s next, they send us down to Seven to clear out the corpses and the chemical waste?”
“You’re out of line, Lieutenant.” Trixie fumed.
“This bullshit operation of yours is out of line, Major,” Seventeen scowled. “I could stomach this shit when we were being thrown into it, or when it was being thrown at us from the other side. What I can’t fucking handle is it coming from our own people.”
Trixie’s hands clenched the edges of the desk. The wood splintered just a little bit, and for a few fleeting moments, Seventeen swore he saw a glint of red in the woman’s eyes. “Go be a fucking beat cop, then. We are fucking soldiers. I can have you out of her faster than I can snap my fingers.” The woman snapped her fingers to prove a point as she remained locked in a stare with her friend. In the periphery, the other members of the 13th Legion’s senior command edged closer.
“Two months ago, this type of operation would have had you throwing clipboards,” Seventeen growled as he pushed away from the desk. His chair crashed to the ground behind him. “You’ve become just another stooge, like all those ritzy ne’er-do-wells at that banquet.”
“No one fucking asks you to be here!” Trixie boomed as she stood up and gestured to the door. “You don’t like the operation, you can fucking sit up here and file paperwork while the real men and women go and serve their country.”
Seventeen rolled his eyes as a few people edged in between the two. “You know I’ll be there,” he replied.
“Trust me.” Trixie replied, her demeanor relaxing ever so slightly.
“You know I always have,” Seventeen replied. “But I don’t buy this bullshit for a second.” With that, he turned and left. Once he was in the hallway, he clenched a fist and breathed out as slowly as he could.
“What was that all about?” A voice asked as Seventeen turned to see Aisha leave the meeting room. The door clicked shut as the still-hobbling medic threw up her free hand. “What the hell?”
The machine-hybrid gestured toward the closed door. “You have to know this operation is shit. No way in hell this is a scheme that Trixie made up. I refuse to believe that shit, even if she wants to lie to my face.”
“You’re out of line,” Aisha replied, even if the line felt more robotic than emphatic. The woman even took a moment to glance around, and while it took him a few seconds, Seventeen was able to piece together the reason.
Empire has eyes and ears everywhere.
“Fuck this, I have gear to sort through,” Seventeen remarked. “I’ll be waiting in the hanger for this shit show to start. Have to go make sure my platoon’s ready to get shot to hell and blown up.”
Without waiting for a response from the woman, the cyborg turned and left. Truth be told, he had nothing he needed to get ready. He was a prime, so all he really had to do was slip on the faux plastic trooper armor and hop on board the LA-AT. While he wasn’t the senior noncom in the Easy Company, he had ‘graciously’ been given 1st Platoon’s leadership position, even if the platoon sergeant would ultimately wind up coordinating field operations.
Once he was away from Aisha, Seventeen sagged against a wall and ran his hands through his hair. There, among the frustration and anger, was the fact that something was now rotten at the core of their little group. He wanted so badly to trust his friend, but this situation didn’t make sense. Trixie wouldn’t want to march their entire company into a warzone for ‘the sake of Imperial justice.’ There was no way in hell that a shiny medal and a fancier logo on her shoulder boards would have turned Trixie into just another jackbooted Imperial sycophant.
The eyes.
Seventeen shrugged his shoulder. My eyes turn blue when I get super powered. Hers might go red when she gets upset. We both got riled. Hell, in the old world, mine would have been close to turning red… The cyborg paused for a moment to remember the RAGE Upgrade that had once permitted him to turn into an angry, muscled anger beast.
Was Trixie a giant red anger beast underneath that lean demeanor? If he had skeletons, she probably had more—he’d heard the stories in the company cantina. ‘People don’t get promoted that high around here unless they got plenty o’ skeletons’ had been the common train of thought.
“People are going to die,” Seventeen muttered as he tapped his hands on the metal wall of the corridor. “We just lost nearly two companies, and now they’re feeding a third into the grinder?”
There had to be something that the cyborg was missing. Some smoking gun that would illuminate all the pieces to the puzzle he couldn’t find on his own.
Abruptly, the PA system pulled the man from his musings.
“All personnel please report for debarking.”
Seventeen sighed. “Once more unto the breach…”
RE: Old Habits Die Hard - Trixie - 06-28-2018
“He has a point.” First Sergeant Terra said, approaching her lover as the rest of the 13th support staff cleared out from the briefing room.
“Don’t start.” Trixie said, pulling the hair tie from her head letting her red hair fall across her shoulders.
“You know he’s right. This operation makes no sense strategically for us.”
“Drop it, Nova.” The Major warned once more as she collected the papers off the desk and shuffled them into a folder.
Taking an organizer from the floor, the Mistress opened a section with two fingers and filed away the folder picking up the brown carrier to walk away. Nova held up her arm and shot a stern look towards her Commanding Officer.
“What is the matter with you, Trix? Do you have a death wish? You barely survived your last-“
“I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Zulenka shouted, getting in her partners face.
Nova fought back tears as she could see, for the first time, that without a doubt, Trixie’s left iris had turned a bright red. Swallowing hard the blond took a step back and lowered her arm to let her CO pass.
“If you’re not going to trust me either then get the fuck out of my sight, Sergeant.” Trixie spat as she turned her back on the woman.
Pushing through the door to the hallway the Mistress quickly made her way into the turbolift that would take her up to her own private quarters. As the doors closed she broke down into tears, tossing her papers aside, covering her face with her hands as she sobbed.
It’ll be okay, my love.
***
“Oh my god. Nova!” Aisha said in disbelief as she moved past Seventeen who was busy suiting up.
As the Sergeant embraced her senior non-com in a hug, Seventeen noticed Terra’s face was tear stained and she had been obviously rattled.
“I take it you tried to talk to her as well?” The raven-haired android said as he inserted a clip into his rifle, slapping the bottom of it secure it in place.
“She hates me.” Nova cried into Aisha’s shoulder.
“She’s been through a lot, honey. She doesn’t hate you. We may not agree with what she’s planning, but…”
Seventeen picked up on what she was trying to say. “You think there’s something going on too, don’t you?”
“I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something is going on with her and if we don’t figure out what it is we’re going to get killed…or worse. However, I’ve read her service record. Five times.” Sergeant Knudel mused aloud as she strapped the forearm pieces of her armor together.
The three of them were suiting up in the Special Forces locker room that had been designated for the four of them aboard the Sulaco.
“That woman is more soldier than any of us. She’s been on the front line of more battles than most of the Senior Staff combined. How she isn’t running a whole division is a mystery to me.” Sergeant Knudel closed her locker, placing her helmet on the bench.
“However, the one thing I keep reading in the after-action reports from her early career is that during her time as a Staff Sergeant she lost her second in-command to a friendly orbital bombardment. They had to drag her off the field so that the rest of her company wouldn’t get blown to shit. From that point forward, she became extremely ruthless in the field and fiercely protective of everyone under her command.” Aisha reported.
“So, if I’m following you right Aisha. Is that this is out of character behavior?” Seventeen said, placing a hand on Nova’s shoulder as she sat down to get her boots on.
“That was a lovely trip down memory lane. Thank you, Sergeant.” Trixie said from behind them. All three of her compadres turned in surprise to find their commanding officer standing in the doorway all ready to go. Her rifle was slung, her lightsabers were on her belt, and her old pistol was strapped to her right thigh.
“For this operation you’ve all been reassigned to Second Platoon, led by the Lieutenant here.” She motioned to Seventeen. “You’ll be in Habit Two, the second craft. I’ll be in Habit One with First Platoon. Third Platoon will be in the rear with Lieutenant Ramirez.” Trixie’s words were emotionless.
The redhead eyed the three people whom she held most dear and feigned a disappointed look the best she could before taking her leave to prep before launch.
Don’t worry, honey. It’ll all be worth it. Trust me.
As the whisper penetrated her consciousness the Major was forced to place a gloved hand to the wall to stabilized herself. Whoever was communicating with her wasn’t someone tied to Diablo or Palpatine. She was sure of it. They couldn’t be. Could they?
***
The time had finally come for the mission to start. Easy Company had been assembled in the main hangar for a final run through of how the operation was going to work. Major Zulenka explained how Habit One through Three had been fitted special for this mission and they were going to continuously ferry Easy Company back and forth between the landing zone on Tier 5 that had been designated via intel Trixie compiled. Because of heavy modifications to the armor and the extra anti-air systems onboard, each craft could only carry about twenty soldiers at a time so to get the full company of ARC Troopers down to Tier 5 was going to take 8 different runs, exlcuding ammunition drops and medical evacuation.
The roundtrip time to Tier 5 with the modified LAAT’s was about 30 minutes. That meant that the first three platoons were going to be completely alone for the first half hour. Each ARC Trooper knew what they had to do. They were bred for this. This was there purpose in life. Seventeen, Nova, and Aisha however, all felt extremely uneasy as Major Zulenka ordered everyone into their transports. Without even giving her friends a second glance, Beatrix was already aboard the first transport, helping each trooper on board. The distinct whine of the repulsor engines winding up on the transports filled the main hangar of the Sulaco.
“Alright. Move it out.” Zulenka ordered over the radio.
In unison all three transports lifted off the ground, their engines revving up, bringing the modified gunships into the sky. Within a few seconds the three LAAT’s were out of the hangar and on their way down to Tier 5.
Tears filled Trixie eyes, hidden by her helmet, as she sat back against the wall of her transport, waiting out the ride.
Quote:The Ride to Tier 5 -- Click Me
![[Image: tumblr_mas7xraHPJ1r0j0yso1_1280.md.png]](http://www.cytokineindustries.com/chevereto/images/2018/06/28/tumblr_mas7xraHPJ1r0j0yso1_1280.md.png)
RE: Old Habits Die Hard - Android 17 - 07-01-2018
The ride down through the tiers had been uneventful. If history had proven a damn thing, it was that an uneventful ride meant nothing.
The neon lights of Tier 4 gave way to the drab and nearly monochromatic art deco-inspired skyline of Tier 5. Surprisingly, it wasn’t raining down on Five, which surprised the machine-hybrid. It had rained more often than not during his quick jaunt down into this rundown city. As the LA-ATs passed over a stretch of tenements, Seventeen swore he recognized the same crumbling parking garage where he had confronted All Might the previous ‘summer’.
One year later, and I’m still trapped in this pseudo-plastic shell doing someone else’s dirty work. The cyborg glanced up from his armor-plated boots swinging off the edge of the LA-AT. His gaze shifted to the lead transport—the one that housed Major Beatrix Zulenka. Something was off with the woman, and he would solve that puzzle sooner rather than later. If this mission didn’t kill all of them, what would be in store for them next? Subterfuge on Tier 6? Perhaps marching around a whole column of AT-ATs and just waiting for the rebel rocket launcher hidden in the nearby deli to blast them a new asshole?
Something close to an hour or so melted away as the cyborg stared across the cityscape. Tier 5 probably wouldn’t be that bad a place if you took the time to clean away the grime and pollution that stained a lot of the infrastructure. A lot of the skyscrapers that loomed over the city had very artistic add-ons or architectural doodads. Seventeen couldn’t recall the term of the ‘school of thought’ behind the archways on the facades of buildings. He just knew he preferred it over the bland, glass towers that filled places like West City.
“Are we close to the LZ?” Seventeen asked as he tightened his grip on the nearby handle and leaned back to look at the others in the transport. With Nova and Aisha on board as well, the ride had been mostly somber. The troopers had taken their leadership’s silence as an indicator that they should be quiet themselves.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” spoke a trooper standing near the entrance to the pilot’s hatch. “Should be coming up on it shortly. We’re just waiting on confirmation from the lead bird.”
“Got it,” Seventeen replied as he glanced back out to the cityscape. Like all the other tiers, this one was heavily congested near ‘the center’ and gradually became less so near the periphery. The cyborg didn’t think what he saw below him counted as ‘the burbs,’ but he imagined they were the closet thing the broken down city contained. The buildings weren’t as crammed together here—there was almost enough space to constitute a backyard, even if most of them were filled with trash and scrap.
Beyond the small community, there were a few clusters of tenements, but surprisingly, there were plenty of community gardens and parks to be spotten, even from up here. Sure, someone of them were overgrown to the point of being ‘public forests’ but that didn’t change the fact that they existed. What a shocker, people actually try and live here. There weren’t children in any of them, but Seventeen figured that most sane people had fled the moment they heard the whirring in the sky.
Off to the left, he saw the flickering lights from a subway station. Yea, it made sense that this was maybe where a lot of workers lived. That was probably a blessing and a curse, because he had read countless horror stories about the crimes that occurred on Tier 5’s subway system. Something like nearly three hundred felonies a week. Not just purse snatchers, either. Murder, arson, and sex crimes were common on the underground transit network.
Tier 5 was rare Imperial territory. There was some unspoken accord between the Empire and the various crime factions that ran the streets here. Stormtroopers didn’t match around en masse, and without a doubt, there were plenty of imperial bureaucrats who lined their pockets. Seventeen imagined there was probably a stream of dirty money that ran all the way to the gilded towers of Tier 1.
A chirping from his nearby helmet tore the officer’s focus back into the ship. Scooping up the headgear, he popped it down over his head and immediately scowled at the message he heard.
“All pilots lay down suppressing fire on the LZ. I want a clearer space for landing and to flush out any unfriendlies.”
Seventeen scowled at the message as he yanked the helmet off his head. “What are we flushing out? The people scared in their basements? The rats?” Before he received his answer, he was drowned out by the roar of the mass-driver cannons and the whir of the air-to-ground lasers. In an instant, the rundown little block erupted into fire and ash.
***
Gashon Blastmor scowled as he looked at the holographic map. Around him, the walls of the underground jostled as the nearby Imperial bombardment knocked loose flecks of sediment and a few years of dust. The tunnels would hold, but the noise and the shit that hung in the air were irritants.
“Reports say they Imperials will be landing soon,” one of the rebel’s lieutenants decreed. The soldier, dressed in a patchwork military outfit, snapped off a quick salute and remained at attention.
“They’re following the timetable we expected,” Gashon responded as he glimpsed at the map. Sectors of it flashed red as they detected strikes from the aerial transports. As he had expected, the Imperials had opted to ‘go in hot’ with what they’d expect to be a disheartening aerial bombardment. Gashon, the moment he’d heard of the movement from Tier 1 to 2, had issued the dark net instructions. There was nothing but empty homes and abandoned vehicles there for the Imperial scum to blast.
“Do we engage?” The rebel lieutenant inquired. “1st, 2nd, and 8th Platoon are all in position.”
The leader shook his salt-and-pepper beard. “Let the hook set.” He murmured as he glanced to a nearby screen and saw a visual feed from a ‘broken’ street lamp. They had unloaded the first of their transports, and it took only a few minutes for Gashon to confirm the identity based on the insignias and the accent pieces that decorated the lead trooper. “Reports were right, it’s the Zulenka bitch. She’s come to take her pound of flesh from us. To grind us into paste and rub salt in the earth.”
A scowl spread across the face of the lieutenant and various others who were working in the makeshift command center. “We will bleed her dry!” The young rebel officer growled as he glared at the visual feed of the helmeted Imperial officer directing traffic.
Gashon nodded. “Go make ready, Lieutenant. We follow the plan but advise all your peers to keep lines of communication ready and functional. These will be our finest hours, but we cannot allow our passions to cloud our judgment or muddle our resolve. The Imperial dogs have come to our homes, and we will show what true courage and true valor look like!” The remarks elicited a series of hoots and hollers from the assembled men and women in the makeshift bunker.
As the turned to their work, Gashon switched to a different live feed that showed the two other LA-ATs unloading their soldiers. Only three transports at a time? The Imperials were fools to think their task here would be that simple.
[center=align]***[/center]
The faceless stormtrooper helmets helped to drown out some of the noise as the soldiers on the ground fired their small arms into the structures and streets that bordered their landing zone. After nearly a minute, Major Zulenka hoisted her fist, and the whistle of energy bolts faded into memory. Glancing back over her shoulder, she noted Seventeen standing off the right. He turned to meet her gaze, and then gave a slow nod.
For the moment, personal emotions had been set aside.
For the moment, the focus was the task at hand, regardless of how anyone felt about it.
With a gesture, the major ordered everyone forward, and Seventeen quickly passed the instructions to the two squads from his platoon.
Some rustling of bricks far to the right pulled his attention to the other side of the field. What seemed to be a man in tattered clothes had dislodged from a fallen wall and made a beeline for an alley that stood just outside the landing zone.
“A scout, we need to capture him!” The lieutenant over on that portion of the line screamed as he shouldered his rifle and rushed after the perceived rebel.
“Lieutenant Jacobs, stand down!” Trixie’s voice rasped over the comm line, but the young man had tunnel vision now, and one of his two squads quickly filled in behind him as he vanished from site.
Before the major could deal with that issue, her own nearby troopers called her over to the scene of a derelict car. “We got one!” They declared as they dragged the young woman out from the charred vehicle.
Crouching down in front of the squirming figure, Trixie took a moment to try and size up who she was looking at. Seventeen, leaving his platoon sergeant to hold position, moved across the line until he was within earshot.
“What are you doing here?” The major asked.
The young woman’s expression hardened considerably at the tone of the inquiry. “The fuck are you doing here? I used to live here, you assholes.”
Trixie let her weapon sling down to her side as she removed her helmet and rested it on the ground. “I’m Beatrix, and I need you to be open and honest with me.”
A laugh escaped the woman as she tried to squirm in the grasp of the two ARC troopers. “Or what? What haven’t you already done?”
The major scowled. “Where are the rebels in this sector?”
“Sector? This used to be a semi-functioning neighborhood.”
“Where are the rebels in this sector?” Trixie asked, even though her tone had become a little strained.
In response, the woman spit in the major’s face. “Put your helmet back on. You’re not fooling anyone pretending you’re anything less than a faceless Imperial dog, you cunt.”
Trixie scooped up her helmet and smashed it into the side of the girl’s skull. A moment later, a second blow landed on her collarbones, and Seventeen could hear the snap of the bones from twenty meters away. After a third blow to the other side of the prisoner’s head, Trixie slipped the helmet over her head and locked it into place. Her pupils burned red as she put a hand under the other woman’s chin and lifted her up her now swollen visage. “Where are the rebels?”
The prisoner smiled, revealing a handful of bloody teeth that now hung half free from their sockets. “Everywhere.”
Seventeen barely heard the prisoner’s final word, but he understood quite quickly what it meant. “Call back 3rd Platoon!” He shouted as he waved his arms at Beatrix. The woman turned her gaze and tilted her head, reminding the cyborg that he had once again tried shouting through the helmet rather than over the comm line.
The sound of energized gunshots pulled both everyone’s focus in the direction of where the eager lieutenant had led the first squads from third platoon.
[center=align]***[/align]
Lieutenant Preston Jacobs chased the rebel down the alley. The chase had taken him down three blocks, but he would capture the creature. Last thing the operation needed was for the rebels to have some type of advantage over them. The major had planned too long and too hard to give these vermin a handicap. He tried to line up a shot, but the man took a sharp left at the end of the block. “You won’t get away,” the junior officer growled as he continued pursuit. Behind him, 301st Squad marched in step as they took the street corner and followed the rebel as he hopped a fence and tried to escape into a grotesque, overgrown park.
“Come on!” Lieutenant Jacobs shouted as he smashed open the rusted gate with his shoulder.
The group pressed forward another forty feet before the first gunshot punched a hole through the chest of the trooper standing just five paces behind the lieutenant. The 301st dropped to their knees and shouldered weapons. A moment later, they all started to return fire into the overgrown trees, bushes, and grass that surrounded them.
“Grab the comm booster,” the lieutenant ordered one of the nearby soldiers as he gestured to their fallen comrade. The private had been carrying the mobile booster for their squad’s comms—without it, they’d be subject to any rebel jamming tech.
Bolts of energy whizzed through the overgrowth. Another trooper groaned as his armor failed him. The lieutenant glanced back and scowled behind his helmet. There was no way in hell that a squad of ARC troopers could be beaten by a bunch of scum in the bushes. “Take ‘em down!” Jacobs barked as a third trooper absorbed one laser bolt too many and fell backwards.
Enemy fired seemed to be coming from all angles.
Air support? Shouldn’t they have something?
Preston felt his stomach tie in a knot. How would this look on his resume?
“Regroup and break contact!” He finally screamed as he glanced into the shadows of the large, overgrown park. Shapes were moving, but he didn’t hear the screams of enemy wounded when he fired at them. He had been near the top of his class in marksmanship, what the fuck was going on?
The 301st formed a tight circle. “Grab the wounded, c’mon!” Preston shouted. He wouldn’t leave men behind. Leaving men behind wasn’t what a Great Man would do on the battlefield! Discipline held together as the troopers retreated back toward the entrance. Then, suddenly, shots were somehow coming at them from the direction of their retreat. Shapes moved in the high grass and the trees, as the burdened troopers absorbed more and more damage. Two more fell in short order.
“Get down!” Preston screamed as he pushed down the trooper next to him before diving into the grass as well. Bullets and energy bolts whirred over their heads. “Check ammo and gear!” He shouted—the standard manual thing to order at a time like this. They couldn’t afford jams or half-empty clips. The rebel fire grew closer, and ten yards away, some of it began to stitch across the grass in their direction.
Then, suddenly, there was a lull.
They were reloading!
This was their chance. Preston had no doubt that this was where they could break out of the encirclement. The lieutenant sprung into a standing position and smiled as he looked down at some of his squad mates. “Let’s go, we go—”
Fire from the waiting rebel soldiers punched half a dozen holes across the lieutenant’s chest. A fine red mist burst from his back as he collapsed backwards into the grass.
“We need to make a run for it,” someone barked as they got into a squat. A sniper took that moment to put a quarter-sized hole through their brain.
A third trooper lifted his head. “We have to get to better ground,” he declared before moving up off the ground and absorbing a fatal burst.
“Sit the fuck down!” The squad sergeant screamed as he tried to spot his mates through the grass. He saw at least one private a yard or so away from him. “For the love of the Emperor, stay the fuck down, Haskins.”
Enemy fire howled over their heads. A few nearby trees were kind enough to soak up some of the shots. Glancing at his rifle, the sergeant switched the mode of fire and took a few seconds to time out some of the enemy salvos. He finally took a gamble and sprung up long enough to pull the trigger. The round traveled half the distance before exploding into a cone of fire.
Back beneath the comfort of the tall grass, the sergeant crawled over to his lieutenant.
For his part, Preston was still clinging to life. The junior officer had removed his helmet—a common thing for wounded non-tube soldiers to do. Those who survived often claimed ‘claustrophobia’ in their explanations. Sergeant Echo felt uncomfortable with the helmet off, so he didn’t understand the logic of his leadership in this regard.
“Sergeant?” The lieutenant groaned as his head lolled to the side.
“I’m here, Sir,” Sergeant Echo remarked as he crawled over to his officer. “You’re not in good shape, Lieutenant.”
A faint smile flashed on the young man’s face before a sharp burst of pain erased the momentary mirth. “Need to… air support.”
Echo understood already—the lieutenant was going through the steps that they taught every young lieutenant at the academy. When you’re pinned down, call in the birds or the big guns. In this situation, they’d have to fend for themselves, there was no way they’d be getting aerial support with the LA-AT’s likely halfway back to Tier 1. How long until they’d return? They’d have to rely on fire and heavy ordinance to protect their positions until the company or the rest of their platoon could relieve them.
“Understood, Lieutenant,” the sergeant remarked as he placed his hand atop the dying man’s trembling fingers. “You rest up, okay?” A private with a med pack had already slid the needle through one of the breaks in Lieutenant Jacobs’ armor. A heavy dose of morphine would ease the pain.
“Did I do well, Sergeant?” Jacobs asked as the painkillers started to take effect.
“Job well done,” Echo remarked even as debris from the trees overhead rained down on them. “We’ll let you know when rescue’s here.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Jacobs remarked before his eyes closed and he slipped into permanent sleep.
[align=center]***[/center]
The landing zone became hot—catastrophically hot—just moments after the first shots rang out form the direction of 3rd Platoon. The 302nd, which had moved up immediately to support their brothers, found themselves bunkered down with the rest of Easy Company’s forward detachments.
In the frenzy, Seventeen had shifted his focus to 1st Platoon. Nova and Aisha were still nearby, so they had been coopted as part of the two squads that found themselves entrenched between a bombed out duplex and a small parking lot occupied by a quartet of smoldering jalopies. In between the volleys, there was a chorus of groans as the handful of troopers injured in the surprised attack clung to life. The cyborg wished the birds had stayed just a while longer to evac the wounded, but he knew that would have been suicidal. A few well-placed AP rockets would still crack open their armor-augmented LA-ATs.
Removed from that conflict, Trixie crouched behind a concrete traffic barrier. 2nd Platoon’s comm man stood a few feet away as the woman patched her communique through to their camp of operations near their exit from Tier 1. “I don’t care if it lowers the number of personnel you can fit onboard, we need the heavies. Extra mortars. They have cover everywhere, and we’ve pinned down at the LZ. Requisition from Fox if need be, we should have the fucking clearances.”
Satisfied with the end of the conversation, the woman thrust the receiver back into the soldier’s hands and quickly checked the blaster in her hand. She set a hand on the underside of her helmet and addressed anyone within range. “Frequencies are jammed beyond ten meters. Protect your comm boosters at all cost. We’ll have firmer support on the next drop, but we need to hang tight until then. Fight hard. Fight for the Empire.”
Still within distance to get the broadcast in his helmet, Seventeen rolled his eyes before firing a few rounds into the parking lot. He kept seeing shapes, but nothing screamed when he shot in that direction. Hell, he couldn’t even catch movements or shapes with his senses or even among the flashes of the red laser bolts. These rebels were either heavily trained, cleverly outfitted, or some combination of both.
“Stay low,” he spoke on the comm. When they flew into the neighborhood, he’d spotted what seemed to be a bell tower. At some point, they would have to either secure that position or blow it to hell. A high post like that was too valuable in these still claustrophobic confines. “Don’t let them break through to the LZ! We need to keep it clear for the next group.” Glimpsing back in the direction of the major’s struggle, Seventeen hoped they could stem the flow.
Even then? It’d be at least another forty minutes before the next group arrived.
Better not run out of ammo. Seventeen mused as he rested his gun on the hood behind him and sprayed in the direction of their aggressors. The last thing the cyborg felt like doing was running fist-first into the chaos that surged just outside their field of vision.