07-01-2018, 02:38 PM
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.
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.
![[Image: 17.jpg]](http://omniverse-rpg.com/images/17.jpg)