Darko Cernovsek
Soul Of Vengeance
ABOARD THE MON-CAL STAR CRUISER RYLOTH'S FLAME...
~"Squad Sigma, status report!"~ - a clipped tone of Imperial mission control manifested itself into the trooper's helmet comms.
"This is TK-331! Squad leader's down! We're pinned near the turbolift to the bridge! They've got Rep commandos on the way, and we're at risk of being flanked! We need backup now!" - the stormtrooper barked back, his filtered voice raised slightly, but remaining calm, while he was taking cover with his five surviving squadmates behind a maintenance console down the corridor, as they exchanged blaster fire with the New Republic troops holding position next to the turbolift. He ducked a bolt out of reflex, and if not for his glossy-white helmet deflecting a graze, it would've opened a charred hole in his skull. He sighted along his E11, tracking the enemy soldier who just took a shot... but the man ducked back under cover. Yet, TK-331 was patient, keeping his bead on the spot where the man ducked behind waiting for him to reappear.
A lot of jokes were made about Stormtrooper armour, in the Corps. But while it's plasteel polymer plates not rated to take a full blast, it did a good job turning aside grazing shots, shrapnel and melee attacks. It had saved the man's life several times, already. His finely honed combat reflexes and experience, did the rest. And he was above complaining about his gear... after a decade in the Corps, him and his armour were a single entity.
"Three seconds... standard New Rep cover pattern. Two, one..." - TK-331 thought, steadying the barrel of his E11 on the edge of the console, drawing on his previous combat encounters with the enemy. As if on cue, as his mental countdown reached 'zero', the enemy trooper's head reappeared, along with the snout of his DK17 rifle.
"Predictable..." - the stormtrooper thought, his helmet hiding a microscopic smirk, as he gently pulled the trigger, sending a blast through the Rebel's face, which turned most of the enemy soldier's head to a charred mess. Then he ducked out of reflex again, as a pair of shots impacted the console he was taking cover behind. He briefly popped half-out, not giving them a clear shot, as he let out a couple of unaimed blasts in return, just to keep their heads down.
~"Negative, TK-331! Begin a fighting retreat towards the anteroom, then seal the blast doors. The captain's decided to obliterate the bridge alltogether. You have less then a minute before the Bladestorm is in position to fire. Make the most of it!"~ - Control's voice finally came back, just as, out of the corner of his helmet visor, he saw another one of his squaddies thrown back, a burning hole in his chestplate.
~"Acknowledged."~ - he replied, keeping his tone studiously dispassionate. He had survived too many engagements, to lose his head in panic, even as one of the others exclaimed:
~"Are they karkin' crazy?! There's NO way we can get there in ti--" - before he cut the rookie off:
"Can it, 301! You heard the order. Two of you, fall back. 311 and me will provide cover fire. MOVE IT!" - the steel in his tone audible even through the filtered vocoder of the helmet.
The two white-clad troops obeyed, falling back from their makeshift barricade, in a low, but fast half-crouch. Meanwhile, himself and another trooper suddenly popped out, their E11's set to full auto mode, as they sprayed a lethal hail of blaster bolts down the corridor, simultaneously dropping prone on their stomachs, to throw off any return fire, which whizzed over their heads. Another advantage of stormtrooper armour - it's inner padding did a good job cushioning physical impact, like dropping prone. One could ostensibly fall down a full flight of stairs, and not feel anything, given the suit's microdampeners and internal padding.
The enemy troops hunkered down from the barrage, but not before another one of them, this one female, was sent to her back, three blast burns in her torso. This gave the two Stormtroopers time to scramble back to their feet, still maintaining fire, to keep the enemy pinned, and begin to fall back after the other two troops.
"I'm out! Blast it... down to my last one!" - TK-311 growled, switching the power-pack in his own E11, with practiced fingers.
The two of them vanished behind a corner, just as a full barrage from the enemy opened up - too late.
"Anteroom's down the hall!" - one of the other two shouted from ahead, dashing for the distant, half-opened blast doors. However, barely did he have time to utter that, before a bracket of blaster bolts from the anteroom struck him in the back, opening up two charred holes in his white armor. Behind him, shadowy forms were taking positions in the half-opened doors, maintaining their fire.
The anteroom was NOT secure. And the three surviving Stormtroopers were now trapped between two New Republic fire teams. No other way out. And the Intimidator was to fire on their position any moment now. However they turned it - they were dead.
"DOWN!" - 331 snapped, dropping prone again, sending a couple of shots towards the anteroom blast doors, neither of them hitting anything, as a blast from the other end caught him on the side of his thigh. He could feel some burning - the shot had gone through. Luckily, it must have been a glancing hit, as he still had the use of his leg. He could feel the skin of his thigh burning, making him clench his teeth briefly, but no nerve damage. Score another one for his armour. Still, he was under no illusions about surviving. The enemy they had just left behind near the turbolift, would be coming, charging behind the corner any moment now. They'd be caught in a crossfire. Game over.
"Sir!" - 311's startled tone, and pointing finger, had him lifting his gaze towards the viewport on the side, - which now showed their mothership, the Bladestorm, in close proximity. The Victory-class Star Destroyer's massive bulk filled nearly the whole viewport. And even from there, they could see it's heavy starboard ridgeline turrets turning towards their approximate position.... about to turn the Star Cruiser's bridge section into a cloud of debris.
"Lovely. So it's a toss-up between being murked by New Rep scum, or our own gunners. Kark my life..." - was all TK-331 had time to think, with a sardonic smirk on his lips, before being flattened faceplate-down on the hard durasteel deck, by a sonic boom, an aftershock of a turbolaser blast breaching the hull. With detached fascination, he caught a glimpse of 311, vanishing out of the hole, limbs flailing, out into space, trailing a scattering of frozen crystals - likely the man's saliva and blood. With that same detachment, he felt himself blacking out, mercifully cutting him off from the intense sensation of his tissues flash-freezing, in the coldness of space.
*******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
But it was not the end.
Slowly, the trooper's eyes fluttered open... he took a shuddering gasp, feeling a breeze on his face. His eyes were unable to focus, only seeing indistinct blueish-red blurs and shapes... but from the breeze, TK-331 guessed his helmet visor was shattered. His last memory, of being flushed into space, he reactively flailed his arms and legs... only to find only solid ground beneath him.
"What the kark...?" - his own voice sounded... alien... in the man's ears, as he scrabbled around, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position, on what felt like... grassy ground. Sounds of chirping birds, and howl of the wind, in the trees. His eyes still refused to focus.
"If I'm dead, why in blazes does my thigh hurt so much... ?" - he thought, tentatively feeling for the charred hole in his armour's leg plate. From the size and shape of it... he called it right. A glancing hit. With his other gloved hand, he insistently rubbed his eyes, trying to get them to focus.
Slowly, they did... and to his utter bewildered surprise, the stormtrooper found himself squatting on a grassy meadow, on the edge of what looked like a massive forest, stretching up a roiling hillside. Glancing up at the clear blue sky, the sun was shining serenely... a far cry from the coldness of space, which he assumed would be his final resting place.
Rising unsteadily to his feet, and vincing as he put weight on his injured leg, the man took off his helmet... revealing a crew-cut mop of brown hair, above a ruggedly handsome, yet scarred face, a two-day stubble, and cleft chin. His open-mouthed expression remained, as he looked around, squinting slightly at the sun.
"If this is the universe's idea of a karkin' joke... just pretend I'm tearin' up laughing." - he growled under his breath. His only response was continued chirping of birds, in the trees nearby.
Collecting his E11, which was lying on the grassy ground next to him, he checked the charge - the power pack was almost dry. A dozen shots left, at most. And for good measure, he lost the two spares he had left - they must have floated off his armour's ammo belt, when he was blown into space.
Blown into space....
"So why in blazes am I here?! And where IS here, anyway... ?" - the trooper thought, shouldering the weapon, as he picked a random direction to walk, along the edge of the forest, with a slight limp of his injured leg. He retained his helmet, carrying it under his left armpit.
Their last engagement was not above a habitable world... so even if he somehow made it to an escape pod, he'd just be floating in space. Yet he distinctly remembered being blown out into space, before he blacked out. For all intents and purposes, he should be very dead now.
"TK-331 to Control, respond?" - he brought his helmet to his mouth, using the integrated commlink.
"TK-331 to squad, sound off!" - he tried his squad next.
In both cases, only soft static answered him. Wherever he was... there were no comms signals of any kind. Even if he couldn't reach his people, every half-civilised planet was awash in various comms traffic that his helmet transceiver would be able to pick up. Here - there was nothing. Just static. Shaking his head, he decided to take out the comms unit, and store it in his belt satchel, while he discarded the helmet. It was quite bulky to lug around, and with its visor shattered, it wouldn't be much use anyway anymore.
He moved on, keeping to the edge of the forest, not knowing himself why. It made sense... tactically. He could see where he was coming from, and have a point of reference to go back if necessary, in case an extraction shuttle came... and the last thing he wanted was to get lost in the forest, which stretched eastward into the hills, for seeming eternity. And to the west, a grassy plain was equally expansive and featureless. To the distant horizon, he thought he could see a glimmer of some sort - but his eyes could've just as easily been deceiving him.
"Well... as far as planets go... this place is pretty. Untouched nature, looks like. Haven't seen anything like this since that leave we had on Selonia Four. But I'd still like to know where the blazes I am. Still... beats being dead, I guess." - he thought.
Hours passed. By his rough count, without a chrono - about three, before the sun began setting, to the west. And his thigh was REALLY starting to act up. He needed to get out of his armour, and bind the wound. Preferably with a bacta regenerator from his squad medic's pack... but here, he guessed he wouldn't have that luxury.
"Ok... this is gonna get me nowhere fast... need to find some water. Which means gettin' into this forest. Thought I heard some wildlife in there, fifteen minutes or so... and where there's wildlife congregating, there's got to be a spring of some kind. A stream, something they drink from. If I remember my survival course... either way, without water, I'm dead." - the man thought. And his leg aside - he was getting thirsty.
Tentatively, the limping white-clad figure moved into the forest, sliding his rifle casually to his hands again. Just in case some of that wildlife was predatory. The woods around him seemed to... whisper... in the twilight winds. Never a man to be easily unnerved, this place was... unnerving. The deeper he delved into the forest, the more the trooper was getting that crawling feeling he was being watched. More then once, he snapped his head and E11 around, at a crack of a twig, or a howl of some animal in the distance. Twilight was rapidly turning into night, as he still failed to find water. And with a slight twinge of creeping panic - the man realised he was lost. He couldn't retrace his steps in the dark. Had he still had his helmet, and it had a functioning visor, he could set it to nightvision mode, and be able to see - but with only his eyes to guide him, in the night, there was no easy way back.
He had no choice but to press on. Relying more on his ears, then his eyes, to guide him towards either the sound of water running, or the sound of wildlife, which he still assumed would lead him to water, sooner of later.
And that feeling of being watched, remained. Minutes more passed, with the trooper's nerves continuing to slowly fray. This forest was... almost stifling, in it's watchfulness. And the trees themselves... what he could see of them, in the dark, were strange. Gnarled. Ancient.
Soft footsteps, off to the side.
He whirled around, rifle tracking, his eyes squinting. Nothing. He wasn't even sure he didn't imagine it. He glanced down at his white armour, practically glowing in the moonlight finding it's way through the canopy above. He scowled. One thing he wasn't, was stealthy. If anything - or anyone - was indeed stalking him, they'd have no problem doing so.
"Maybe should've taken it off too... but I'd rather have extra protection, then anything else, in this place." - a thought crossed his mind, as he carefully turned back, to move on.
...to practically come face-first into the tip of an arrow, notched in a bow of some kind, aimed directly at his face. He jerked back, focusing his eyes past the tip... onto a shadowy face of a humanoid individual aiming at him... a strangely pointy-eared male, slender in build, yet tall, and moving with sinous grace, eyes of the blackest night, face somewhat pale, dressed in leathery-looking armour of some kind. Another tall, slender pointy-eared figure was off to the side, arrow also notched and aiming at his face. A third one materialised itself from behind one of the trees, this one female, slightly shorter, but... appealingly curvaceous and wiry... also with arrow notched. He didn't hear ANY of them coming, as two more figures appeared behind him, these two with strikingly delicate, curved and intricately engraved swords drawn. They didn't look like vibroblades of any kind, but their gleaming surface made him guess they were very sharp, nonethless. He was surrounded.
The first individual spoke, in an unfamiliar, yet melodious language, as TK-331 slowly spread his arms, in a non-threatening posture. It wasn't Galactic Basic, that much was for certain. TK-331 blinked.
"I don't understand you. Do you speak Basic?" - he replied neutrally, cocking his head slightly, meeting the leader's gaze squarely.
The alien said something else. TK-331 just frowned, shaking his head.
"I do not understand you." - he repeated.
The leader's face turned into a slight annoyed scowl, as he said something else, in what to the trooper's ears, sounded like a different language. Less melodious, more... normal-toned. But equally alien, to him.
"Still not gettin' Word One here." - the stormtrooper shrugged indifferently. Languages were decidedly not his strong suit. He could speak Basic, and that was about it. Everything else, he relied on translation droids, or his unit's dedicated linguists, for certain missions.
The slender alien finally gave up on it, stepping slightly off to the side, and motioning with his notched bow in a specific direction.
"You... you want me to go that way? What for?" - TK asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
The alien just motioned again, as one of the others gave him a slight nudge forward.
Scowling harder, the trooper obeyed. Clearly it was not optional. And with three notched bows being aimed at him, and two swords drawn, he didn't fancy his chances. He doubted those arrows or blades, would do anything against his armour, but his head was exposed. And from their point of aim, clearly these aliens had some idea about it, too.
In silence, they walked through the nightly woods. TK-331 found himself marvelling at the aliens' ability to move quickly and soundlessly through the boughs of trees, at times seemingly gliding above the ground. Their body weight was either very light, or they were very strong for their size to move like that. Or both. Yet they didn't look bulky. It was strange. At the same time, his bum leg was making him stumble more and more often. And his laboured breathing was turning loud, in his own ears. More then once, he thought he caught subtle snickering from some of them. Especially the female one.
"Yeah, laugh it up, schutta... I'd like to see YOU do better, after trudging through the woods for hours, after being blasted in the karkin' leg!" - the trooper's scowl deepened. Still... she was - not to mince words - from what glimpses he caught of her face - an absolute knockout! Her agility and grace reminded him of Twi'Lek dancers, yet she didn't have those disgusting head-things - lekku - hanging down her neck, which automatically made her more attractive to his Imperial human-centric sense of aesthetics. Sure, those pointed ears were a little off-putting, but ignoring those, she could almost pass for a full human.
When she glanced in his direction, he tried a smile at her. Her dark eyes just narrowed slightly, as she regarded him for an elastic moment. Her expression not giving anything away, before her gaze drifted away, and she motioned him to keep moving.
***
Less then an hour later, they seemed to have arrived at their destination. A glittering... tree-city... was the closest thing the trooper could describe it as. Yet it didn't look like Wookie cities on Kashyyyk, or Elomin villages, or any of the other arboreal species the Empire once enslaved, that he saw holopics of, or was briefed on. It looked significantly more... sophisticated. And graceful. Almost... mystical. The air itself seemed to glitter, and a multitude of exotic scents found their way into his nostrils.
"Are they some kind of... Force mystics? Or something... ?" - he wondered, slightly uneasily. That would explain their ability to move like they did, and their success in stalking him, sure.
More of the tall, slender aliens could be seen, some of them clad in intricately engraved, metallic chainmail armour and flaring helmets, sword scabbards at their sides. All their equipment was impeccably maintained, yet he didn't see any sign of anything more advanced then bow-and-arrow level of technology. But the way they seemed to use them... the way they moved, the way they eyed him, not with hostility, but with guarded, alert intensity... the man's military instincts told him not to underestimate these people, whoever they were.
He was escorted not to a cell, as he half-expected, but to one of the outlying... huts... even though that term didn't do them justice... where he was given a pail of water to drink from. A pair of guards were posted to the entrance, but other then that, they didn't seem to treat him as a hostile captive. Some time later, a more - regally - dressed alien female came in, clad in white, carrying some herbs, and a roll of boiled.. bandages, he assumed. Clearly, they were going to take care of his leg. She motioned for him to remove his armour.
"What are those?" - he asked, pointing at the herbs.
She regarded him silently, then motioned again for him to remove his armour.
Shrugging, the trooper complied, slightly twisting out of the groove, then un-hooking his plasteel suit's right legpiece, and removing it. Taking off the armour as a whole was a much more involved process, as each segment was a separate part, attached to a light support endoframe, but fortunately, Stormtrooper armour was modular. He set it aside next to his cot, motioning for her to... proceed. Only now, taking a good look at his burn, did he scowl. It was pretty deep - that blaster bolt actually carved fairly deep into the muscle tissue, not just singed the skin. Not enough to disable the leg, and severely weakened by burning through the armour, but TK-331 could see why his limp was steadily getting worse.
"Good thing it didn't hit squarely... doubt they'd be able to fix that, and not just cut it off. I haven't seen a bacta tank around... or cyber-prostheses." - he reflected with dark amusement.
Wordlessly, the alien woman squatted down soundlessly, pouring some of the warm, herb-filled water onto the wound. The man reactively tensed, expecting searing pain, yet... nothing of the sort happened. If anything, the herb-enriched water seemed to soothe the burning sensation, almost as effectively as bacta would. Whatever those herbs were, they weren't antiseptic in a typical sense. AkA - they didn't hurt like hell when applied, which was his usual experience with primitive alcohol-based medications. He relaxed again, lifting the leg slightly, allowing her to wrap the warm bandages around, once the burn was thoroughly cleaned.
Meeting her eyes, the trooper pointed at himself.
"I'm TK--- oh kark, what's the point... my name is Merrik." - he tapped his chest. "Me - Merrik. Merrik - he tapped his armored chestplate again - Merrik Borsa."
She nodded slighty, clearly understanding the gist of it immediately, as she pointed at herself.
"Olywenn. Olywen S'sa'yllyia Aerlaas." - the words practically sounded like music, spoken in that melodious overtone that seemed to be the hallmark of these people's language. Very different to the simplistic, utilitarian quality of Galactic Basic. The trooper suspected that learning even the fundamentals of it, would be a challenge. If he was even capable of rolling his tongue like they seemed to do effortlessly. Somehow - he had a feeling the other way around would be much easier for them to learn.
"Nice to meet you. And... thanks." - he nodded, with a smile, pointing at his leg. Unlike the woman from before, this one actually returned it. A brief twitch of her lips, and a nod in return, but - returned it nonethless.
***
The next morning...
Contrary to all expectations he had... as he still had zero clue where he was, or how he got here... the trooper slept soundly, tired out by the events from yesterday, his wound, and the shock of awakening on this unknown world. The first thing he did, was reach to his armour's satchel, for the comms unit.
"TK-331 to Control? Respond?"
"TK-331 to squad? Anyone?!"
As before, his only response was soft, monotone static. Scowling, Merrik put it away again. A movement towards the entrance caught his attention, as well as a shadow blocking the sunlight from outside. One of the two guards outside briefly poked his head in, to see who the stranger was talking to, just as quickly gone.
"Don't worry - just calling home. For all the good it does me." - he muttered under his breath.
He glanced at his bandaged-up leg, then slowly stretched it out, expecting pain to shoot up the thigh, as soon as the muscle extended. But no pain came. He frowned.
"What the kark... ? Even a bacta patch wouldn't be able to fix this up in one night! No way..." - he thought, carefully lifting the wrap, to look at the burn.
Only to find healthy, pinkish skin beneath. No trace of a burn, no trace of even a burn scar, which a bacta patch would leave behind. Nothing. He stretched his leg fully. No pain at all, no discomfort. At this, Merrik shook his head. Whatever they treated him with, HAD to be more then just herbal remedies. Because this level of recovery was, for lack of a better word - impossible. He was no medic, but he watched his squad's medic at work plenty of times. He had a working understanding of recovery times.
"Maybe they really do use the Force... or maybe I'm a lot further... away... then I think I am." - he thought, biting his lip, as he unwrapped his leg, and stood up, putting weight on it. Nothing. No pain, no discomfort. For all intents and purposes, it behaved like it was never injured. At this, the stormtrooper could only shrug. He didn't get it. He suspected he wouldn't get it, for a while yet.
His armour's pieces were orderly sorted, next to the cot, just the way he left them last night, when he finally undressed. His E11 blaster rifle was there too. Clearly, nobody considered it a weapon, else he had to assume they wouldn't have let him keep it.
"Makes sense. It's not a sword, and it's not a bow. Which is all these people seem to have. Must look like a thick stick or a short staff, of some kind, to them. A tool. Meaning they don't see it as a weapon. Good. What they don't know can't hurt 'em. Unless they give me reason to." - Merrik thought, again checking the powerpack charge. His scowl returned, as the small indicator display showed 13 shots left.
Once those get depleted... he would have to go native. One way or another. Thirteen blaster bolts - was all that still connected him to his own existence. He set out, to meticulously clean up the weapon, using some of the unwrapped cloth. During his trek through the forest, plenty of mud and dirt had found it's way onto it. Hopefully not INTO it, though. Taking off the port cover, he looked inside, to the delicate circuitry, power lines, collimation and firing chamber relays, that made up the internals of a blaster weapon. They looked intact enough, but he was acutely aware that in this environment, there would be NO replacements for any. No spare parts. No maintenance tools. And sooner or later, the environment would find it's way in. Carefully, he cleaned all exposed parts, then put the cover back on, making sure it fit snugly, and provided an airtight seal.
Just as he was finishing putting his armour back on, some commotion from the outside drew his attention. Distant yells. Shouts. A sound of a... trumpet of some kind? Maybe a horn? He had read holodramas, as a child, of ancient armies using trumpets and horns, to sound the alarm. Was the city under attack?
He stepped out.
"What's happening--?" - he began, addressing one of the guards, but they just shoved past him, clearly on their way to the city's lower levels. Both drew their swords, as they descended. That was answer enough, for him. He squinted below, trying to make out what was going on, finally just using his E11's holosight to get a slightly magnified image. While it was far from a sniper scope, it did provide a small degree of magnification.
He could make out the aliens, forming ranks at the forest floor. Bow armed, sword armed, they were dividing into - fire teams? Squads? He doubted they called it that, but that's what it looked like to him. As he watched, he saw them break up by... squads... and head to the outskirts of the city.
"Definitely trouble. But maybe I can earn my keep... they did patch me up." - the stormtrooper thought, finding a path down the spiralling walkways of the city, as he picked a... squad... to follow. Plenty of city inhabitants saw him, but none seemed to pay him much attention - probably too worried about what was coming.
Now on the outskirts, he could finally see through his weapon's scope, what exactly that was. They looked nothing like his hosts. They had pointed ears too, but their faces were... a mess. Cut up, misshapen, scarred, wild eyes blazing, sharp, almost animalistic teeth in their mouths, dressed in patchwork armour and wielding crude, rusty weapons.
He recognised a horde when he saw one. A horde of what? The trooper didn't know. He didn't care. But the way they were yipping and snarling, rushing mindlessly into the stacked ranks of the city defenders - he knew he would indeed earn his keep. He didn't owe his hosts any particular loyalty. But they did take care of him. And for everything else Merrik was, everything else he did in his service to the Empire, not all of it the least bit noble - he repaid his debts.
The defenders had discipline and skill on their side. The attackers had numbers and rage, on theirs. And thirteen blaster bolts, in his E11, would make a difference. As far as those attacking primitives were concerned, likely thirteen lightning-strikes, from a god. They may intimidate them, confuse them, do much more then just kill.
He sighted-in, resting the barrel of the weapon, on a tree branch he was skulking behind, some fifty paces behind the defending lines. He watched his hosts loose volley after volley of inhumanly precise arrows. But as many as they felled, more yipping beasts were incoming, about to fall upon the defending line.
He fired, opening a fiery hole in the chest of one. Those nearest to him reacted in shock and fear, recoiling and scrambling away in terror, as another blaster bolt found it's way into the gut of another, burning-through cleanly. The entire charge faltered, and his hosts took full advantage of it, letting loose more arrows, then leading a charge at the faltering beasts. They looked as surprised as the attackers, but their discipline allowed them to focus on the task at hand. And it was clear that they weren't the target of the magical lightning-blasts from the stranger's thunder rod.
Merrik shifted aim, letting loose a third bolt, into another creature's chest, burning through fully. Then another. And another. Eight shots left.
"New enemy. New world. Same rules of engagement. I can work with that." - the veteran stormtrooper thought, shifting aim again, icy calm, eyes narrowed slightly, fully in his comfort zone once more.
THE END
~"Squad Sigma, status report!"~ - a clipped tone of Imperial mission control manifested itself into the trooper's helmet comms.
"This is TK-331! Squad leader's down! We're pinned near the turbolift to the bridge! They've got Rep commandos on the way, and we're at risk of being flanked! We need backup now!" - the stormtrooper barked back, his filtered voice raised slightly, but remaining calm, while he was taking cover with his five surviving squadmates behind a maintenance console down the corridor, as they exchanged blaster fire with the New Republic troops holding position next to the turbolift. He ducked a bolt out of reflex, and if not for his glossy-white helmet deflecting a graze, it would've opened a charred hole in his skull. He sighted along his E11, tracking the enemy soldier who just took a shot... but the man ducked back under cover. Yet, TK-331 was patient, keeping his bead on the spot where the man ducked behind waiting for him to reappear.
A lot of jokes were made about Stormtrooper armour, in the Corps. But while it's plasteel polymer plates not rated to take a full blast, it did a good job turning aside grazing shots, shrapnel and melee attacks. It had saved the man's life several times, already. His finely honed combat reflexes and experience, did the rest. And he was above complaining about his gear... after a decade in the Corps, him and his armour were a single entity.
"Three seconds... standard New Rep cover pattern. Two, one..." - TK-331 thought, steadying the barrel of his E11 on the edge of the console, drawing on his previous combat encounters with the enemy. As if on cue, as his mental countdown reached 'zero', the enemy trooper's head reappeared, along with the snout of his DK17 rifle.
"Predictable..." - the stormtrooper thought, his helmet hiding a microscopic smirk, as he gently pulled the trigger, sending a blast through the Rebel's face, which turned most of the enemy soldier's head to a charred mess. Then he ducked out of reflex again, as a pair of shots impacted the console he was taking cover behind. He briefly popped half-out, not giving them a clear shot, as he let out a couple of unaimed blasts in return, just to keep their heads down.
~"Negative, TK-331! Begin a fighting retreat towards the anteroom, then seal the blast doors. The captain's decided to obliterate the bridge alltogether. You have less then a minute before the Bladestorm is in position to fire. Make the most of it!"~ - Control's voice finally came back, just as, out of the corner of his helmet visor, he saw another one of his squaddies thrown back, a burning hole in his chestplate.
~"Acknowledged."~ - he replied, keeping his tone studiously dispassionate. He had survived too many engagements, to lose his head in panic, even as one of the others exclaimed:
~"Are they karkin' crazy?! There's NO way we can get there in ti--" - before he cut the rookie off:
"Can it, 301! You heard the order. Two of you, fall back. 311 and me will provide cover fire. MOVE IT!" - the steel in his tone audible even through the filtered vocoder of the helmet.
The two white-clad troops obeyed, falling back from their makeshift barricade, in a low, but fast half-crouch. Meanwhile, himself and another trooper suddenly popped out, their E11's set to full auto mode, as they sprayed a lethal hail of blaster bolts down the corridor, simultaneously dropping prone on their stomachs, to throw off any return fire, which whizzed over their heads. Another advantage of stormtrooper armour - it's inner padding did a good job cushioning physical impact, like dropping prone. One could ostensibly fall down a full flight of stairs, and not feel anything, given the suit's microdampeners and internal padding.
The enemy troops hunkered down from the barrage, but not before another one of them, this one female, was sent to her back, three blast burns in her torso. This gave the two Stormtroopers time to scramble back to their feet, still maintaining fire, to keep the enemy pinned, and begin to fall back after the other two troops.
"I'm out! Blast it... down to my last one!" - TK-311 growled, switching the power-pack in his own E11, with practiced fingers.
The two of them vanished behind a corner, just as a full barrage from the enemy opened up - too late.
"Anteroom's down the hall!" - one of the other two shouted from ahead, dashing for the distant, half-opened blast doors. However, barely did he have time to utter that, before a bracket of blaster bolts from the anteroom struck him in the back, opening up two charred holes in his white armor. Behind him, shadowy forms were taking positions in the half-opened doors, maintaining their fire.
The anteroom was NOT secure. And the three surviving Stormtroopers were now trapped between two New Republic fire teams. No other way out. And the Intimidator was to fire on their position any moment now. However they turned it - they were dead.
"DOWN!" - 331 snapped, dropping prone again, sending a couple of shots towards the anteroom blast doors, neither of them hitting anything, as a blast from the other end caught him on the side of his thigh. He could feel some burning - the shot had gone through. Luckily, it must have been a glancing hit, as he still had the use of his leg. He could feel the skin of his thigh burning, making him clench his teeth briefly, but no nerve damage. Score another one for his armour. Still, he was under no illusions about surviving. The enemy they had just left behind near the turbolift, would be coming, charging behind the corner any moment now. They'd be caught in a crossfire. Game over.
"Sir!" - 311's startled tone, and pointing finger, had him lifting his gaze towards the viewport on the side, - which now showed their mothership, the Bladestorm, in close proximity. The Victory-class Star Destroyer's massive bulk filled nearly the whole viewport. And even from there, they could see it's heavy starboard ridgeline turrets turning towards their approximate position.... about to turn the Star Cruiser's bridge section into a cloud of debris.
"Lovely. So it's a toss-up between being murked by New Rep scum, or our own gunners. Kark my life..." - was all TK-331 had time to think, with a sardonic smirk on his lips, before being flattened faceplate-down on the hard durasteel deck, by a sonic boom, an aftershock of a turbolaser blast breaching the hull. With detached fascination, he caught a glimpse of 311, vanishing out of the hole, limbs flailing, out into space, trailing a scattering of frozen crystals - likely the man's saliva and blood. With that same detachment, he felt himself blacking out, mercifully cutting him off from the intense sensation of his tissues flash-freezing, in the coldness of space.
*******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
But it was not the end.
Slowly, the trooper's eyes fluttered open... he took a shuddering gasp, feeling a breeze on his face. His eyes were unable to focus, only seeing indistinct blueish-red blurs and shapes... but from the breeze, TK-331 guessed his helmet visor was shattered. His last memory, of being flushed into space, he reactively flailed his arms and legs... only to find only solid ground beneath him.
"What the kark...?" - his own voice sounded... alien... in the man's ears, as he scrabbled around, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position, on what felt like... grassy ground. Sounds of chirping birds, and howl of the wind, in the trees. His eyes still refused to focus.
"If I'm dead, why in blazes does my thigh hurt so much... ?" - he thought, tentatively feeling for the charred hole in his armour's leg plate. From the size and shape of it... he called it right. A glancing hit. With his other gloved hand, he insistently rubbed his eyes, trying to get them to focus.
Slowly, they did... and to his utter bewildered surprise, the stormtrooper found himself squatting on a grassy meadow, on the edge of what looked like a massive forest, stretching up a roiling hillside. Glancing up at the clear blue sky, the sun was shining serenely... a far cry from the coldness of space, which he assumed would be his final resting place.
Rising unsteadily to his feet, and vincing as he put weight on his injured leg, the man took off his helmet... revealing a crew-cut mop of brown hair, above a ruggedly handsome, yet scarred face, a two-day stubble, and cleft chin. His open-mouthed expression remained, as he looked around, squinting slightly at the sun.
"If this is the universe's idea of a karkin' joke... just pretend I'm tearin' up laughing." - he growled under his breath. His only response was continued chirping of birds, in the trees nearby.
Collecting his E11, which was lying on the grassy ground next to him, he checked the charge - the power pack was almost dry. A dozen shots left, at most. And for good measure, he lost the two spares he had left - they must have floated off his armour's ammo belt, when he was blown into space.
Blown into space....
"So why in blazes am I here?! And where IS here, anyway... ?" - the trooper thought, shouldering the weapon, as he picked a random direction to walk, along the edge of the forest, with a slight limp of his injured leg. He retained his helmet, carrying it under his left armpit.
Their last engagement was not above a habitable world... so even if he somehow made it to an escape pod, he'd just be floating in space. Yet he distinctly remembered being blown out into space, before he blacked out. For all intents and purposes, he should be very dead now.
"TK-331 to Control, respond?" - he brought his helmet to his mouth, using the integrated commlink.
"TK-331 to squad, sound off!" - he tried his squad next.
In both cases, only soft static answered him. Wherever he was... there were no comms signals of any kind. Even if he couldn't reach his people, every half-civilised planet was awash in various comms traffic that his helmet transceiver would be able to pick up. Here - there was nothing. Just static. Shaking his head, he decided to take out the comms unit, and store it in his belt satchel, while he discarded the helmet. It was quite bulky to lug around, and with its visor shattered, it wouldn't be much use anyway anymore.
He moved on, keeping to the edge of the forest, not knowing himself why. It made sense... tactically. He could see where he was coming from, and have a point of reference to go back if necessary, in case an extraction shuttle came... and the last thing he wanted was to get lost in the forest, which stretched eastward into the hills, for seeming eternity. And to the west, a grassy plain was equally expansive and featureless. To the distant horizon, he thought he could see a glimmer of some sort - but his eyes could've just as easily been deceiving him.
"Well... as far as planets go... this place is pretty. Untouched nature, looks like. Haven't seen anything like this since that leave we had on Selonia Four. But I'd still like to know where the blazes I am. Still... beats being dead, I guess." - he thought.
Hours passed. By his rough count, without a chrono - about three, before the sun began setting, to the west. And his thigh was REALLY starting to act up. He needed to get out of his armour, and bind the wound. Preferably with a bacta regenerator from his squad medic's pack... but here, he guessed he wouldn't have that luxury.
"Ok... this is gonna get me nowhere fast... need to find some water. Which means gettin' into this forest. Thought I heard some wildlife in there, fifteen minutes or so... and where there's wildlife congregating, there's got to be a spring of some kind. A stream, something they drink from. If I remember my survival course... either way, without water, I'm dead." - the man thought. And his leg aside - he was getting thirsty.
Tentatively, the limping white-clad figure moved into the forest, sliding his rifle casually to his hands again. Just in case some of that wildlife was predatory. The woods around him seemed to... whisper... in the twilight winds. Never a man to be easily unnerved, this place was... unnerving. The deeper he delved into the forest, the more the trooper was getting that crawling feeling he was being watched. More then once, he snapped his head and E11 around, at a crack of a twig, or a howl of some animal in the distance. Twilight was rapidly turning into night, as he still failed to find water. And with a slight twinge of creeping panic - the man realised he was lost. He couldn't retrace his steps in the dark. Had he still had his helmet, and it had a functioning visor, he could set it to nightvision mode, and be able to see - but with only his eyes to guide him, in the night, there was no easy way back.
He had no choice but to press on. Relying more on his ears, then his eyes, to guide him towards either the sound of water running, or the sound of wildlife, which he still assumed would lead him to water, sooner of later.
And that feeling of being watched, remained. Minutes more passed, with the trooper's nerves continuing to slowly fray. This forest was... almost stifling, in it's watchfulness. And the trees themselves... what he could see of them, in the dark, were strange. Gnarled. Ancient.
Soft footsteps, off to the side.
He whirled around, rifle tracking, his eyes squinting. Nothing. He wasn't even sure he didn't imagine it. He glanced down at his white armour, practically glowing in the moonlight finding it's way through the canopy above. He scowled. One thing he wasn't, was stealthy. If anything - or anyone - was indeed stalking him, they'd have no problem doing so.
"Maybe should've taken it off too... but I'd rather have extra protection, then anything else, in this place." - a thought crossed his mind, as he carefully turned back, to move on.
...to practically come face-first into the tip of an arrow, notched in a bow of some kind, aimed directly at his face. He jerked back, focusing his eyes past the tip... onto a shadowy face of a humanoid individual aiming at him... a strangely pointy-eared male, slender in build, yet tall, and moving with sinous grace, eyes of the blackest night, face somewhat pale, dressed in leathery-looking armour of some kind. Another tall, slender pointy-eared figure was off to the side, arrow also notched and aiming at his face. A third one materialised itself from behind one of the trees, this one female, slightly shorter, but... appealingly curvaceous and wiry... also with arrow notched. He didn't hear ANY of them coming, as two more figures appeared behind him, these two with strikingly delicate, curved and intricately engraved swords drawn. They didn't look like vibroblades of any kind, but their gleaming surface made him guess they were very sharp, nonethless. He was surrounded.
The first individual spoke, in an unfamiliar, yet melodious language, as TK-331 slowly spread his arms, in a non-threatening posture. It wasn't Galactic Basic, that much was for certain. TK-331 blinked.
"I don't understand you. Do you speak Basic?" - he replied neutrally, cocking his head slightly, meeting the leader's gaze squarely.
The alien said something else. TK-331 just frowned, shaking his head.
"I do not understand you." - he repeated.
The leader's face turned into a slight annoyed scowl, as he said something else, in what to the trooper's ears, sounded like a different language. Less melodious, more... normal-toned. But equally alien, to him.
"Still not gettin' Word One here." - the stormtrooper shrugged indifferently. Languages were decidedly not his strong suit. He could speak Basic, and that was about it. Everything else, he relied on translation droids, or his unit's dedicated linguists, for certain missions.
The slender alien finally gave up on it, stepping slightly off to the side, and motioning with his notched bow in a specific direction.
"You... you want me to go that way? What for?" - TK asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
The alien just motioned again, as one of the others gave him a slight nudge forward.
Scowling harder, the trooper obeyed. Clearly it was not optional. And with three notched bows being aimed at him, and two swords drawn, he didn't fancy his chances. He doubted those arrows or blades, would do anything against his armour, but his head was exposed. And from their point of aim, clearly these aliens had some idea about it, too.
In silence, they walked through the nightly woods. TK-331 found himself marvelling at the aliens' ability to move quickly and soundlessly through the boughs of trees, at times seemingly gliding above the ground. Their body weight was either very light, or they were very strong for their size to move like that. Or both. Yet they didn't look bulky. It was strange. At the same time, his bum leg was making him stumble more and more often. And his laboured breathing was turning loud, in his own ears. More then once, he thought he caught subtle snickering from some of them. Especially the female one.
"Yeah, laugh it up, schutta... I'd like to see YOU do better, after trudging through the woods for hours, after being blasted in the karkin' leg!" - the trooper's scowl deepened. Still... she was - not to mince words - from what glimpses he caught of her face - an absolute knockout! Her agility and grace reminded him of Twi'Lek dancers, yet she didn't have those disgusting head-things - lekku - hanging down her neck, which automatically made her more attractive to his Imperial human-centric sense of aesthetics. Sure, those pointed ears were a little off-putting, but ignoring those, she could almost pass for a full human.
When she glanced in his direction, he tried a smile at her. Her dark eyes just narrowed slightly, as she regarded him for an elastic moment. Her expression not giving anything away, before her gaze drifted away, and she motioned him to keep moving.
***
Less then an hour later, they seemed to have arrived at their destination. A glittering... tree-city... was the closest thing the trooper could describe it as. Yet it didn't look like Wookie cities on Kashyyyk, or Elomin villages, or any of the other arboreal species the Empire once enslaved, that he saw holopics of, or was briefed on. It looked significantly more... sophisticated. And graceful. Almost... mystical. The air itself seemed to glitter, and a multitude of exotic scents found their way into his nostrils.
"Are they some kind of... Force mystics? Or something... ?" - he wondered, slightly uneasily. That would explain their ability to move like they did, and their success in stalking him, sure.
More of the tall, slender aliens could be seen, some of them clad in intricately engraved, metallic chainmail armour and flaring helmets, sword scabbards at their sides. All their equipment was impeccably maintained, yet he didn't see any sign of anything more advanced then bow-and-arrow level of technology. But the way they seemed to use them... the way they moved, the way they eyed him, not with hostility, but with guarded, alert intensity... the man's military instincts told him not to underestimate these people, whoever they were.
He was escorted not to a cell, as he half-expected, but to one of the outlying... huts... even though that term didn't do them justice... where he was given a pail of water to drink from. A pair of guards were posted to the entrance, but other then that, they didn't seem to treat him as a hostile captive. Some time later, a more - regally - dressed alien female came in, clad in white, carrying some herbs, and a roll of boiled.. bandages, he assumed. Clearly, they were going to take care of his leg. She motioned for him to remove his armour.
"What are those?" - he asked, pointing at the herbs.
She regarded him silently, then motioned again for him to remove his armour.
Shrugging, the trooper complied, slightly twisting out of the groove, then un-hooking his plasteel suit's right legpiece, and removing it. Taking off the armour as a whole was a much more involved process, as each segment was a separate part, attached to a light support endoframe, but fortunately, Stormtrooper armour was modular. He set it aside next to his cot, motioning for her to... proceed. Only now, taking a good look at his burn, did he scowl. It was pretty deep - that blaster bolt actually carved fairly deep into the muscle tissue, not just singed the skin. Not enough to disable the leg, and severely weakened by burning through the armour, but TK-331 could see why his limp was steadily getting worse.
"Good thing it didn't hit squarely... doubt they'd be able to fix that, and not just cut it off. I haven't seen a bacta tank around... or cyber-prostheses." - he reflected with dark amusement.
Wordlessly, the alien woman squatted down soundlessly, pouring some of the warm, herb-filled water onto the wound. The man reactively tensed, expecting searing pain, yet... nothing of the sort happened. If anything, the herb-enriched water seemed to soothe the burning sensation, almost as effectively as bacta would. Whatever those herbs were, they weren't antiseptic in a typical sense. AkA - they didn't hurt like hell when applied, which was his usual experience with primitive alcohol-based medications. He relaxed again, lifting the leg slightly, allowing her to wrap the warm bandages around, once the burn was thoroughly cleaned.
Meeting her eyes, the trooper pointed at himself.
"I'm TK--- oh kark, what's the point... my name is Merrik." - he tapped his chest. "Me - Merrik. Merrik - he tapped his armored chestplate again - Merrik Borsa."
She nodded slighty, clearly understanding the gist of it immediately, as she pointed at herself.
"Olywenn. Olywen S'sa'yllyia Aerlaas." - the words practically sounded like music, spoken in that melodious overtone that seemed to be the hallmark of these people's language. Very different to the simplistic, utilitarian quality of Galactic Basic. The trooper suspected that learning even the fundamentals of it, would be a challenge. If he was even capable of rolling his tongue like they seemed to do effortlessly. Somehow - he had a feeling the other way around would be much easier for them to learn.
"Nice to meet you. And... thanks." - he nodded, with a smile, pointing at his leg. Unlike the woman from before, this one actually returned it. A brief twitch of her lips, and a nod in return, but - returned it nonethless.
***
The next morning...
Contrary to all expectations he had... as he still had zero clue where he was, or how he got here... the trooper slept soundly, tired out by the events from yesterday, his wound, and the shock of awakening on this unknown world. The first thing he did, was reach to his armour's satchel, for the comms unit.
"TK-331 to Control? Respond?"
"TK-331 to squad? Anyone?!"
As before, his only response was soft, monotone static. Scowling, Merrik put it away again. A movement towards the entrance caught his attention, as well as a shadow blocking the sunlight from outside. One of the two guards outside briefly poked his head in, to see who the stranger was talking to, just as quickly gone.
"Don't worry - just calling home. For all the good it does me." - he muttered under his breath.
He glanced at his bandaged-up leg, then slowly stretched it out, expecting pain to shoot up the thigh, as soon as the muscle extended. But no pain came. He frowned.
"What the kark... ? Even a bacta patch wouldn't be able to fix this up in one night! No way..." - he thought, carefully lifting the wrap, to look at the burn.
Only to find healthy, pinkish skin beneath. No trace of a burn, no trace of even a burn scar, which a bacta patch would leave behind. Nothing. He stretched his leg fully. No pain at all, no discomfort. At this, Merrik shook his head. Whatever they treated him with, HAD to be more then just herbal remedies. Because this level of recovery was, for lack of a better word - impossible. He was no medic, but he watched his squad's medic at work plenty of times. He had a working understanding of recovery times.
"Maybe they really do use the Force... or maybe I'm a lot further... away... then I think I am." - he thought, biting his lip, as he unwrapped his leg, and stood up, putting weight on it. Nothing. No pain, no discomfort. For all intents and purposes, it behaved like it was never injured. At this, the stormtrooper could only shrug. He didn't get it. He suspected he wouldn't get it, for a while yet.
His armour's pieces were orderly sorted, next to the cot, just the way he left them last night, when he finally undressed. His E11 blaster rifle was there too. Clearly, nobody considered it a weapon, else he had to assume they wouldn't have let him keep it.
"Makes sense. It's not a sword, and it's not a bow. Which is all these people seem to have. Must look like a thick stick or a short staff, of some kind, to them. A tool. Meaning they don't see it as a weapon. Good. What they don't know can't hurt 'em. Unless they give me reason to." - Merrik thought, again checking the powerpack charge. His scowl returned, as the small indicator display showed 13 shots left.
Once those get depleted... he would have to go native. One way or another. Thirteen blaster bolts - was all that still connected him to his own existence. He set out, to meticulously clean up the weapon, using some of the unwrapped cloth. During his trek through the forest, plenty of mud and dirt had found it's way onto it. Hopefully not INTO it, though. Taking off the port cover, he looked inside, to the delicate circuitry, power lines, collimation and firing chamber relays, that made up the internals of a blaster weapon. They looked intact enough, but he was acutely aware that in this environment, there would be NO replacements for any. No spare parts. No maintenance tools. And sooner or later, the environment would find it's way in. Carefully, he cleaned all exposed parts, then put the cover back on, making sure it fit snugly, and provided an airtight seal.
Just as he was finishing putting his armour back on, some commotion from the outside drew his attention. Distant yells. Shouts. A sound of a... trumpet of some kind? Maybe a horn? He had read holodramas, as a child, of ancient armies using trumpets and horns, to sound the alarm. Was the city under attack?
He stepped out.
"What's happening--?" - he began, addressing one of the guards, but they just shoved past him, clearly on their way to the city's lower levels. Both drew their swords, as they descended. That was answer enough, for him. He squinted below, trying to make out what was going on, finally just using his E11's holosight to get a slightly magnified image. While it was far from a sniper scope, it did provide a small degree of magnification.
He could make out the aliens, forming ranks at the forest floor. Bow armed, sword armed, they were dividing into - fire teams? Squads? He doubted they called it that, but that's what it looked like to him. As he watched, he saw them break up by... squads... and head to the outskirts of the city.
"Definitely trouble. But maybe I can earn my keep... they did patch me up." - the stormtrooper thought, finding a path down the spiralling walkways of the city, as he picked a... squad... to follow. Plenty of city inhabitants saw him, but none seemed to pay him much attention - probably too worried about what was coming.
Now on the outskirts, he could finally see through his weapon's scope, what exactly that was. They looked nothing like his hosts. They had pointed ears too, but their faces were... a mess. Cut up, misshapen, scarred, wild eyes blazing, sharp, almost animalistic teeth in their mouths, dressed in patchwork armour and wielding crude, rusty weapons.
He recognised a horde when he saw one. A horde of what? The trooper didn't know. He didn't care. But the way they were yipping and snarling, rushing mindlessly into the stacked ranks of the city defenders - he knew he would indeed earn his keep. He didn't owe his hosts any particular loyalty. But they did take care of him. And for everything else Merrik was, everything else he did in his service to the Empire, not all of it the least bit noble - he repaid his debts.
The defenders had discipline and skill on their side. The attackers had numbers and rage, on theirs. And thirteen blaster bolts, in his E11, would make a difference. As far as those attacking primitives were concerned, likely thirteen lightning-strikes, from a god. They may intimidate them, confuse them, do much more then just kill.
He sighted-in, resting the barrel of the weapon, on a tree branch he was skulking behind, some fifty paces behind the defending lines. He watched his hosts loose volley after volley of inhumanly precise arrows. But as many as they felled, more yipping beasts were incoming, about to fall upon the defending line.
He fired, opening a fiery hole in the chest of one. Those nearest to him reacted in shock and fear, recoiling and scrambling away in terror, as another blaster bolt found it's way into the gut of another, burning-through cleanly. The entire charge faltered, and his hosts took full advantage of it, letting loose more arrows, then leading a charge at the faltering beasts. They looked as surprised as the attackers, but their discipline allowed them to focus on the task at hand. And it was clear that they weren't the target of the magical lightning-blasts from the stranger's thunder rod.
Merrik shifted aim, letting loose a third bolt, into another creature's chest, burning through fully. Then another. And another. Eight shots left.
"New enemy. New world. Same rules of engagement. I can work with that." - the veteran stormtrooper thought, shifting aim again, icy calm, eyes narrowed slightly, fully in his comfort zone once more.
THE END