Phoenix Company Ch 1
Posted: 2002-11-17 03:19pm
Due to some fuckup, I can't post this in the PC Ch 2 thread...and it
got chopped off...apparently it's too long for one post
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PHOENIX COMPANY
by
Mark Sheppard
WINNER OF THE GOLDEN STAR DESTROYER AWARD
FOR BEST GROUND COMBAT IN A FANFIC
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[Draysan IV]
"Papa Company, Report! Repeat, Papa Company, Report!"
With a growl, the Lieutenant commanding the second armored platoon of P
Company smashed in the radio.
"Cocksuckers! There's no more Papa company, you slime pools!" said Lt.
Mark Sheppard of the Imperial Army as he frantically pulled his E-11
out of it's niche in the smoke-filled turret of his Oppressor medium
tank.
The stench of burnt flesh assaulted his nostrils, permeating his grey
Army-issued Jumpsuit and matching body armor. The horrible smell was
enough to make a man retch.
"By the Sith, they're gonna pay for this!" he yelled as he climbed out
of the ruined turret, almost slipping on his gunners' guts on the
ladder, where they had been blown by the medium blaster cannon bolt
that had penetrated the turret armor, killing his gunner and his comm
technician, but leaving him miraculously unscathed, a mistake that was
going to cost them dearly.
If the turret had been a slaughterhouse, outside it was Hell. Burning
tanks stretched as far as he could see in the thick oily smoke
generated by the very same burning hulks he saw.
Shriveled bodies lay in pools of burning fuel, trees were blackened
stumps, and bodies were everywhere. Some were Rebel; some were
Imperial, but the Reaper had forgotten Mark Sheppard.
Suddenly, out of the gloom of the smoke came a figure clothed in Rebel
gear. Sheppard raised the E-11, and squeezed the trigger like a whore's
tits. No cleansing bolt came from the muzzle to exterminate the Rebel
Scum before him.
Cursing, Sheppard dropped the weapon and grabbed an entrenching tool
from it's slot on the turret, opening and locking the blade into place.
With a grunt, he leapt from the turret and onto the surprised rebel,
who wasn't expecting any survivors in the hellish inferno.
Gripping the spade in the way it had been taught to him by his close-
combat instructors: left hand on the handle, and the right hand on the
base of the post (where it meets the shovel head), Sheppard silently
drove the tip of the spade into the base of the Rebel's throat (the V
notch above the sternum). As the rebel's eyes widened, Sheppard pushed
his left hand down on the handle.
The rebel screamed an inhuman cry of pain as he fell to the ground in
agony. As the rebel scrabbled frantically at him, Sheppard looked into
the scum's eyes which were bulging out frantically. "See you in Hell,
you Sith Spawn!" he breathed as he drove his foot down on the shovel,
driving the blade through the rebel's throat, decapicating him like a
chicken.
Breathing heavily, he picked up the rebel's own E-11. "By Vader,
they'll pay for this!" he growled from between clenched teeth as he
checked the rebel's E-11. Noticing that the charge on the E-11 was
pretty low, he turned the weapon sideways, and hit the mag release,
dumping the worthless mag. As he scanned the horizon, he slapped in a
fresh mag from his belt and raised it so he'd be able to hit the next
Rebel rat he saw.
Leaving behind the 22 burning tanks and 200 corpses that had been his
Company [writer's note: an Imperial Attack Armor Company has 16 Heavy
Tanks or 28 Light Tanks], Sheppard walked slowly and stealthily through
the shattered forest, in which every third tree had been blown to
shreds by blaster bolts. Suddenly, he heard voices.
Quickly hiding, he saw a group of four soldiers in rebel uniforms. An
idea forming in his head, he clicked his E-11 to `stun' and aimed it at
the rearmost man in the group. He fired, dropping the man like a rag
doll. As the others in the group turned to see what had happened to
their comrade, Sheppard flicked the selector switch on his E-11 to
'kill' and sprayed the others with fiery bolts, blowing the other three
soldiers' chests into steaming vapor. The E-11 beeped. He'd just
overloaded the cooling system. The E-11 was now useless for the next 2
minutes. Damn.
Dumping the red-hot E-11 to the ground, Sheppard cautiously advanced to
the forest clearing, where the gooey red messes of the three rebels lay
steaming on the ground. Pocketing the rebels' power packs and two of
their E-11s, he set out for the one he'd stunned, bringing his combat
knife out of it's sheath on his hip.
Rebel Lt. Kant slowly came to. The first thing he saw when he woke up
from the stun bolt was the sharp tip of a combat knife bare millimeters
above his left eyeball. Out of the other eye, he could make out the
fuzzy outline of a man wearing an Imperial Army Tankers' uniform.
"Imperial Lines? Direction and distance. Likely patrol routes for your
friends? NOW!" Sheppard accentuated the last word by lowering his knife
just oh so slightly, so that it was actually touching the Rebel's
eyeball.
"Go to Hell, Imperial."
"You first," rasped Sheppard as he grabbed the rebel's head. Bringing
his knife to the man's throat, he sliced a nice deep furrow in Kant's
neck, where it would bleed a lot, but not be an immediate threat to his
life. After all, the rebel was his only source of info.
After holding the blade over the cut for a few seconds to get it all
nice and bloody, he brought it in front of Kant's face, causing the
man's face to pale visibly.
"You...you..." gasped Kant. He tried to get up, but couldn't since his
arms and legs were bound.
"In case you haven't noticed yet, I've cut your Carotid artery. If I do
nothing, you will bleed to death in about eight standard minutes. If
you tell me what I need to know, I'll put this onto yer neck." Sheppard
waved the bacta patch in the man's face.
"You...you...all right, the frontlines are at bearing zero-two-one from
here, about fifty klicks," moaned Kant, already feeling the loss of
blood.
"What's the comm frequency you guys use?" Sheppard asked, playing idly
with his now-bloodstained knife.
"The...frequency is...3215.12.7 - I told...you...what...you...wanted
to...know...give...me...the Bacta patch!" moaned Kant, scared shitless
from feeling what appeared to be a half-gallon of blood all over his
chest. In reality, it was merely a flesh wound, but Kant didn't know
that.
Sheppard nodded, then peeled the bacta patch's protective covering off
and slapped it onto a nasty looking cut on his face as Kant looked on
in disbelief.
"You...you...promised!" gasped Kant.
"I lied." With that, Sheppard pulled out a Coruscant, the most popular
brand of cigarette in the Empire. Taking a strike anywhere match from
his tanker's survival kit on his belt, he dragged the match on Kant's
face to light it, making the rebel gasp in pain.
Bringing the lit match to his mouth, Sheppard lit his cig up, then
threw the match onto the red mess that had once been a rebel soldier.
Taking a few practice puffs, Sheppard then inhaled deeply and blew the
noxious smoke right into Kant's face, making him choke.
Sheppard's eyes hardened, and he quickly plunged his knife into Kant's
side, and then with a sickening tearing sound, worked it out towards
him, cutting pretty much every major artery in the man's neck, plus his
windpipe.
It was all over in a minute.
Crouching over the the bloody corpse and the attendant blood-soaked
ground, he took a few more hurried puffs from his cig, and then put it
out in the now-dead man's left eye.
Unclipping his compass from his belt and opening the cover, Sheppard
quickly found his bearings with the computerized compass, which
automatically corrected for the local planet's magnetic field.
Looking around one last time, Sheppard extended the butt of his new E-
11 and placed it on his shoulder, the muzzle held slightly low as he
walked deeper into the forest on bearing 0-2-1, taking pains to present
a minimal silhoulette on the skyline.
[Years Later...]
A cold wind whipped across the bleak landscape, and over the hulking
white forms of Dominator heavy tanks dug in at the treeline of a
heavily-wooded evergreen forest.
Fifty meters behind them, hidden amongst the trees, were white-painted
speeder bikes and light repulsorlift transports. Mounted at the front
of a few transports were E-WEB heavy repeating blasters, ready to fire.
In a forest clearing even further back, under white camouflage netting
and hidden in the treeline, were two Golan SP.9 self-propelled medium
anti-infantry blaster cannons. Next to them was a white-painted Leveler
I medium concussion missile launcher. Capable of firing 28 concussion
missiles simultaneously, it was a devastating weapon if used properly.
Next to the Leveler I rose a white mountain of durasteel; this was a
Speizoc v-188 heavy-antitank blaster cannon mounted on an Aratech 440
Super-Heavy Armored Chassis - one of the heaviest energy cannons ever
to see field combat. Behind it was it's equally massive power trailer,
allowing 50 shots from the gargantuan cannon before recharging.
Puny-looking next to these giants, 200 troops stood in the treeline,
milling about, and casting nervous glances into the sky for aircraft.
In the windswept skies, twilight was rapidly approaching, casting
purplish colors onto the men.
All of the extraneous chatter stopped as a white-suited man wearing the
three red bars atop an equal number of yellow bars of an Imperial Army
Captain stepped out of the HQ tent.
Walking up to the portable holo-generator that had been hastily set up
for a field briefing, Captain Mark Sheppard studied the men of P
Company, 1072nd Armor Battalion, 57623rd Assault Regiment, 366th
Reinforced Battlegroup, 799th Atrisian Corps carefully. It had taken
two years, but P Company was now back in business.
Sheppard glanced around the wooded area at the men of his company. He'd
called everyone here for a special briefing before he began the
standard O-group briefing for the officers.
"Gentlemen, As this unit is unique in all the Imperial Army, I've
decided to drop the standard alphabet/phonetic designations for
companies and go for an individual name, like the Hell's Hammer's
armored unit did. Since we're about to go into combat, I decided to do
the renaming now.
With a flourish, Sheppard pushed the `play' button on the
holoprojector. A flaming phoenix appeared clutching the broken symbol
of the Rebellion.
"We are now Phoenix Company. It's fitting, and it'll let us evade
notice from the higher-ups, since it begins with a `P', so we can still
use our old designation on official stationery and reports. To my
right, we've got several boxes of the new logo in varying formats,
sizes, et cetera. If you want to, you can grab decals for your vehicles
or self-bonding patches in both camo and regular schemes for your
uniforms."
Sheppard paused for a moment before continuing. "That's all. Report to
your units now. Platoon commanders, stay here for the CO's O-group
briefing."
Sheppard waited until all the various enlisted men and lower ranking
officers had left for their units before continuing. In front of him
now were Phoenix Company's five platoon commanders, and the company's
staff officers.
Pushing the `advance' button, a holo of Tikrit, the planet they were
on, appeared.
"As you all know, three weeks ago, this shithole of a planet rebelled
against the gloriousness of the Emperor's New Order," Sheppard said
that with a healthy dose of cynicism. Of course, nobody believed that
shit in the military, except the Stormtroopers and those mindless
fanatics at COMPFORCE.
"Now that we're done with the required political indoctrination, lets
get down to brass tacks. A week after the uprising began, the 799th
Atrisian Corps [that's us], was dumped onto the planet with orders to
retake it. We and the other units of the 366th Reinforced Battlegroup
were sent, along with the 327th Reinforced Battlegroup and the 401st
Armored Battlegroup to wrest Tikrit's main settlement, the capital
city, numbering two million civilians, from the rebels. Our Task Force
as it is, numbers 43,000 troops, nearly 75 percent of our Corps. The
61st Battlegroup, which consists of the rest of our Corps, is spread
over the planet, suppressing the smaller settlements."
"Things were going well - we were crushing the scum, until we tried to
take the city."
The holo shifted to show the area surrounding the city of Tikrit. It
was a low rolling plain with a few mountains rising to the southwest.
"Those mountains there contain a secret military complex built by the
planetary government. We didn't know about it, but by tomorrow, it'll
be a pile of slag."
He pushed another button, and the holo zoomed in on the mountains.
Known enemy emplacements appeared on the side of the mountain as rock
slid away to reveal heavy energy weapons. Their locations had been
learned the hard way - in blood.
"From the intensity of the firepower we're taking, HQ thinks there are
at least upwards of two hundred weapons of all sizes and calibers in
that mountain, from Atgar P-Towers -" everyone snickered at that. The
P-Tower was a Clone Wars-vintage energy weapon that posed a threat only
to lightly armored vehicles like the AT-ST. "- to Turbolaser System Is.
They even have a fucking KDY-150 ion cannon in there."
Everyone groaned at that. TL System Is could kill even AT-ATs with
depressing regularity. The reason for the lack of reinforcements also
became clear. Sheppard voiced what many of them were thinking.
"Yes. The cocksuckers have virtually shut down the orbital paths
overhead. Ships have to stop in the outer system to unload their
dropships from there, making them highly vunerable to Rebel muggings
from hyperspace-capable craft. That's why you haven't seen our attached
TIE Ground Support wing much recently. They've been diverted to protect
and escort the dropships in. TIE losses are becoming unacceptable since
the Rebels are no longer sending old Y-Wings, but those damned new B-
Wings. The two SPCs the _Avenger_ dropped off when she made a stop-over
are gone - taken out in the first raids."
He paused. "In short, it is of paramount importance that something
happens to that mountain. That 'something' will happen in two hours'
time at 2000 hours IST (8 PM). At that time, our regiment and the 701st
Regiment will assault the base under cover of darkness. A brief but
intense artillery bombardment will precede the assault by a few
minutes. Even though we estimate the the Rebels in and around the
mountain to be at battlegroup level - 14,100 men in all - most of them
are inside the base, manning the guns themselves, leaving only 7,000
men to guard the entrances to the base itself. Of those, only 5,116 are
actual combat troops."
All around him, grins began to appear on the faces of his commanders.
"It gets better, boys! Apparently the Rebel commander decided to split
his force between protecting his base and his ride home; we've detected
starship-level repulsorlifts in a valley near the base. Both the
transports and the base defensive facilities have at least 2,500 combat
troops."
"Here's where the bad part begins, men. In order to overwhelm the
forces guarding the base and at the same time, block their escape
route, compromises were made." Everyone groaned at that. "The decision
was made to detach our company to provide armored support for the 912th
Line Battalion, which is detached from the 701st Regiment. Together,
our combat strength is only 731 men against the 2,500 troops guarding
the transports. This allowed HQ to mass nearly 4,400 troops to smash
down the frontal defenses, giving us the 2-1 ratio deemed necessary by
the ISOD for winning battles."
"Now, you're probably asking 'If we can win it, why are we here, and
not with the assault force?' From what I've heard, HQ is determined to
prevent another Hoth." Even though the Empire had won, the Rebels had
evacuated with most of their equipment.
"In order to prevent this from happening again, HQ has decided to
launch a TIE Bomber squadron to destroy the transports. However, if we
just destroyed the transports right away, the Rebels would just hole up
in the mountain and fight to the death."
"So...in order to catch the most Rebels out in the open for the TIEs,
HQ put us here. Here's the orders they gave me." With that, Sheppard
motioned towards the holoprojector.
The holo of the mountain disappeared, to be replaced with a highly-
detailed holographic topological map of the hills and valleys behind
the mountain that housed the Rebel base. "The base is here -" Sheppard
said as he pressed a button on his remote, causing a mountain in the
holo to flash red. "Imperial scouts have discovered highly-localized
repulsorlift emissions here, ones that match the signature of the most
common transport the Rebels use."
On the holo, the golden outlines of transports appeared in a mountain
valley near the base. In the middle of each outline was a question
mark. "We haven't actually visually confirmed they're there, but our
forward- deployed scouts have located four significant concentrations
of enemy forces." Pushing another button on his remote, the blue-
colored symbols of the units of P Company and the 912th Battalion
appeared where they currently were. Moments later, reb symbols began
winking in, concentrated near the base.
Pointing to a hill to the west of the bases' rear entrance, Sheppard
began to call out the enemy's strength and OOB. "On this little hill, a
Line Battalion has dug in." He then pointed to a forest to the south of
the base's back door. "Here, another Line battalion has dug in. To it's
north, a Heavy Weapons Battalion has been heavily entrenched in several
lines of interlocking trenches around the rear entrance to the base.
Northwest of it, a Repulsorlift battalion patrols the area for
intruders like us."
Pushing another button, two glowing lines covered the holo, the bottom
one skirting the hills that kept them out of sight from the Rebels,
while the upper one crossed the trenches around the base's rear
entrance. Pointing to the bottom one, Sheppard spoke. "As soon as this
meeting is over, we have to start moving in order to reach our jumping-
off point, Phase Line Charlie, before H-Hour. HQ estimates that around
H-Hour plus 30 minutes, the Rebels will begin withdrawal efforts. Our
orders are to wait at Phase Line Charlie until 'A reasonable amount of
Rebels have started towards the transports.' Unofficially, we wait
until a whole fucking horde of Rebel scum has fled the base and are
running to their transports.
"Once that happens, we jump-off towards Phase Line Echo," with that,
Sheppard pointed to the topmost line; the one where the Rebels were -
"and enage the enemy with 'All Reserves'. I've run it through the
TacSims several times, and all of them go like this." Sheppard then
pushed a button on his remote.
In the hologram, a counter appeared, reading 'H-Hour plus 0 minutes'.
On the map, the Imperial forces were massed behind the hill at Phase
Line Charlie. Suddenly in the middle of the hologram, large block
letters appeared, reading 'SIMULATION START'. On the holo, the symbols
of the Rebels began moving. For a few seconds they moved leisurely, but
suddenly sped up, moving frantically about as the counter ran. At H-
Hour plus 40 minutes, dozens of Rebel symbols began pouring out of the
rear entrance, heading for the golden transport outlines. Minutes
later, the Imperial symbols crested the hill, and began firing at the
rear-most rebel units, those closest to the base entrance. Bright
flashes began popping up all over, and units dropped from company-level
to Platoon-level, then to Squad-level and finally, into oblivion.
As the minutes wore on, more and more Rebel symbols winked out, along
with Imperial ones, but the Rebels had more units. Just as it was down
to three Imperial Platoons against thirty Rebel ones, the symbols of a
squadron of TIE Bombers appeared, loosing concussion missiles into the
transports and dropping clusters of thermal detonators into the Rebel
units, wreaking havoc.
Once the bright flashes of the holo-explosions had diminished, only 2
squads of Imperial infantry stood against 15 Rebel Platoons. Two
simulated minutes later, the last Imperial trooper died and the sim
ended. The Imperials had been totally wiped out, but the Rebels were
now stuck on Tikrit, and at least 6,000 of them lay dead. "Six thousand
Rebel dead against a thousand Imperial KIAs. Technically, we kicked
ass, but the cold hard truth is something like 75% of the Rebel
casualties came from that TIE bombing run. HQ wants to use us as a
speedbump to slow down the Rebels' retreat long enough so lots of
Rebels are caught in the open, completely unprotected when the TIEs
come in for the transports."
"HQ thinks we are 'acceptable casualties' to get the Rebels to slow
down," Sheppard said in a now-icy voice. "People, I did *not* rebuild
this company only to see it thrown away again. We are going to follow
the plan...up to a point. As you are well aware of, we have our own
artillery support in the form of a Speizoc SP v-188 and a Leveler I.
Through...certain channels, I have obtained a reasonable quantity
of...'special' weapons for the Leveler I.
Everyone smiled, in particular, the Lieutenant who commanded the
Special Missions Platoon. As soon as the barest hint of a grin appeared
on his scarred face, everyone, even his own men, began inconspicuously
moving away from him.
"Heh Heh. TIme to have some fun with the good stuff," remarked LT. Hit-
Man. _Shit, this kid keeps surprising me._ Hit-Man thought, remembering
his first meeting with the Captain a year-and-a-half ago in a seedy bar
on Corellia.
The LT. had been celebrating a sucessful raid on a Rebel cell in the
nastiest dive he could find in Corellia, when an Imperial Army Captain
had siddled up next to him at the bar. Normally, he had no use for the
Army. Those gray maggots almost always slowed down his stormtroopers.
The Captain tried to strike up a conversation with him, but an icy
glare fixed that problem. Before he could take a sip from his glass of
120-proof Corellian Ale, a trio of Trandoshians had surrounded him and
the Army guy.
"Your kind isn't wanted here, Imperial." sneered the leader as he gave
a shove to Hit-Man's right shoulder. Hit-Man snarled, the glow of his
cyber-eye deepening to a dark crimson - the color of blood - matching
both his anger and the red haze beginning to obscure his vision as the
bloodlust of the Dark Side took hold.
Before he could wreak his brand of unholy havoc upon the Trandoshians,
the Army Captain suddenly raised his mug in salute and shouted, "Long
live the 7th Line Corps!" at the top of his lungs. This bought an
immediate response from the Trandoshians as the 7th Corps was the Army
unit that had just wrapped up a highly sucessful COIN (COunter-
INsurgency) deployment on the Trandoshian homeworld that had resulted
in the destruction of priceless Trandoshian cultural and religious
objects and buildings along with the deaths of nearly three million
Trandoshians. This sent the trio off the deep end. With a roar, the
leader slugged the Captain, causing him to spill all of his ale over
his Army dress uniform.
"You just made the last mistake of your miserable life!" the Captain
snapped just before he smashed his now-empty but still very heavy mug
into the leader's face at a particular point, shattering the alien's
skull, and driving bone fragments into his brain, killing him
instantly. The Trandoshians started to draw their weapons, but the one
nearest to the Captain suddenly found it quite hard to continue higher
brain functions with the hilt of a Commando Knife sticking out of his
left eye. He crumpled to the floor, and his friend joined him moments
later as the Captain suddenly produced a compact hold-out pistol with
integral suppressor and shot him squarely between the eyes virtually
noiselessly, the subsonic round being barely audible. In just a shade
under ten seconds, the Army guy had killed three heavily-armed
Trandoshians almost silently. This caused Hit-Man to rethink his
earlier hostility towards this Army puke.
"I woulda made 'em suffer more before I iced 'em," Hit-Man said,
playing with his own knife, caressing the blade like a woman's tits.
"But that'll do. Now, what was it you wanted? People don't do small
talk with me cuz they like my charming personality. You need a rival
assassinated so you'll get that promotion? Sorry. I don't do that
shit."
"Neither do I," said the mysterious Captain. "However, I have a
proposition for you and your men." There was a pause, then Hit-Man
spoke. "Proposition? Don't make me laugh, Army boy."
"Very well. Arcus Four," replied the Captain, referring to a battle two
months ago in which Hit-Man's Company had taken 50 percent casualties.
Only his platoon had escaped relatively unscathed from that inferno.
"Correct me if I'm wrong Lieutenant, but wasn't your company supposed
to have been assisted by light armor company on Arcus Four?"
Hit-Man growled, his cyber-eye reddening menacingly as his rage rose.
"'Supposed', Captain, is the operative word. Those cowards left us to
die so they could rack up some Rebel GAVs for their turret sides!"
"Relax," said the Captain, putting his hand on Hit-Man's shoulder in an
attempt to calm him down. It didn't work. "The same thing happened to
me on Draysan Four six months ago. Twenty-Two heavy tanks, all lost
because some fool at Regimental HQ thought a single company could hold
off a battalion of Rebels long enough for a Heavy Armor Regiment could
arrive and finish the job. That regiment never came. It was later that
I learned that it had been deliberate - seems the ISB was suspicious of
our Captain - so they decided to get rid of him using 'white' methods."
Hit-Man nodded slightly, recognizing the old 'He died gloriously,'
method of eliminating officers covertly. "I was the only survivor, and
as luck had it, a non-entity to the ISB, so they gave me the job of
rebuilding my company. I'm rebuilding it into a combined-arms company.
Your platoon is one of the pieces I need. Interested?
"This is highly irregular...Captain," Hit-Man said. "Just what would
our role be?"
"Your platoon has the explosives experts I need sorely. You'll be the
ones who crack open fortifications, and roll bombs into the openings to
clear a path for our Line platoon to enter the fortifications to clean
them out of Rebels."
"And what will we be supported by?'
"Right now, I'm trying to find a Scout platoon and an Artillery
platoon. I already have the basic components - a Heavy armor platoon
equipped with four Dominators, and a Line platoon. The plan is to
provide covering fire with the arty and tank platoons, allowing the
Line platoon and yours to reach the objective with minimal casualties.
The scouts will provide us with long-range detection, allowing our arty
to be much more lethal."
"Interesting. And what will we use?" Hit-Man asked, by now showing a
little interest.
"For your snipers, I've procured a crate of BlasTech A280s. Perhaps
you've heard of them. They can blow a fully-armored trooper in half at
medium range." Hit-Man's face twitched as he remembered the Rebel with
the A280 who'd blown his right leg off, leaving him with a cybernetic
leg.
"The Combat Engineers will get new, experimental E-11s, such as the E-
11/F/A, an E-11 with an under-barrel flamethrower that feeds off a
canister on the trooper's back, plus full auto fire. Quite handy in
confined spaces. E-11/A/40s will be general issue to all non-specialist
troopers. They have a 40mm grenade launcher slung under the barrel,
along with a newly designed collapsible stock which is far, far more
sturdy than the old folding stocks. They also have the ever-popular
full auto mod."
"Your demo experts get the Mk 39/A, a fully automatic 40mm grenade
launcher based on the E-11 reciever, capable of accepting either 12
round drum magazines or a linkless belt of 100 rounds per belt. Mounted
along the Mk 39/A's barrel is a light blaster roughly equivalent to the
Merr-Sonn Quick 6 in power, allowing the user to defend himself while
reloading without the hassle of a second weapon."
"How will you hide all this from the higher-ups?" Hit-Man asked,
teetering on the edge of a decision.
"My S-2 (Company Logistics Officer) is working in co-ordination with my
SC4 (Company Technical Officer), who is a quite accomplished hacker, to
hide it through bogus reports and database editing."
"Sounds good," rumbled Hit-Man. "Count me and my men in. By the way,
what's your name, Captain?" he said, extending his cybernetic left hand
to the Captain, who shook it enthuastically. "The name's Sheppard. Mark
Sheppard, and welcome to P Company!"
Snapping back to the present, Hit-Man resumed listening to the mission
briefing.
"Among these 'special weapons' are Fex-M3 nerve gas and Plank gas,
which we'll be using on this mission. The M3 goes to those two line
battalions and the heavy weapons battalion at the base entrance. The
Plank goes to the repulsorlift battalion. We expect the enemy to suffer
heavy causualties from our chemical strike, because unlike us, the
Rebels do not wear armor or even carry chemical suits.
Everyone started to giggle evilly at that. The Rebels would pay for
their foolishness and short-sightedness. "Okay, calm down, everyone."
Sheppard said, raising his hand. Once the noise had died down, he
resumed speaking.
"When this briefing is over, we're moving to Phase Line Charlie, where
we will wait for H-Hour and the inevitable flood of fleeing Rebels
before we attack. Our attack will be preceeded by a barriage of 28
concussion missiles from our Leveller I. Each enemy battalion will be
struck by seven missiles carrying the chemical agents. As soon as the
missiles strike, Lieutenant Dalton and his platoon of tanks will move
in - buttoned up, of course; and kill the survivors. If Sergeant Sutton
and his v-188 find any good targets, they will exterminate them with
the gun - remember, you only have 50 shots Sutton, so make them count!"
Pausing, Sheppard thought for a moment. "Lieutenant Seifert and his men
are already forward-deployed at Phase Line Charlie, giving us up-to-
the- minute reports on the enemy's disposition. His scout platoon's
orders are to harass the enemy. To this extent, their speeder bikes
have been modified to carry up to fifty kilograms of equipment. They
have several sniper rifles, Plex Twos, and man-portable ion cannons to
allow them to harass the enemy from range. After firing a few rounds,
they'll mount their bikes and move to a new location before resuming
fire. If you need a particular tank or soldier zapped by Seifert and
his men, designate the target in your HUDs with the Baker tag. For v-
188 targets, use the Able tag."
"Once the chemicals have dissipated enough; which should take a minute
or two, Lieutenant Dice will move his men in towards the base entrance.
The reason for waiting is because I really don't trust those NBC suits
the Army gets. By this time, Lieutenant Hit-Man and his SpecWar
platoon, being in Stormtrooper armor, will have advanced considerably
with Dalton's tank platoon and they will sanitize the base entrance to
allow Dice's platoon to breach the base."
"Through certain channels, I have also arranged TIE ground support on
demand for us. Don't ask how I got it, but when I give the order, at
least one TIE will split off to support us immediately."
"Your final directive is thus: Take no unneccessary prisoners. I don't
want a hundred Rebel grunts; I want a Rebel SpecForce officer! Got
that?"
"Yes, SIR!" roared back the commanders of Phoenix company.
"Good. Head for your vehicles. We jump off for Charlie in an hour."
Silently, the meeting broke up as everyone headed back to their units
to perform company-level briefings.
Behind Sheppard, the HQ tent was being dismantled, and artillerymen
were scrambling up ladders on the sides of their vehicles and into the
warmth of their fighting compartments.
After a minutes' jog, Sheppard and the members of Alpha Platoon
(Armored) reached the looming white mountains of their Dominator Heavy
Tanks. Scrambling to the commanders' hatch on the turret's top,
Sheppard undogged it and sat down in his chair, which was hydraulically
powered. He didn't have to climb in and out of the turret by standing
up on his chair - the chair rasied him up instead.
Moments after the driver, a Specialist Stubbs, had reached his hatch,
which was flush with the turret's surface just in front of the
commander's cupola, the tank rumbled to life. Flicking on the power to
the commander's cupola, Sheppard ran through the start-up checklist for
his position.
Commander's Independent Sensor Network (CISN).....Check
Satellite Uplinks....Check Cupola
drive........Check Commander's E-WEB Heavy Repeating Blaster....Check
With the checklist completed, Sheppard pushed the 'up' button on his
chair. It raised him so his upper body was out of the hatch. A sharp
'klack!' to his left drew his attention. It was only Sergeant Waylon,
his gunner, readying his personal weapon, a pintle-mounted BlasTech T-
21 light repeating blaster for use. Behind him, Sheppard also heard his
loader, Private Pipes, readying his T-21 too.
Looking down at the bank of status lights on the controls below him in
the turret, Sheppard saw they all were green. It was with great
satisfaction that he donned his tankers' helmet and snapped the chin-
strap closed. Plugging the lead from his helmet into a socket on his
chair, he plugged into the tank's optical network.
Automatically detecting his presence outside the tank, a clear visor
rolled down from it's niche in the helmet. On the visor's surface,
holographic status readouts began to appear, including the targetting
reticle for his cupola-mounted E-WEB. Bringing the helmet boom mike to
his lips, Sheppard spoke.
"Tank, Status report!"
"Stubbs, all green here," said his driver. "Waylon, same here," the
gunner said. "Pipes, A-OK here," said the loader. "Makel, situation
optimal," said his comm-tech, SP/4 Makel. Only command tanks had comm-
techs and the necessary equipment needed to handle C^3I duties.
"Alpha Platoon, report!" The helmet AI automatically routed the call to
Alpha platoon.
"Dalton here. All peachy, sir." "Atti here. Check!" "Suko, Reporting
in!" "Darklighter, A-OK!"
"Beta Platoon! Report!" "Hit-Man here...sir."
"Charlie Platoon, Report!" "Seifert here - A-OK. Nothing new from the
Rebels."
"Delta Platoon, Check!" "January, A-OK!" "Sutton, READY!" "Varj,
Check!" "Lorl, All ready, sir!"
"Echo Platoon, Report!" "Dice here. We're all ready here, sir!"
All the platoon lieutenants (when it was a simple infantry platoon) and
their subordinates (when it was an armor platoon or artillery company
with multiple large-scale units) had checked in. Time to get this show
on the road. But first, he had a little matter to take care of. "Rob,"
he said, the helmet AI recognizing the recepient's name and routing the
call to his helmet speakers.
"What's up, Shep?" Dalton said, waving to Sheppard.
Across the forest, Sheppard saw one of the tank commanders waving to
him from his open cupola. Returning the wave, he replied, "Nothing
much, Rob. Once the defenders are dead, I'm dismounting to follow Hit-
Man's and Dice's boys inside. When I dismount, you're the platoon CO.
Got that?"
"Yah. Is our bet still on?" asked Rob.
"Sure is. Whoever kills the most Rebels gets that 1,000 ImpCreds,"
replied Sheppard.
Suddenly, Hit-Man's voice burst over the comm-net. "I heard that, you
scum-sucking maggots! Good luck ya pansies in trying to get MY money!"
With that, Hit-Man went off the air with an omnious click.
Both Dalton and Sheppard slumped dejectedly in their cupolas. Somehow,
the LT had found out about their informal bet and had hijacked it from
them. Both of them saw in their mind's eye, the 1,000 creds sprouting
wings and flying away.
Sheppard took a deep breath. Time to employ the only known remedy to a
Hit-Man inspired slump; killing lots of people, preferably Rebels.
Sighing, he dictated the fateful orders that were to propel him and his
men on an as-yet-unknown journey into a strange land. "All units, move
to Phase Line Charlie and hold until my command."
Beneath him, Sheppard felt the 90-ton behemoth rumble into life, taking
the lead position towards the hills in the distance. A sudden flush of
energy invigorated Sheppard - the energy that comes from booming over
hill-and-dale with unimaginable firepower at *your* hands.
An observer at the foot of the hill would have seen a white colossus of
durasteel come rumbling towards them at speed, it's treads kicking up a
spray of snow; three supremely self-confident men hanging out of the
turret hatches, their hands on a deadly array of repeating blasters,
eyes constantly searching for the enemy. But most of all, they had
malevolent grins on their faces from the knowledge that all who opposed
them would be exterminated by nightfall.
Moments after the first tank passed, another one roared past, this one
the same as the first, except that it was Rob Dalton's gloating body
that hung out from the commander's cupola. Minutes later, several
repulsorlifts holding Hit-Man and Dice's platoons floated by, every man
alert for possible dangers.
Finally came the slow rumbling hulk of the v-188 SP, followed by a pair
of Golan SP.9s. Inside the v-188, Sutton laughed manically. He was
buttoned up because the side effects of firing the huge gun were deadly
to any unprotected personnel within 60 meters. Already Sutton was
fondling and caressing the joystick for the gun like a hot piece of
ass, eagerly anticipating utterly vaporizing people from several klicks
away.
Sutton's subordinates looked at each other warily. Word was it that the
Captain had dug up the Sergeant because he had absolutely no qualms
about employing high-energy weapons on *anyone*, even women and
children.
Deep behind the Rebel lines, a soldier unzipped his fly and created
some steaming yellow snow. A kilometer away, a clump of bushes shook as
Lieutenant Seifert took careful aim at the Rebel with his heavily-
modified BlasTech A280. It had been modified to carry a high-powered
electroscope that linked directly to his helmet HUDs. A longer, heavier
barrel with a built in bipod had been mounted along with a new
focussing array that tripled the effective range of the weapon.
Seifert itched to be able to pull the trigger and blow a hole in the
arrogant Rebel's head to let his brains boil away, but orders were
orders. Looking to his right, he saw the other four men of his scout
squad crouching, Plex-2Ms on their shoulders, waiting patiently like
him. 230 meters to his southeast lay his other scout squad. His
remaining two infantry squads had been left behind with the Leveller I
some 465 meters to his rear to provide protection for the vunerable
unit.
"Seifert here, no change." Every so often, his eyes would flicker to
the lower right of his readouts, to the digital clock counting away the
seconds to H-Hour.
[465 meters to the rear]
Lieutenant January scratched the back of his head as he began laying in
the targets for the NBC strike in the red-lit command compartment of
the Leveller I. Out the drivers' windows, a light snow was beginning to
fall as night took hold, the only remnants of the sun was a purplish
light that dimmed every secodn towards blackness. _Just like my heart,_
thought January. Had it been a year since his family had died in a
rebel attack? It seemed like only yesterday to him. Of course, being
horribly maimed made it easier to remember when, each morning, as you
got out of bed, you saw silvery cyber-legs instead of flesh.
As he designated each target, he had to press the 'accept' button each
time he added a target, because the computers required additional
verification that yes, you wanted to launch nerve-gas filled missiles.
Normally, only the Moff of that sector could authorize the use of NBC
weapons. In the Army you had to attain battlegroup command (i.e., be a
High Colonel) before you could command NBC release independent of high
command. This was mostly to prevent political fallout from
indiscriminate use of NBCs during a pacification campaign.
_Glad I'm not the Captain_, January thought. The Captain was gonna take
hell for somehow laying his hands on the stuff and then using it
without authorization from a Moff or High Colonel. Rebels would die
anyway, which would make it easier for him to handle the ISB
interrogations sure to follow.
It took January six minutes, rather than two, to lay in the targets for
all 28 missiles because he had to handle the additional procedures
involved with handling NBC weapons. Finished, he sat back, his eyes
wandering to the digital clock on the bulkhead, which was counting down
to H-Hour.
[1 hour, 33 minutes later]
Through his helmet HUD, Sheppard observed the movements of the Rebel
forces in the valley below. He yawned. Same old patterns that he'd been
watching since his tank had manuvered into an advanced hull-down
position on the away ridge of the hill. The only thing showing to the
Rebels was a small cupola. Next to him, the other four tanks were in
similar positions, along with the v-188 and SP.9s.
They'd been waiting here for the last hour in their jump-off positions
along Phase Line Charlie. Glancing at the digital clock in the lower
right corner of his HUD, he saw it was only 5 minutes to H-Hour.
[Five minutes later]
Sheppard watched the counter click down to zero. An eerie silence hung
in the dark night a second before the entire night sky over the base
erupted in white light from the Battlegroup's Leveller Is ripple-firing
their payloads.
Moments later, reddish-orange fireballs erupted on the horizon as the
missiles found their targets. Finally the sound reached him, a low
rumble that reverberated through his body.
The sky now filled with an eerie green glow that reflected off the
overcast sky from the bolts of the line-of-sight guns that were now
joining the bombardment of the Rebel base. The distant thunder of
weapons fire settled into the background, never quite flaring, but
never quite disappearing either.
[Inside the Rebel Base]
The walls shook, causing the cheap plaster to rain down onto the
panicked Rebels inhabiting the base. Cat naps were broken abruptly, and
people ran from the mess halls, leaving what was to be their last meal
in this life uneaten.
Some were in even more...ahem, shall we say, 'compromising' positions.
Belt buckles were snapped closed, and spooge on uniforms was
frantically wiped off.
Kathryn Jordan, commander of Theta Base, was sitting on the toilet the
moment the walls shook and the lights went out, to be replaced moments
later with the dim glow of the battle lanterns.
"Godfuckingdammit!" she cursed as she frantically reached for the
toilet paper, but finding none. Cursing even more, she finally resorted
to that old standby, the left hand.
Clutching her uniform pants in shit-stained fingers, she hopped into
the corridor outside the head, and quickly pulled up her pants,
ignoring the disgusted looks on her fellow Rebels' faces.
Several minutes later, she reached the command center, which was deep
inside the mountain, and all but impervious to anything below a
Imperator-class Star Destroyer's heavy turbolasers at full power.
"What the fuck's going on?"
Her XO turned around, and wrinkled his nose. "What the hell is that
smell?"
"Shutup! Answers! Now!"
"We're under heavy bombardment by Imperial forces, sir," said the man,
saying it 'cur' as a sign of disrespect.
"Damage report!"
One of the technicians turned away from her console. "Sir, we lost
several of the more lightly shielded batteries in the mountain face.
Casualty reports are still coming in from the units outside that were
caught in the blast."
"Uncage the big guns!"
"Yessir."
[Gunnery room 123A]
The klaxon started to wail in a 'aaoogah-aaaooogah' sound, signifying
that they should get into the action.
The gunners assistants, clothed in hazmat suits, clambered all over the
massive turbolaser, checking for leaks in the coolant and tibanna gas
lines, as this was an old and second-rate unit. Finding no leaks, they
shouted for the gunners to fire the bitch up.
Another kind of klaxon began to wail and rotating yellow lights came to
life around the gun shutter as coolant leaked around it. Suddenly, in a
blink of an eye, the shutter opened.
Almost instanteously, the huge turbolaser belched red flame, sending a
massive bolt towards the Imperial forces. Even before the coolant
gasses had begun to filter through the slightly glowing barrel, the
shutter flew closed again. The entire sequence had taken less than two
seconds.
[10 km away]
The massive Imperial AT-AT walker marched relentlessly towards the
mountain, its cannons spitting out green lightning, which struck the
Rebel forces several klicks away with uncanny accuracy, killing dozens
instantly.
Inside the walker's head, the gunner suddenly noticed a bright red ball
approaching them rapidly. "Oh krif--"
The gunner never had a chance to finish his sentence, for at that
moment, the bolt slammed into the walker, atomizing the walker
commander, the gunner, and the assistant gunners instantly. The 40 Army
troops in the troop compartment in the belly of the walker lasted a few
millionths of a second longer before the plasma from the bolt ate
through the durasteel and incinerated them.
The walker then simply exploded as the on-board tibanna gas reservoirs
detonated, tearing apart the thick durasteel plates that made up the
walker like tissue paper.
All around the walker, dozens of Army troops fell to the ground, some
dead from the explosive shock wave from the walker exploding, others
from the flying bits of durasteel that had once been part of the
walker.
[Lead AT-AT - Red Platoon]
The Lieutenant cursed as he saw his wingman explode in a fiery flash.
Out of four AT-ATs in his platoon, he now only had one other, plus
himself.
"Enemy weapon located, sir! Am bringing main cannon to bear, maximum
firepower!" screamed the gunner as he centered his targetting reticle
over the section of rock which he knew was really a concealed shutter
for the deadly turbolaser within.
The AT-ATs targetting computer then took over, synchronyzing the firing
of the twin chin-mounted heavy laser cannons with the opening of the
shutter.
[Gunnery room 123A]
Loud crashing noises reverberated through the cramped fire control
center as weapons fire slammed into the side of the mountain. The
gunners were all in good spirits, for their first shot had taken out an
AT-AT.
"Prepare for second shot!" screamed the Gunner 1st class as he saw the
hazmat suited gunners assistants give the go-ahead signal.
The firing sequence went as before, but the instant the shutter flew
open, a pair of laser bolts flew through the shutter and struck the
turbolaser. It exploded in a massive explosion that sent shockwaves
through the mountain complex, and the blast blew a 10cm thick durasteel
door off it's hinges and roared down several corridors before
incinerating a mess hall full of wounded.
[Rebel Command Center]
The walls shook omniously from the explosion.
"What was that?" asked Mulden.
"Sir, we just lost a TL One! Damage coming in... we lost several
adajent gunnery rooms...casualties heavy...apparently the blast was
channeled into a mess-hall that had been converted into a triage ward."
"Damn."
[TIE Bomber Zulu 0-9]
Lieutenant Nathan Yates looked down at the mountain as his TIE Bomber
squadron prepared for another attack run. A huge explosion had
partially collapsed a section of the mountain, sending a massive
rockslide down onto what appeared to be Rebel trenches.
_Damn. Buried alive. Shitty way to go_ thought Yates. He then heard his
Squadron commander's voice over the tac-net.
"This is Zulu leader. Target the rebel trenches - don't bother with the
weapons emplacements. We don't have a good enough angle, and they open
and close too damn fast for us. Leave them for the ground-pounders.
Select cluster munitions. It's time to mow the lawn."
Yates cracked a small smile behind his helmet. 'Mow the Lawn' was an
euphemism for simply flying wingtip-to-wingtip as they rained down
cluster munitions. Done right, a squadron could literally turn a
several klick long swathe of land some 400m wide into a moonscape.
Suddenly, a sharp 'deedle-deedle-deedle' filled his ears and the red
"MISS WARN" indicator on his status panel began flashing. The deedles
became closer and closer until they blended into a continuous tone. All
this had happened in less than two seconds. On his status panel, "MISS
WARN" went out, to be replaced by "MISS LAUNCH".
In the threat display, a red box appeared in his rear sensor display,
and the words "Akd_3t3" appeared under it, indicating that it was an
Arakyd 3t3 missile, which was usually fired from shoulder-mounted PLX-
2M launchers. Suddenly the letters began flashing red, indicating that
the missile now had a gravity wave lock - which was nearly impossible
to break.
Grunting, Yates threw the TIE Bomber into a hairpin turn, and cut out
the engines. He watched his airspeed rapidly drop to near-zero and the
big bomber quickly stalled, the amount of lift being generated by it's
stubby wings insufficient to hold it up. It dropped like a brick.
Yates saw the ground rushing up to meet him, and at what seemed like
the last moment, he kicked in the ion engines, and pulled up, the belly
of his craft scraping the treetops. Behind him, a section of the forest
exploded in flames as the missile slammed into the ground, having lost
target lock.
Yates pushed a button on his throttle, and the computer began tracking
back the missile to it's launcher. A few seconds later, a holo of a
rebel soldier running through the snow with a PLX-2M slung over his
shoulder appeared on his target display.
Snickering, he turned the TIE Bomber around, and dropped below tree-top
level as he bore down onto the sonofabitch who had had the balls to
shoot at him. Several seconds later, the Bomber shuddered
imperceptibly, and Yates pulled up, and watched the psychidelic
patterns on his cockpit window swirl around as the gooey red mess that
had been a Rebel was wiped off by the wind.
His radio crackled to life. "Zulu Nine, you okay?" asked his commander.
"I'm okay. Just had to see a Rebel make like a bug."
[Phase Line Charlie]
Sheppard cracked his knuckles nervously as he watched the tiny stick
figures of the Rebels running frantically towards the transports, in
order to prep them for immediate take-off.
"Seifert, new targets. The techies at the transports. Slow down that
warm up stuff, fast as possible. Out."
Seifert grunted in reply, and shifted his rifle from the Rebel
defensive emplacements towards the stream of technicians running for
the transports that he couldn't see, but knew were there.
_Moving target, 1.1 klick distance...difficult shot...but then again, I
didn't join the Imperial Army to have it easy._ thought Seifert as he
settled his rifle onto a running technician, their uniform easily
identifiable by the lone blaster pistol in a hip holster and none of
the military gear the other Rebels carried.
_You're already dead, mofo, but you just don't know it._
[Rebel Command HQ]
The HQ was a shambles. Rebel wounded were lying against the walls in
the corridors leading to the HQ, moaning in pain, as there weren't
enough bacta patches around for everyone.
Heavy thuds sounded throughout the complex as the Imperials bought more
heavy-caliber weapons to bear on the mountain.
"Imperial forces at the 5 klick mark!" shouted a sensor tech.
"Shit! Blow the perimeter line!" screamed Mulden.
"Yessir."
[The 5 km perimeter line]
The Imperial forces, now pretty much unopposed, marched right over the
invisible line on a map marking a 5km distance from the base.
However, the Rebels had used automated tunnelling machines to tunnel
under the line, and several thousand tons of explosives had been placed
in the tunnels as a last ditch defense against an Imperial invasion.
A timed signal was sent from the Rebel HQ to the untold amounts of
explosives buried under the ground.
[112th Line Company]
Sergeant Laffery was screaming at the men in his Line squad when it
happened. All of a sudden, the earth in front of them erupted in a
massive explosion. Scores of troopers were knocked down, dead before
they hit the snow, from the concussion of the explosion.
More troopers simply dissapeared inside the inferno of dirt. A few
survived, but mostly as arms and legs flying through the air.
An AT-AT that had been right on top of the line when it detonated fell
to the ground, cut in half by the primary shaped charges that had
detonated before the secondary charges of plain explosives.
The smaller AT-STs were vaporized or reduced to charred lumps of metal.
The Imperial advance ground to a halt as hidden Rebel machinegun (yes,
the term was archaic but was still used when referring to automatic
blasters like the T-21) nests opened fire through the smoke, cutting
down the dazed survivors of the trap.
The advance, which had been going so well, stopped as the scared
troopers huddled behind the hulks of destroyed or damaged vehicles in a
frantic effort to stay out of the deadly hail of fire the Rebels were
now unleashing.
As fresh units were brought up, they provided covering fire for the
shattered remnants of the original assault force to withdraw.
[Rebel HQ]
"The Imps have stopped!"
"Damn good idea, Weyoun, on how to get rid of all those surplus
explosives we had!" Mullen then slapped Weyoun on the back with her
left hand, which caused him to shrink back visibly and frown in
disgust. Still frowning, he took a deep breath and spoke.
"General, we've only stopped them momentarily. They'll soon bring up
the *really* heavy stuff. I recommend we evacuate the base now. There's
nothing further to be gained by more deaths."
"Agreed. Send the evacuation orders."
[The Rebel Lines]
"Fall Back! Fall Back!" was the order shouted over and over by the
sergeants to their troops. Soon, everyone was running through the
trenches to the secondary defensive lines, except for a few troops who
stayed at their post. It was they who had the unenviable job of keeping
up the covering fire so that the rest of their comrades could man the
secondary trenches. This was virtually a death sentence, but not one
man flinched from his duty.
[Imperial Scout Trooper Witz - 550m from base entrance]
Colin Witz fought down the growling of his stomach and watched the
rebel scum pour out of the base entrance. In the corner of his display,
a estimate of the people in his vision clicked upwards, driven by the
powerful shape-recognition software in his helmet tac-comps. When the
number hit the magic mark - about 4,000 scum, Witz broke into the
Company com-net.
"Smokey. Enemy movement figures 4 Kilo, say again, figures 4 kilo,
out."
"Big Dog. Hunter, confirm four kilo, say again, confirm four kilo,
over."
"Hunter. I confirm. Four kilo, say again, four kilo. Permission to
start the music, over."
The reply was the stirring first few bars of the Imperial March
blasting out all over Phoenix Company's Comm-net.
[Writers note: From this point on, I'm putting my implant on and
writing this to the Imperial March
]
"Nothing like a good Search and Destroy to get the blood
flowing...flowing in rivers, that is!" cackled LT. Hit-Man as he
slammed a hi-cap 300 round clip into his battlescarred E-11 and checked
his underbarrel flame unit to see if the electrical ignition system was
working. All around him, his men repeated the same procedure. Tank
commanders sent tibanna gas into their main gun firing chambers in
anticipation of activity, while the men manning the transports warmed
up their automatic blasters.
Drawing a bead on a technician, Seifert slowly exhaled and pulled the
trigger of his A-280. It jerked back into his shoulder, sending a
deadly bolt of plasma towards the unwitting rebel technician running
for the transport.
Time virtually slowed to a stop for Seifert as he watched the bolt
strike the rebel. He watched as the rebel's head exploded like a
watermelon hit with a sledgehammer, spurting blood all over the
pristine white landscape. The moment the corpse hit the snow, he
shifted his rifle to the next technician running for the 'ports,
unaware of what had happened to his compatriot behind him. Squeezing
the trigger again, Seifert sent another rebel falling to the snow with
their head a steaming mess, watching the whole thing through his A-
280's false color scope, which automatically compensated for inclement
conditions, such as darkness, making night appear like noon.
Suddenly, the entire landscape lit up in a brilliant white light as
January's Leveller I ripple-fired it's payload into the snowy night
sky.
[Rebel Trenches - in a forest east of Seifert's position]
Lieutenant Atti screamed as the treeline he was watching for signs of
Imperial activity lit up in a brilliant white light, blinding him and
any others who weren't wearing their night vision equipment.
[Note: I'm referring to advanced 3rd or 4th gen PNVGs with built in
light blocks that respond faster than the human eye, preventing people
from being blinded by sudden increases in light]
>From the edges of his blinded vision, Atti thought he saw a dozen or
so white points of light rising rapidly into the night sky.
The 28 Arakyd 12.23tA2 Concussion missiles' ion engines boosted them to
nearly 20,000 feet before shutting down. Invisible in the night sky,
they tipped over and small aerosurfaces began to move, guiding the
missiles to their targets.
When their radar altimeters showed their altitude to be 150 feet, a
electric charge was sent to the warhead in the middle of the missiles.
The missiles exploded with a thunderclap in the sky, spreading their
deadly payloads all over the unsuspecting Rebel units below them.
Atti blinked. What was wrong with him? His vision was blurring. He
gasped and grabbed the lip of his foxhole. Gas! It only had to be gas!
Before he could even move his hands for the MOPP suit he carried on his
back, his vision dimmed to nothing, and he died.
All over the rebel trenches protecting the evacuation, hundreds of men
died in seconds as the deadly Fex-M3 nerve gas spread by the missile
warheads wafted down onto them. Others managed to sound the "unknown
bombardment" alarm before they died, while still others managed to
fully suit up.
Meanwhile, several hundred meters to the northeast, the two Rebel
Repulsorlift companies, slowly patrolled the perimeter around the vital
transports. Suddenly, all over the Rebel comm-bands, agonized shrieks
could be heard from the men inside the repulsorlifts as the Plank gas
ate right through their vehicles and into them.
The stunned survivors of the horrible Imperial bombardment raised their
heads just as Sheppard's tank crested the ridgeline.
"Driver, HALT!" yelled Sheppard as he grabbed the sides of the hatch to
steady himself as the tank ground to a sudden halt.
Behind him, the rest of Phoenix Company came to a halt. Sheppard sat
there, savoring the moment, despite the sub-zero temperatures swirling
around him right now and the fact that it was in the middle of a
blizzard.
As he hung in the cupola, watching the deadly clouds of colorless gas
waft through the Rebel lines with his helmet visor (the gas was UV-
tagged), causing men to twitch and fall to the ground dead, a parable
came to him.
"It makes no difference what men think of War. War endures. War was
always here. Before man was, War waited for him. The ultimate trade
awaiting the ultimate practitioner."
"CHAAAAARRRRGEEE!"
Almost immediately, from the external loudspeakers on all the Imperial
vehicles, blared the Imperial March at full blast, shaking the entire
valley, and causing micro-avalanches with it's intensity.
Every surviving rebel stopped what they were doing and looked up at the
source of the hated Imperial anthem. Fear settled into the pit of their
stomachs, like a festering flesh-eating virus, ready to explode at any
moment into sheer unremitting terror.
As his tank began to pick up speed, Sheppard mashed the 'seat down'
button on his keypad, sending his seat back into the turret with the
whine of smooth hydraulics. The hatch closed and sealed itself over his
head, making the tank a completely self-contained unit.
Making himself comfortable, he glanced at the trio of displays in front
of him. The leftmost one was displaying a map of the surrounding area,
enabling him to check the location of every man in his company at a
glance, while the center display was a direct feed of what was being
fed at the moment to the gunner's sight. The rightmost display was the
one that had all the miscellaenous errata, such as a listing of his
company's objectives, mission elapsed time, etc, along with being
capable of showing a real-time vidfeed of anything anyone with the
right equipment (such as a Stormtrooper helmet) was seeing at the
moment.
"Charlie, report, over."
Seifert grunted in reply.
"Stat report, ASAP, over!"
"Big Dog, enaging targets now, no time, out." For a moment, Seifert's
voice was drowned out by the roar of his A280 rifle.
"Big Dog, One less target to do the warm up, out."
"Big Dog out." replied Sheppard.
Seifert looked around, and motioned for his men to bring the PLX-2Ms up
from their speeder bikes. It was time to have some live-fire practice.
[Beta Platoon - LT. Hit-Man Commanding]
"AWRIGHT, YA MAGGOTS! LISTEN UP!"
"Make abso-fucking-loutely those damnned suit seals are tight! I'll
personally kick the ass of anyone who's seals are leaky!"
Everyone shuddered, even though they knew that if any of the shit got
through, even with their suit MedComps pre-loaded with the andidote to
the Fex-M3, they would have at best a 50-50 chance of surviving. If you
had asked them, they would have been emphatic in their agreement that
yes, the LT could track you all the way down even after you were dead
and still kick your ass.
In the red-lit troop compartment of the repulsorlift transport, every
trooper clutched their weapon like their life depended on it, which it
did, because the penalty for losing your weapon without recovering it
later or securing an replacement in LT Hit-Man's outfit was...death.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang that shook the entire transport, and
the red light snapped off. Moments later, it flickered back on,
illuminating a sizeable dent in the side of the transport that was
glowing slightly from the residual energy left from whatever the hell
had just hit them.
Still they ground on, several dozen meters behind the tanks of Alpha
Platoon.
[Echo Platoon - Lt. Dice commanding]
The grey-suited Imperial Army troopers tittered nervously in the back
of their own transport, which was well behind both Alpha and Beta
platoons. Normally, they wouldn't be sulking so far behind the
Stormies, as they were always ready to prove that they didn't need full
body armor like those pansies in white. However, as they always did
when going into combat in a NBC (Nuclear,Biological, Chemical)
environment, they decided that it was safer to err on the side of
prudence, as their grey jumpsuits and chest armor, while being treated
to allow minimal NBC protection, weren't as comprehensive as the
Stormtroopers' armor.
Dice smiled, despite this seeming slight on the honor of Echo Platoon,
because the Captain had given them the task of clearing out the Rebel
base. Close quarters combat was the hardest test you could put a man
to, and rightly so.
Finally, he would get a chance to use his custom vibro-sword, which he
had had designed by one of the Empire's leading experts in edged
weapons.
The blade was unique in that it reassembled itself using nano-
technology in a manner similar to that of a lightsaber being activated,
allowing him to carry a full-size broadsword into battle witho
got chopped off...apparently it's too long for one post
-------------------------------------------
PHOENIX COMPANY
by
Mark Sheppard
WINNER OF THE GOLDEN STAR DESTROYER AWARD
FOR BEST GROUND COMBAT IN A FANFIC
-------------------------------------------
[Draysan IV]
"Papa Company, Report! Repeat, Papa Company, Report!"
With a growl, the Lieutenant commanding the second armored platoon of P
Company smashed in the radio.
"Cocksuckers! There's no more Papa company, you slime pools!" said Lt.
Mark Sheppard of the Imperial Army as he frantically pulled his E-11
out of it's niche in the smoke-filled turret of his Oppressor medium
tank.
The stench of burnt flesh assaulted his nostrils, permeating his grey
Army-issued Jumpsuit and matching body armor. The horrible smell was
enough to make a man retch.
"By the Sith, they're gonna pay for this!" he yelled as he climbed out
of the ruined turret, almost slipping on his gunners' guts on the
ladder, where they had been blown by the medium blaster cannon bolt
that had penetrated the turret armor, killing his gunner and his comm
technician, but leaving him miraculously unscathed, a mistake that was
going to cost them dearly.
If the turret had been a slaughterhouse, outside it was Hell. Burning
tanks stretched as far as he could see in the thick oily smoke
generated by the very same burning hulks he saw.
Shriveled bodies lay in pools of burning fuel, trees were blackened
stumps, and bodies were everywhere. Some were Rebel; some were
Imperial, but the Reaper had forgotten Mark Sheppard.
Suddenly, out of the gloom of the smoke came a figure clothed in Rebel
gear. Sheppard raised the E-11, and squeezed the trigger like a whore's
tits. No cleansing bolt came from the muzzle to exterminate the Rebel
Scum before him.
Cursing, Sheppard dropped the weapon and grabbed an entrenching tool
from it's slot on the turret, opening and locking the blade into place.
With a grunt, he leapt from the turret and onto the surprised rebel,
who wasn't expecting any survivors in the hellish inferno.
Gripping the spade in the way it had been taught to him by his close-
combat instructors: left hand on the handle, and the right hand on the
base of the post (where it meets the shovel head), Sheppard silently
drove the tip of the spade into the base of the Rebel's throat (the V
notch above the sternum). As the rebel's eyes widened, Sheppard pushed
his left hand down on the handle.
The rebel screamed an inhuman cry of pain as he fell to the ground in
agony. As the rebel scrabbled frantically at him, Sheppard looked into
the scum's eyes which were bulging out frantically. "See you in Hell,
you Sith Spawn!" he breathed as he drove his foot down on the shovel,
driving the blade through the rebel's throat, decapicating him like a
chicken.
Breathing heavily, he picked up the rebel's own E-11. "By Vader,
they'll pay for this!" he growled from between clenched teeth as he
checked the rebel's E-11. Noticing that the charge on the E-11 was
pretty low, he turned the weapon sideways, and hit the mag release,
dumping the worthless mag. As he scanned the horizon, he slapped in a
fresh mag from his belt and raised it so he'd be able to hit the next
Rebel rat he saw.
Leaving behind the 22 burning tanks and 200 corpses that had been his
Company [writer's note: an Imperial Attack Armor Company has 16 Heavy
Tanks or 28 Light Tanks], Sheppard walked slowly and stealthily through
the shattered forest, in which every third tree had been blown to
shreds by blaster bolts. Suddenly, he heard voices.
Quickly hiding, he saw a group of four soldiers in rebel uniforms. An
idea forming in his head, he clicked his E-11 to `stun' and aimed it at
the rearmost man in the group. He fired, dropping the man like a rag
doll. As the others in the group turned to see what had happened to
their comrade, Sheppard flicked the selector switch on his E-11 to
'kill' and sprayed the others with fiery bolts, blowing the other three
soldiers' chests into steaming vapor. The E-11 beeped. He'd just
overloaded the cooling system. The E-11 was now useless for the next 2
minutes. Damn.
Dumping the red-hot E-11 to the ground, Sheppard cautiously advanced to
the forest clearing, where the gooey red messes of the three rebels lay
steaming on the ground. Pocketing the rebels' power packs and two of
their E-11s, he set out for the one he'd stunned, bringing his combat
knife out of it's sheath on his hip.
Rebel Lt. Kant slowly came to. The first thing he saw when he woke up
from the stun bolt was the sharp tip of a combat knife bare millimeters
above his left eyeball. Out of the other eye, he could make out the
fuzzy outline of a man wearing an Imperial Army Tankers' uniform.
"Imperial Lines? Direction and distance. Likely patrol routes for your
friends? NOW!" Sheppard accentuated the last word by lowering his knife
just oh so slightly, so that it was actually touching the Rebel's
eyeball.
"Go to Hell, Imperial."
"You first," rasped Sheppard as he grabbed the rebel's head. Bringing
his knife to the man's throat, he sliced a nice deep furrow in Kant's
neck, where it would bleed a lot, but not be an immediate threat to his
life. After all, the rebel was his only source of info.
After holding the blade over the cut for a few seconds to get it all
nice and bloody, he brought it in front of Kant's face, causing the
man's face to pale visibly.
"You...you..." gasped Kant. He tried to get up, but couldn't since his
arms and legs were bound.
"In case you haven't noticed yet, I've cut your Carotid artery. If I do
nothing, you will bleed to death in about eight standard minutes. If
you tell me what I need to know, I'll put this onto yer neck." Sheppard
waved the bacta patch in the man's face.
"You...you...all right, the frontlines are at bearing zero-two-one from
here, about fifty klicks," moaned Kant, already feeling the loss of
blood.
"What's the comm frequency you guys use?" Sheppard asked, playing idly
with his now-bloodstained knife.
"The...frequency is...3215.12.7 - I told...you...what...you...wanted
to...know...give...me...the Bacta patch!" moaned Kant, scared shitless
from feeling what appeared to be a half-gallon of blood all over his
chest. In reality, it was merely a flesh wound, but Kant didn't know
that.
Sheppard nodded, then peeled the bacta patch's protective covering off
and slapped it onto a nasty looking cut on his face as Kant looked on
in disbelief.
"You...you...promised!" gasped Kant.
"I lied." With that, Sheppard pulled out a Coruscant, the most popular
brand of cigarette in the Empire. Taking a strike anywhere match from
his tanker's survival kit on his belt, he dragged the match on Kant's
face to light it, making the rebel gasp in pain.
Bringing the lit match to his mouth, Sheppard lit his cig up, then
threw the match onto the red mess that had once been a rebel soldier.
Taking a few practice puffs, Sheppard then inhaled deeply and blew the
noxious smoke right into Kant's face, making him choke.
Sheppard's eyes hardened, and he quickly plunged his knife into Kant's
side, and then with a sickening tearing sound, worked it out towards
him, cutting pretty much every major artery in the man's neck, plus his
windpipe.
It was all over in a minute.
Crouching over the the bloody corpse and the attendant blood-soaked
ground, he took a few more hurried puffs from his cig, and then put it
out in the now-dead man's left eye.
Unclipping his compass from his belt and opening the cover, Sheppard
quickly found his bearings with the computerized compass, which
automatically corrected for the local planet's magnetic field.
Looking around one last time, Sheppard extended the butt of his new E-
11 and placed it on his shoulder, the muzzle held slightly low as he
walked deeper into the forest on bearing 0-2-1, taking pains to present
a minimal silhoulette on the skyline.
[Years Later...]
A cold wind whipped across the bleak landscape, and over the hulking
white forms of Dominator heavy tanks dug in at the treeline of a
heavily-wooded evergreen forest.
Fifty meters behind them, hidden amongst the trees, were white-painted
speeder bikes and light repulsorlift transports. Mounted at the front
of a few transports were E-WEB heavy repeating blasters, ready to fire.
In a forest clearing even further back, under white camouflage netting
and hidden in the treeline, were two Golan SP.9 self-propelled medium
anti-infantry blaster cannons. Next to them was a white-painted Leveler
I medium concussion missile launcher. Capable of firing 28 concussion
missiles simultaneously, it was a devastating weapon if used properly.
Next to the Leveler I rose a white mountain of durasteel; this was a
Speizoc v-188 heavy-antitank blaster cannon mounted on an Aratech 440
Super-Heavy Armored Chassis - one of the heaviest energy cannons ever
to see field combat. Behind it was it's equally massive power trailer,
allowing 50 shots from the gargantuan cannon before recharging.
Puny-looking next to these giants, 200 troops stood in the treeline,
milling about, and casting nervous glances into the sky for aircraft.
In the windswept skies, twilight was rapidly approaching, casting
purplish colors onto the men.
All of the extraneous chatter stopped as a white-suited man wearing the
three red bars atop an equal number of yellow bars of an Imperial Army
Captain stepped out of the HQ tent.
Walking up to the portable holo-generator that had been hastily set up
for a field briefing, Captain Mark Sheppard studied the men of P
Company, 1072nd Armor Battalion, 57623rd Assault Regiment, 366th
Reinforced Battlegroup, 799th Atrisian Corps carefully. It had taken
two years, but P Company was now back in business.
Sheppard glanced around the wooded area at the men of his company. He'd
called everyone here for a special briefing before he began the
standard O-group briefing for the officers.
"Gentlemen, As this unit is unique in all the Imperial Army, I've
decided to drop the standard alphabet/phonetic designations for
companies and go for an individual name, like the Hell's Hammer's
armored unit did. Since we're about to go into combat, I decided to do
the renaming now.
With a flourish, Sheppard pushed the `play' button on the
holoprojector. A flaming phoenix appeared clutching the broken symbol
of the Rebellion.
"We are now Phoenix Company. It's fitting, and it'll let us evade
notice from the higher-ups, since it begins with a `P', so we can still
use our old designation on official stationery and reports. To my
right, we've got several boxes of the new logo in varying formats,
sizes, et cetera. If you want to, you can grab decals for your vehicles
or self-bonding patches in both camo and regular schemes for your
uniforms."
Sheppard paused for a moment before continuing. "That's all. Report to
your units now. Platoon commanders, stay here for the CO's O-group
briefing."
Sheppard waited until all the various enlisted men and lower ranking
officers had left for their units before continuing. In front of him
now were Phoenix Company's five platoon commanders, and the company's
staff officers.
Pushing the `advance' button, a holo of Tikrit, the planet they were
on, appeared.
"As you all know, three weeks ago, this shithole of a planet rebelled
against the gloriousness of the Emperor's New Order," Sheppard said
that with a healthy dose of cynicism. Of course, nobody believed that
shit in the military, except the Stormtroopers and those mindless
fanatics at COMPFORCE.
"Now that we're done with the required political indoctrination, lets
get down to brass tacks. A week after the uprising began, the 799th
Atrisian Corps [that's us], was dumped onto the planet with orders to
retake it. We and the other units of the 366th Reinforced Battlegroup
were sent, along with the 327th Reinforced Battlegroup and the 401st
Armored Battlegroup to wrest Tikrit's main settlement, the capital
city, numbering two million civilians, from the rebels. Our Task Force
as it is, numbers 43,000 troops, nearly 75 percent of our Corps. The
61st Battlegroup, which consists of the rest of our Corps, is spread
over the planet, suppressing the smaller settlements."
"Things were going well - we were crushing the scum, until we tried to
take the city."
The holo shifted to show the area surrounding the city of Tikrit. It
was a low rolling plain with a few mountains rising to the southwest.
"Those mountains there contain a secret military complex built by the
planetary government. We didn't know about it, but by tomorrow, it'll
be a pile of slag."
He pushed another button, and the holo zoomed in on the mountains.
Known enemy emplacements appeared on the side of the mountain as rock
slid away to reveal heavy energy weapons. Their locations had been
learned the hard way - in blood.
"From the intensity of the firepower we're taking, HQ thinks there are
at least upwards of two hundred weapons of all sizes and calibers in
that mountain, from Atgar P-Towers -" everyone snickered at that. The
P-Tower was a Clone Wars-vintage energy weapon that posed a threat only
to lightly armored vehicles like the AT-ST. "- to Turbolaser System Is.
They even have a fucking KDY-150 ion cannon in there."
Everyone groaned at that. TL System Is could kill even AT-ATs with
depressing regularity. The reason for the lack of reinforcements also
became clear. Sheppard voiced what many of them were thinking.
"Yes. The cocksuckers have virtually shut down the orbital paths
overhead. Ships have to stop in the outer system to unload their
dropships from there, making them highly vunerable to Rebel muggings
from hyperspace-capable craft. That's why you haven't seen our attached
TIE Ground Support wing much recently. They've been diverted to protect
and escort the dropships in. TIE losses are becoming unacceptable since
the Rebels are no longer sending old Y-Wings, but those damned new B-
Wings. The two SPCs the _Avenger_ dropped off when she made a stop-over
are gone - taken out in the first raids."
He paused. "In short, it is of paramount importance that something
happens to that mountain. That 'something' will happen in two hours'
time at 2000 hours IST (8 PM). At that time, our regiment and the 701st
Regiment will assault the base under cover of darkness. A brief but
intense artillery bombardment will precede the assault by a few
minutes. Even though we estimate the the Rebels in and around the
mountain to be at battlegroup level - 14,100 men in all - most of them
are inside the base, manning the guns themselves, leaving only 7,000
men to guard the entrances to the base itself. Of those, only 5,116 are
actual combat troops."
All around him, grins began to appear on the faces of his commanders.
"It gets better, boys! Apparently the Rebel commander decided to split
his force between protecting his base and his ride home; we've detected
starship-level repulsorlifts in a valley near the base. Both the
transports and the base defensive facilities have at least 2,500 combat
troops."
"Here's where the bad part begins, men. In order to overwhelm the
forces guarding the base and at the same time, block their escape
route, compromises were made." Everyone groaned at that. "The decision
was made to detach our company to provide armored support for the 912th
Line Battalion, which is detached from the 701st Regiment. Together,
our combat strength is only 731 men against the 2,500 troops guarding
the transports. This allowed HQ to mass nearly 4,400 troops to smash
down the frontal defenses, giving us the 2-1 ratio deemed necessary by
the ISOD for winning battles."
"Now, you're probably asking 'If we can win it, why are we here, and
not with the assault force?' From what I've heard, HQ is determined to
prevent another Hoth." Even though the Empire had won, the Rebels had
evacuated with most of their equipment.
"In order to prevent this from happening again, HQ has decided to
launch a TIE Bomber squadron to destroy the transports. However, if we
just destroyed the transports right away, the Rebels would just hole up
in the mountain and fight to the death."
"So...in order to catch the most Rebels out in the open for the TIEs,
HQ put us here. Here's the orders they gave me." With that, Sheppard
motioned towards the holoprojector.
The holo of the mountain disappeared, to be replaced with a highly-
detailed holographic topological map of the hills and valleys behind
the mountain that housed the Rebel base. "The base is here -" Sheppard
said as he pressed a button on his remote, causing a mountain in the
holo to flash red. "Imperial scouts have discovered highly-localized
repulsorlift emissions here, ones that match the signature of the most
common transport the Rebels use."
On the holo, the golden outlines of transports appeared in a mountain
valley near the base. In the middle of each outline was a question
mark. "We haven't actually visually confirmed they're there, but our
forward- deployed scouts have located four significant concentrations
of enemy forces." Pushing another button on his remote, the blue-
colored symbols of the units of P Company and the 912th Battalion
appeared where they currently were. Moments later, reb symbols began
winking in, concentrated near the base.
Pointing to a hill to the west of the bases' rear entrance, Sheppard
began to call out the enemy's strength and OOB. "On this little hill, a
Line Battalion has dug in." He then pointed to a forest to the south of
the base's back door. "Here, another Line battalion has dug in. To it's
north, a Heavy Weapons Battalion has been heavily entrenched in several
lines of interlocking trenches around the rear entrance to the base.
Northwest of it, a Repulsorlift battalion patrols the area for
intruders like us."
Pushing another button, two glowing lines covered the holo, the bottom
one skirting the hills that kept them out of sight from the Rebels,
while the upper one crossed the trenches around the base's rear
entrance. Pointing to the bottom one, Sheppard spoke. "As soon as this
meeting is over, we have to start moving in order to reach our jumping-
off point, Phase Line Charlie, before H-Hour. HQ estimates that around
H-Hour plus 30 minutes, the Rebels will begin withdrawal efforts. Our
orders are to wait at Phase Line Charlie until 'A reasonable amount of
Rebels have started towards the transports.' Unofficially, we wait
until a whole fucking horde of Rebel scum has fled the base and are
running to their transports.
"Once that happens, we jump-off towards Phase Line Echo," with that,
Sheppard pointed to the topmost line; the one where the Rebels were -
"and enage the enemy with 'All Reserves'. I've run it through the
TacSims several times, and all of them go like this." Sheppard then
pushed a button on his remote.
In the hologram, a counter appeared, reading 'H-Hour plus 0 minutes'.
On the map, the Imperial forces were massed behind the hill at Phase
Line Charlie. Suddenly in the middle of the hologram, large block
letters appeared, reading 'SIMULATION START'. On the holo, the symbols
of the Rebels began moving. For a few seconds they moved leisurely, but
suddenly sped up, moving frantically about as the counter ran. At H-
Hour plus 40 minutes, dozens of Rebel symbols began pouring out of the
rear entrance, heading for the golden transport outlines. Minutes
later, the Imperial symbols crested the hill, and began firing at the
rear-most rebel units, those closest to the base entrance. Bright
flashes began popping up all over, and units dropped from company-level
to Platoon-level, then to Squad-level and finally, into oblivion.
As the minutes wore on, more and more Rebel symbols winked out, along
with Imperial ones, but the Rebels had more units. Just as it was down
to three Imperial Platoons against thirty Rebel ones, the symbols of a
squadron of TIE Bombers appeared, loosing concussion missiles into the
transports and dropping clusters of thermal detonators into the Rebel
units, wreaking havoc.
Once the bright flashes of the holo-explosions had diminished, only 2
squads of Imperial infantry stood against 15 Rebel Platoons. Two
simulated minutes later, the last Imperial trooper died and the sim
ended. The Imperials had been totally wiped out, but the Rebels were
now stuck on Tikrit, and at least 6,000 of them lay dead. "Six thousand
Rebel dead against a thousand Imperial KIAs. Technically, we kicked
ass, but the cold hard truth is something like 75% of the Rebel
casualties came from that TIE bombing run. HQ wants to use us as a
speedbump to slow down the Rebels' retreat long enough so lots of
Rebels are caught in the open, completely unprotected when the TIEs
come in for the transports."
"HQ thinks we are 'acceptable casualties' to get the Rebels to slow
down," Sheppard said in a now-icy voice. "People, I did *not* rebuild
this company only to see it thrown away again. We are going to follow
the plan...up to a point. As you are well aware of, we have our own
artillery support in the form of a Speizoc SP v-188 and a Leveler I.
Through...certain channels, I have obtained a reasonable quantity
of...'special' weapons for the Leveler I.
Everyone smiled, in particular, the Lieutenant who commanded the
Special Missions Platoon. As soon as the barest hint of a grin appeared
on his scarred face, everyone, even his own men, began inconspicuously
moving away from him.
"Heh Heh. TIme to have some fun with the good stuff," remarked LT. Hit-
Man. _Shit, this kid keeps surprising me._ Hit-Man thought, remembering
his first meeting with the Captain a year-and-a-half ago in a seedy bar
on Corellia.
The LT. had been celebrating a sucessful raid on a Rebel cell in the
nastiest dive he could find in Corellia, when an Imperial Army Captain
had siddled up next to him at the bar. Normally, he had no use for the
Army. Those gray maggots almost always slowed down his stormtroopers.
The Captain tried to strike up a conversation with him, but an icy
glare fixed that problem. Before he could take a sip from his glass of
120-proof Corellian Ale, a trio of Trandoshians had surrounded him and
the Army guy.
"Your kind isn't wanted here, Imperial." sneered the leader as he gave
a shove to Hit-Man's right shoulder. Hit-Man snarled, the glow of his
cyber-eye deepening to a dark crimson - the color of blood - matching
both his anger and the red haze beginning to obscure his vision as the
bloodlust of the Dark Side took hold.
Before he could wreak his brand of unholy havoc upon the Trandoshians,
the Army Captain suddenly raised his mug in salute and shouted, "Long
live the 7th Line Corps!" at the top of his lungs. This bought an
immediate response from the Trandoshians as the 7th Corps was the Army
unit that had just wrapped up a highly sucessful COIN (COunter-
INsurgency) deployment on the Trandoshian homeworld that had resulted
in the destruction of priceless Trandoshian cultural and religious
objects and buildings along with the deaths of nearly three million
Trandoshians. This sent the trio off the deep end. With a roar, the
leader slugged the Captain, causing him to spill all of his ale over
his Army dress uniform.
"You just made the last mistake of your miserable life!" the Captain
snapped just before he smashed his now-empty but still very heavy mug
into the leader's face at a particular point, shattering the alien's
skull, and driving bone fragments into his brain, killing him
instantly. The Trandoshians started to draw their weapons, but the one
nearest to the Captain suddenly found it quite hard to continue higher
brain functions with the hilt of a Commando Knife sticking out of his
left eye. He crumpled to the floor, and his friend joined him moments
later as the Captain suddenly produced a compact hold-out pistol with
integral suppressor and shot him squarely between the eyes virtually
noiselessly, the subsonic round being barely audible. In just a shade
under ten seconds, the Army guy had killed three heavily-armed
Trandoshians almost silently. This caused Hit-Man to rethink his
earlier hostility towards this Army puke.
"I woulda made 'em suffer more before I iced 'em," Hit-Man said,
playing with his own knife, caressing the blade like a woman's tits.
"But that'll do. Now, what was it you wanted? People don't do small
talk with me cuz they like my charming personality. You need a rival
assassinated so you'll get that promotion? Sorry. I don't do that
shit."
"Neither do I," said the mysterious Captain. "However, I have a
proposition for you and your men." There was a pause, then Hit-Man
spoke. "Proposition? Don't make me laugh, Army boy."
"Very well. Arcus Four," replied the Captain, referring to a battle two
months ago in which Hit-Man's Company had taken 50 percent casualties.
Only his platoon had escaped relatively unscathed from that inferno.
"Correct me if I'm wrong Lieutenant, but wasn't your company supposed
to have been assisted by light armor company on Arcus Four?"
Hit-Man growled, his cyber-eye reddening menacingly as his rage rose.
"'Supposed', Captain, is the operative word. Those cowards left us to
die so they could rack up some Rebel GAVs for their turret sides!"
"Relax," said the Captain, putting his hand on Hit-Man's shoulder in an
attempt to calm him down. It didn't work. "The same thing happened to
me on Draysan Four six months ago. Twenty-Two heavy tanks, all lost
because some fool at Regimental HQ thought a single company could hold
off a battalion of Rebels long enough for a Heavy Armor Regiment could
arrive and finish the job. That regiment never came. It was later that
I learned that it had been deliberate - seems the ISB was suspicious of
our Captain - so they decided to get rid of him using 'white' methods."
Hit-Man nodded slightly, recognizing the old 'He died gloriously,'
method of eliminating officers covertly. "I was the only survivor, and
as luck had it, a non-entity to the ISB, so they gave me the job of
rebuilding my company. I'm rebuilding it into a combined-arms company.
Your platoon is one of the pieces I need. Interested?
"This is highly irregular...Captain," Hit-Man said. "Just what would
our role be?"
"Your platoon has the explosives experts I need sorely. You'll be the
ones who crack open fortifications, and roll bombs into the openings to
clear a path for our Line platoon to enter the fortifications to clean
them out of Rebels."
"And what will we be supported by?'
"Right now, I'm trying to find a Scout platoon and an Artillery
platoon. I already have the basic components - a Heavy armor platoon
equipped with four Dominators, and a Line platoon. The plan is to
provide covering fire with the arty and tank platoons, allowing the
Line platoon and yours to reach the objective with minimal casualties.
The scouts will provide us with long-range detection, allowing our arty
to be much more lethal."
"Interesting. And what will we use?" Hit-Man asked, by now showing a
little interest.
"For your snipers, I've procured a crate of BlasTech A280s. Perhaps
you've heard of them. They can blow a fully-armored trooper in half at
medium range." Hit-Man's face twitched as he remembered the Rebel with
the A280 who'd blown his right leg off, leaving him with a cybernetic
leg.
"The Combat Engineers will get new, experimental E-11s, such as the E-
11/F/A, an E-11 with an under-barrel flamethrower that feeds off a
canister on the trooper's back, plus full auto fire. Quite handy in
confined spaces. E-11/A/40s will be general issue to all non-specialist
troopers. They have a 40mm grenade launcher slung under the barrel,
along with a newly designed collapsible stock which is far, far more
sturdy than the old folding stocks. They also have the ever-popular
full auto mod."
"Your demo experts get the Mk 39/A, a fully automatic 40mm grenade
launcher based on the E-11 reciever, capable of accepting either 12
round drum magazines or a linkless belt of 100 rounds per belt. Mounted
along the Mk 39/A's barrel is a light blaster roughly equivalent to the
Merr-Sonn Quick 6 in power, allowing the user to defend himself while
reloading without the hassle of a second weapon."
"How will you hide all this from the higher-ups?" Hit-Man asked,
teetering on the edge of a decision.
"My S-2 (Company Logistics Officer) is working in co-ordination with my
SC4 (Company Technical Officer), who is a quite accomplished hacker, to
hide it through bogus reports and database editing."
"Sounds good," rumbled Hit-Man. "Count me and my men in. By the way,
what's your name, Captain?" he said, extending his cybernetic left hand
to the Captain, who shook it enthuastically. "The name's Sheppard. Mark
Sheppard, and welcome to P Company!"
Snapping back to the present, Hit-Man resumed listening to the mission
briefing.
"Among these 'special weapons' are Fex-M3 nerve gas and Plank gas,
which we'll be using on this mission. The M3 goes to those two line
battalions and the heavy weapons battalion at the base entrance. The
Plank goes to the repulsorlift battalion. We expect the enemy to suffer
heavy causualties from our chemical strike, because unlike us, the
Rebels do not wear armor or even carry chemical suits.
Everyone started to giggle evilly at that. The Rebels would pay for
their foolishness and short-sightedness. "Okay, calm down, everyone."
Sheppard said, raising his hand. Once the noise had died down, he
resumed speaking.
"When this briefing is over, we're moving to Phase Line Charlie, where
we will wait for H-Hour and the inevitable flood of fleeing Rebels
before we attack. Our attack will be preceeded by a barriage of 28
concussion missiles from our Leveller I. Each enemy battalion will be
struck by seven missiles carrying the chemical agents. As soon as the
missiles strike, Lieutenant Dalton and his platoon of tanks will move
in - buttoned up, of course; and kill the survivors. If Sergeant Sutton
and his v-188 find any good targets, they will exterminate them with
the gun - remember, you only have 50 shots Sutton, so make them count!"
Pausing, Sheppard thought for a moment. "Lieutenant Seifert and his men
are already forward-deployed at Phase Line Charlie, giving us up-to-
the- minute reports on the enemy's disposition. His scout platoon's
orders are to harass the enemy. To this extent, their speeder bikes
have been modified to carry up to fifty kilograms of equipment. They
have several sniper rifles, Plex Twos, and man-portable ion cannons to
allow them to harass the enemy from range. After firing a few rounds,
they'll mount their bikes and move to a new location before resuming
fire. If you need a particular tank or soldier zapped by Seifert and
his men, designate the target in your HUDs with the Baker tag. For v-
188 targets, use the Able tag."
"Once the chemicals have dissipated enough; which should take a minute
or two, Lieutenant Dice will move his men in towards the base entrance.
The reason for waiting is because I really don't trust those NBC suits
the Army gets. By this time, Lieutenant Hit-Man and his SpecWar
platoon, being in Stormtrooper armor, will have advanced considerably
with Dalton's tank platoon and they will sanitize the base entrance to
allow Dice's platoon to breach the base."
"Through certain channels, I have also arranged TIE ground support on
demand for us. Don't ask how I got it, but when I give the order, at
least one TIE will split off to support us immediately."
"Your final directive is thus: Take no unneccessary prisoners. I don't
want a hundred Rebel grunts; I want a Rebel SpecForce officer! Got
that?"
"Yes, SIR!" roared back the commanders of Phoenix company.
"Good. Head for your vehicles. We jump off for Charlie in an hour."
Silently, the meeting broke up as everyone headed back to their units
to perform company-level briefings.
Behind Sheppard, the HQ tent was being dismantled, and artillerymen
were scrambling up ladders on the sides of their vehicles and into the
warmth of their fighting compartments.
After a minutes' jog, Sheppard and the members of Alpha Platoon
(Armored) reached the looming white mountains of their Dominator Heavy
Tanks. Scrambling to the commanders' hatch on the turret's top,
Sheppard undogged it and sat down in his chair, which was hydraulically
powered. He didn't have to climb in and out of the turret by standing
up on his chair - the chair rasied him up instead.
Moments after the driver, a Specialist Stubbs, had reached his hatch,
which was flush with the turret's surface just in front of the
commander's cupola, the tank rumbled to life. Flicking on the power to
the commander's cupola, Sheppard ran through the start-up checklist for
his position.
Commander's Independent Sensor Network (CISN).....Check
Satellite Uplinks....Check Cupola
drive........Check Commander's E-WEB Heavy Repeating Blaster....Check
With the checklist completed, Sheppard pushed the 'up' button on his
chair. It raised him so his upper body was out of the hatch. A sharp
'klack!' to his left drew his attention. It was only Sergeant Waylon,
his gunner, readying his personal weapon, a pintle-mounted BlasTech T-
21 light repeating blaster for use. Behind him, Sheppard also heard his
loader, Private Pipes, readying his T-21 too.
Looking down at the bank of status lights on the controls below him in
the turret, Sheppard saw they all were green. It was with great
satisfaction that he donned his tankers' helmet and snapped the chin-
strap closed. Plugging the lead from his helmet into a socket on his
chair, he plugged into the tank's optical network.
Automatically detecting his presence outside the tank, a clear visor
rolled down from it's niche in the helmet. On the visor's surface,
holographic status readouts began to appear, including the targetting
reticle for his cupola-mounted E-WEB. Bringing the helmet boom mike to
his lips, Sheppard spoke.
"Tank, Status report!"
"Stubbs, all green here," said his driver. "Waylon, same here," the
gunner said. "Pipes, A-OK here," said the loader. "Makel, situation
optimal," said his comm-tech, SP/4 Makel. Only command tanks had comm-
techs and the necessary equipment needed to handle C^3I duties.
"Alpha Platoon, report!" The helmet AI automatically routed the call to
Alpha platoon.
"Dalton here. All peachy, sir." "Atti here. Check!" "Suko, Reporting
in!" "Darklighter, A-OK!"
"Beta Platoon! Report!" "Hit-Man here...sir."
"Charlie Platoon, Report!" "Seifert here - A-OK. Nothing new from the
Rebels."
"Delta Platoon, Check!" "January, A-OK!" "Sutton, READY!" "Varj,
Check!" "Lorl, All ready, sir!"
"Echo Platoon, Report!" "Dice here. We're all ready here, sir!"
All the platoon lieutenants (when it was a simple infantry platoon) and
their subordinates (when it was an armor platoon or artillery company
with multiple large-scale units) had checked in. Time to get this show
on the road. But first, he had a little matter to take care of. "Rob,"
he said, the helmet AI recognizing the recepient's name and routing the
call to his helmet speakers.
"What's up, Shep?" Dalton said, waving to Sheppard.
Across the forest, Sheppard saw one of the tank commanders waving to
him from his open cupola. Returning the wave, he replied, "Nothing
much, Rob. Once the defenders are dead, I'm dismounting to follow Hit-
Man's and Dice's boys inside. When I dismount, you're the platoon CO.
Got that?"
"Yah. Is our bet still on?" asked Rob.
"Sure is. Whoever kills the most Rebels gets that 1,000 ImpCreds,"
replied Sheppard.
Suddenly, Hit-Man's voice burst over the comm-net. "I heard that, you
scum-sucking maggots! Good luck ya pansies in trying to get MY money!"
With that, Hit-Man went off the air with an omnious click.
Both Dalton and Sheppard slumped dejectedly in their cupolas. Somehow,
the LT had found out about their informal bet and had hijacked it from
them. Both of them saw in their mind's eye, the 1,000 creds sprouting
wings and flying away.
Sheppard took a deep breath. Time to employ the only known remedy to a
Hit-Man inspired slump; killing lots of people, preferably Rebels.
Sighing, he dictated the fateful orders that were to propel him and his
men on an as-yet-unknown journey into a strange land. "All units, move
to Phase Line Charlie and hold until my command."
Beneath him, Sheppard felt the 90-ton behemoth rumble into life, taking
the lead position towards the hills in the distance. A sudden flush of
energy invigorated Sheppard - the energy that comes from booming over
hill-and-dale with unimaginable firepower at *your* hands.
An observer at the foot of the hill would have seen a white colossus of
durasteel come rumbling towards them at speed, it's treads kicking up a
spray of snow; three supremely self-confident men hanging out of the
turret hatches, their hands on a deadly array of repeating blasters,
eyes constantly searching for the enemy. But most of all, they had
malevolent grins on their faces from the knowledge that all who opposed
them would be exterminated by nightfall.
Moments after the first tank passed, another one roared past, this one
the same as the first, except that it was Rob Dalton's gloating body
that hung out from the commander's cupola. Minutes later, several
repulsorlifts holding Hit-Man and Dice's platoons floated by, every man
alert for possible dangers.
Finally came the slow rumbling hulk of the v-188 SP, followed by a pair
of Golan SP.9s. Inside the v-188, Sutton laughed manically. He was
buttoned up because the side effects of firing the huge gun were deadly
to any unprotected personnel within 60 meters. Already Sutton was
fondling and caressing the joystick for the gun like a hot piece of
ass, eagerly anticipating utterly vaporizing people from several klicks
away.
Sutton's subordinates looked at each other warily. Word was it that the
Captain had dug up the Sergeant because he had absolutely no qualms
about employing high-energy weapons on *anyone*, even women and
children.
Deep behind the Rebel lines, a soldier unzipped his fly and created
some steaming yellow snow. A kilometer away, a clump of bushes shook as
Lieutenant Seifert took careful aim at the Rebel with his heavily-
modified BlasTech A280. It had been modified to carry a high-powered
electroscope that linked directly to his helmet HUDs. A longer, heavier
barrel with a built in bipod had been mounted along with a new
focussing array that tripled the effective range of the weapon.
Seifert itched to be able to pull the trigger and blow a hole in the
arrogant Rebel's head to let his brains boil away, but orders were
orders. Looking to his right, he saw the other four men of his scout
squad crouching, Plex-2Ms on their shoulders, waiting patiently like
him. 230 meters to his southeast lay his other scout squad. His
remaining two infantry squads had been left behind with the Leveller I
some 465 meters to his rear to provide protection for the vunerable
unit.
"Seifert here, no change." Every so often, his eyes would flicker to
the lower right of his readouts, to the digital clock counting away the
seconds to H-Hour.
[465 meters to the rear]
Lieutenant January scratched the back of his head as he began laying in
the targets for the NBC strike in the red-lit command compartment of
the Leveller I. Out the drivers' windows, a light snow was beginning to
fall as night took hold, the only remnants of the sun was a purplish
light that dimmed every secodn towards blackness. _Just like my heart,_
thought January. Had it been a year since his family had died in a
rebel attack? It seemed like only yesterday to him. Of course, being
horribly maimed made it easier to remember when, each morning, as you
got out of bed, you saw silvery cyber-legs instead of flesh.
As he designated each target, he had to press the 'accept' button each
time he added a target, because the computers required additional
verification that yes, you wanted to launch nerve-gas filled missiles.
Normally, only the Moff of that sector could authorize the use of NBC
weapons. In the Army you had to attain battlegroup command (i.e., be a
High Colonel) before you could command NBC release independent of high
command. This was mostly to prevent political fallout from
indiscriminate use of NBCs during a pacification campaign.
_Glad I'm not the Captain_, January thought. The Captain was gonna take
hell for somehow laying his hands on the stuff and then using it
without authorization from a Moff or High Colonel. Rebels would die
anyway, which would make it easier for him to handle the ISB
interrogations sure to follow.
It took January six minutes, rather than two, to lay in the targets for
all 28 missiles because he had to handle the additional procedures
involved with handling NBC weapons. Finished, he sat back, his eyes
wandering to the digital clock on the bulkhead, which was counting down
to H-Hour.
[1 hour, 33 minutes later]
Through his helmet HUD, Sheppard observed the movements of the Rebel
forces in the valley below. He yawned. Same old patterns that he'd been
watching since his tank had manuvered into an advanced hull-down
position on the away ridge of the hill. The only thing showing to the
Rebels was a small cupola. Next to him, the other four tanks were in
similar positions, along with the v-188 and SP.9s.
They'd been waiting here for the last hour in their jump-off positions
along Phase Line Charlie. Glancing at the digital clock in the lower
right corner of his HUD, he saw it was only 5 minutes to H-Hour.
[Five minutes later]
Sheppard watched the counter click down to zero. An eerie silence hung
in the dark night a second before the entire night sky over the base
erupted in white light from the Battlegroup's Leveller Is ripple-firing
their payloads.
Moments later, reddish-orange fireballs erupted on the horizon as the
missiles found their targets. Finally the sound reached him, a low
rumble that reverberated through his body.
The sky now filled with an eerie green glow that reflected off the
overcast sky from the bolts of the line-of-sight guns that were now
joining the bombardment of the Rebel base. The distant thunder of
weapons fire settled into the background, never quite flaring, but
never quite disappearing either.
[Inside the Rebel Base]
The walls shook, causing the cheap plaster to rain down onto the
panicked Rebels inhabiting the base. Cat naps were broken abruptly, and
people ran from the mess halls, leaving what was to be their last meal
in this life uneaten.
Some were in even more...ahem, shall we say, 'compromising' positions.
Belt buckles were snapped closed, and spooge on uniforms was
frantically wiped off.
Kathryn Jordan, commander of Theta Base, was sitting on the toilet the
moment the walls shook and the lights went out, to be replaced moments
later with the dim glow of the battle lanterns.
"Godfuckingdammit!" she cursed as she frantically reached for the
toilet paper, but finding none. Cursing even more, she finally resorted
to that old standby, the left hand.
Clutching her uniform pants in shit-stained fingers, she hopped into
the corridor outside the head, and quickly pulled up her pants,
ignoring the disgusted looks on her fellow Rebels' faces.
Several minutes later, she reached the command center, which was deep
inside the mountain, and all but impervious to anything below a
Imperator-class Star Destroyer's heavy turbolasers at full power.
"What the fuck's going on?"
Her XO turned around, and wrinkled his nose. "What the hell is that
smell?"
"Shutup! Answers! Now!"
"We're under heavy bombardment by Imperial forces, sir," said the man,
saying it 'cur' as a sign of disrespect.
"Damage report!"
One of the technicians turned away from her console. "Sir, we lost
several of the more lightly shielded batteries in the mountain face.
Casualty reports are still coming in from the units outside that were
caught in the blast."
"Uncage the big guns!"
"Yessir."
[Gunnery room 123A]
The klaxon started to wail in a 'aaoogah-aaaooogah' sound, signifying
that they should get into the action.
The gunners assistants, clothed in hazmat suits, clambered all over the
massive turbolaser, checking for leaks in the coolant and tibanna gas
lines, as this was an old and second-rate unit. Finding no leaks, they
shouted for the gunners to fire the bitch up.
Another kind of klaxon began to wail and rotating yellow lights came to
life around the gun shutter as coolant leaked around it. Suddenly, in a
blink of an eye, the shutter opened.
Almost instanteously, the huge turbolaser belched red flame, sending a
massive bolt towards the Imperial forces. Even before the coolant
gasses had begun to filter through the slightly glowing barrel, the
shutter flew closed again. The entire sequence had taken less than two
seconds.
[10 km away]
The massive Imperial AT-AT walker marched relentlessly towards the
mountain, its cannons spitting out green lightning, which struck the
Rebel forces several klicks away with uncanny accuracy, killing dozens
instantly.
Inside the walker's head, the gunner suddenly noticed a bright red ball
approaching them rapidly. "Oh krif--"
The gunner never had a chance to finish his sentence, for at that
moment, the bolt slammed into the walker, atomizing the walker
commander, the gunner, and the assistant gunners instantly. The 40 Army
troops in the troop compartment in the belly of the walker lasted a few
millionths of a second longer before the plasma from the bolt ate
through the durasteel and incinerated them.
The walker then simply exploded as the on-board tibanna gas reservoirs
detonated, tearing apart the thick durasteel plates that made up the
walker like tissue paper.
All around the walker, dozens of Army troops fell to the ground, some
dead from the explosive shock wave from the walker exploding, others
from the flying bits of durasteel that had once been part of the
walker.
[Lead AT-AT - Red Platoon]
The Lieutenant cursed as he saw his wingman explode in a fiery flash.
Out of four AT-ATs in his platoon, he now only had one other, plus
himself.
"Enemy weapon located, sir! Am bringing main cannon to bear, maximum
firepower!" screamed the gunner as he centered his targetting reticle
over the section of rock which he knew was really a concealed shutter
for the deadly turbolaser within.
The AT-ATs targetting computer then took over, synchronyzing the firing
of the twin chin-mounted heavy laser cannons with the opening of the
shutter.
[Gunnery room 123A]
Loud crashing noises reverberated through the cramped fire control
center as weapons fire slammed into the side of the mountain. The
gunners were all in good spirits, for their first shot had taken out an
AT-AT.
"Prepare for second shot!" screamed the Gunner 1st class as he saw the
hazmat suited gunners assistants give the go-ahead signal.
The firing sequence went as before, but the instant the shutter flew
open, a pair of laser bolts flew through the shutter and struck the
turbolaser. It exploded in a massive explosion that sent shockwaves
through the mountain complex, and the blast blew a 10cm thick durasteel
door off it's hinges and roared down several corridors before
incinerating a mess hall full of wounded.
[Rebel Command Center]
The walls shook omniously from the explosion.
"What was that?" asked Mulden.
"Sir, we just lost a TL One! Damage coming in... we lost several
adajent gunnery rooms...casualties heavy...apparently the blast was
channeled into a mess-hall that had been converted into a triage ward."
"Damn."
[TIE Bomber Zulu 0-9]
Lieutenant Nathan Yates looked down at the mountain as his TIE Bomber
squadron prepared for another attack run. A huge explosion had
partially collapsed a section of the mountain, sending a massive
rockslide down onto what appeared to be Rebel trenches.
_Damn. Buried alive. Shitty way to go_ thought Yates. He then heard his
Squadron commander's voice over the tac-net.
"This is Zulu leader. Target the rebel trenches - don't bother with the
weapons emplacements. We don't have a good enough angle, and they open
and close too damn fast for us. Leave them for the ground-pounders.
Select cluster munitions. It's time to mow the lawn."
Yates cracked a small smile behind his helmet. 'Mow the Lawn' was an
euphemism for simply flying wingtip-to-wingtip as they rained down
cluster munitions. Done right, a squadron could literally turn a
several klick long swathe of land some 400m wide into a moonscape.
Suddenly, a sharp 'deedle-deedle-deedle' filled his ears and the red
"MISS WARN" indicator on his status panel began flashing. The deedles
became closer and closer until they blended into a continuous tone. All
this had happened in less than two seconds. On his status panel, "MISS
WARN" went out, to be replaced by "MISS LAUNCH".
In the threat display, a red box appeared in his rear sensor display,
and the words "Akd_3t3" appeared under it, indicating that it was an
Arakyd 3t3 missile, which was usually fired from shoulder-mounted PLX-
2M launchers. Suddenly the letters began flashing red, indicating that
the missile now had a gravity wave lock - which was nearly impossible
to break.
Grunting, Yates threw the TIE Bomber into a hairpin turn, and cut out
the engines. He watched his airspeed rapidly drop to near-zero and the
big bomber quickly stalled, the amount of lift being generated by it's
stubby wings insufficient to hold it up. It dropped like a brick.
Yates saw the ground rushing up to meet him, and at what seemed like
the last moment, he kicked in the ion engines, and pulled up, the belly
of his craft scraping the treetops. Behind him, a section of the forest
exploded in flames as the missile slammed into the ground, having lost
target lock.
Yates pushed a button on his throttle, and the computer began tracking
back the missile to it's launcher. A few seconds later, a holo of a
rebel soldier running through the snow with a PLX-2M slung over his
shoulder appeared on his target display.
Snickering, he turned the TIE Bomber around, and dropped below tree-top
level as he bore down onto the sonofabitch who had had the balls to
shoot at him. Several seconds later, the Bomber shuddered
imperceptibly, and Yates pulled up, and watched the psychidelic
patterns on his cockpit window swirl around as the gooey red mess that
had been a Rebel was wiped off by the wind.
His radio crackled to life. "Zulu Nine, you okay?" asked his commander.
"I'm okay. Just had to see a Rebel make like a bug."
[Phase Line Charlie]
Sheppard cracked his knuckles nervously as he watched the tiny stick
figures of the Rebels running frantically towards the transports, in
order to prep them for immediate take-off.
"Seifert, new targets. The techies at the transports. Slow down that
warm up stuff, fast as possible. Out."
Seifert grunted in reply, and shifted his rifle from the Rebel
defensive emplacements towards the stream of technicians running for
the transports that he couldn't see, but knew were there.
_Moving target, 1.1 klick distance...difficult shot...but then again, I
didn't join the Imperial Army to have it easy._ thought Seifert as he
settled his rifle onto a running technician, their uniform easily
identifiable by the lone blaster pistol in a hip holster and none of
the military gear the other Rebels carried.
_You're already dead, mofo, but you just don't know it._
[Rebel Command HQ]
The HQ was a shambles. Rebel wounded were lying against the walls in
the corridors leading to the HQ, moaning in pain, as there weren't
enough bacta patches around for everyone.
Heavy thuds sounded throughout the complex as the Imperials bought more
heavy-caliber weapons to bear on the mountain.
"Imperial forces at the 5 klick mark!" shouted a sensor tech.
"Shit! Blow the perimeter line!" screamed Mulden.
"Yessir."
[The 5 km perimeter line]
The Imperial forces, now pretty much unopposed, marched right over the
invisible line on a map marking a 5km distance from the base.
However, the Rebels had used automated tunnelling machines to tunnel
under the line, and several thousand tons of explosives had been placed
in the tunnels as a last ditch defense against an Imperial invasion.
A timed signal was sent from the Rebel HQ to the untold amounts of
explosives buried under the ground.
[112th Line Company]
Sergeant Laffery was screaming at the men in his Line squad when it
happened. All of a sudden, the earth in front of them erupted in a
massive explosion. Scores of troopers were knocked down, dead before
they hit the snow, from the concussion of the explosion.
More troopers simply dissapeared inside the inferno of dirt. A few
survived, but mostly as arms and legs flying through the air.
An AT-AT that had been right on top of the line when it detonated fell
to the ground, cut in half by the primary shaped charges that had
detonated before the secondary charges of plain explosives.
The smaller AT-STs were vaporized or reduced to charred lumps of metal.
The Imperial advance ground to a halt as hidden Rebel machinegun (yes,
the term was archaic but was still used when referring to automatic
blasters like the T-21) nests opened fire through the smoke, cutting
down the dazed survivors of the trap.
The advance, which had been going so well, stopped as the scared
troopers huddled behind the hulks of destroyed or damaged vehicles in a
frantic effort to stay out of the deadly hail of fire the Rebels were
now unleashing.
As fresh units were brought up, they provided covering fire for the
shattered remnants of the original assault force to withdraw.
[Rebel HQ]
"The Imps have stopped!"
"Damn good idea, Weyoun, on how to get rid of all those surplus
explosives we had!" Mullen then slapped Weyoun on the back with her
left hand, which caused him to shrink back visibly and frown in
disgust. Still frowning, he took a deep breath and spoke.
"General, we've only stopped them momentarily. They'll soon bring up
the *really* heavy stuff. I recommend we evacuate the base now. There's
nothing further to be gained by more deaths."
"Agreed. Send the evacuation orders."
[The Rebel Lines]
"Fall Back! Fall Back!" was the order shouted over and over by the
sergeants to their troops. Soon, everyone was running through the
trenches to the secondary defensive lines, except for a few troops who
stayed at their post. It was they who had the unenviable job of keeping
up the covering fire so that the rest of their comrades could man the
secondary trenches. This was virtually a death sentence, but not one
man flinched from his duty.
[Imperial Scout Trooper Witz - 550m from base entrance]
Colin Witz fought down the growling of his stomach and watched the
rebel scum pour out of the base entrance. In the corner of his display,
a estimate of the people in his vision clicked upwards, driven by the
powerful shape-recognition software in his helmet tac-comps. When the
number hit the magic mark - about 4,000 scum, Witz broke into the
Company com-net.
"Smokey. Enemy movement figures 4 Kilo, say again, figures 4 kilo,
out."
"Big Dog. Hunter, confirm four kilo, say again, confirm four kilo,
over."
"Hunter. I confirm. Four kilo, say again, four kilo. Permission to
start the music, over."
The reply was the stirring first few bars of the Imperial March
blasting out all over Phoenix Company's Comm-net.
[Writers note: From this point on, I'm putting my implant on and
writing this to the Imperial March
]"Nothing like a good Search and Destroy to get the blood
flowing...flowing in rivers, that is!" cackled LT. Hit-Man as he
slammed a hi-cap 300 round clip into his battlescarred E-11 and checked
his underbarrel flame unit to see if the electrical ignition system was
working. All around him, his men repeated the same procedure. Tank
commanders sent tibanna gas into their main gun firing chambers in
anticipation of activity, while the men manning the transports warmed
up their automatic blasters.
Drawing a bead on a technician, Seifert slowly exhaled and pulled the
trigger of his A-280. It jerked back into his shoulder, sending a
deadly bolt of plasma towards the unwitting rebel technician running
for the transport.
Time virtually slowed to a stop for Seifert as he watched the bolt
strike the rebel. He watched as the rebel's head exploded like a
watermelon hit with a sledgehammer, spurting blood all over the
pristine white landscape. The moment the corpse hit the snow, he
shifted his rifle to the next technician running for the 'ports,
unaware of what had happened to his compatriot behind him. Squeezing
the trigger again, Seifert sent another rebel falling to the snow with
their head a steaming mess, watching the whole thing through his A-
280's false color scope, which automatically compensated for inclement
conditions, such as darkness, making night appear like noon.
Suddenly, the entire landscape lit up in a brilliant white light as
January's Leveller I ripple-fired it's payload into the snowy night
sky.
[Rebel Trenches - in a forest east of Seifert's position]
Lieutenant Atti screamed as the treeline he was watching for signs of
Imperial activity lit up in a brilliant white light, blinding him and
any others who weren't wearing their night vision equipment.
[Note: I'm referring to advanced 3rd or 4th gen PNVGs with built in
light blocks that respond faster than the human eye, preventing people
from being blinded by sudden increases in light]
>From the edges of his blinded vision, Atti thought he saw a dozen or
so white points of light rising rapidly into the night sky.
The 28 Arakyd 12.23tA2 Concussion missiles' ion engines boosted them to
nearly 20,000 feet before shutting down. Invisible in the night sky,
they tipped over and small aerosurfaces began to move, guiding the
missiles to their targets.
When their radar altimeters showed their altitude to be 150 feet, a
electric charge was sent to the warhead in the middle of the missiles.
The missiles exploded with a thunderclap in the sky, spreading their
deadly payloads all over the unsuspecting Rebel units below them.
Atti blinked. What was wrong with him? His vision was blurring. He
gasped and grabbed the lip of his foxhole. Gas! It only had to be gas!
Before he could even move his hands for the MOPP suit he carried on his
back, his vision dimmed to nothing, and he died.
All over the rebel trenches protecting the evacuation, hundreds of men
died in seconds as the deadly Fex-M3 nerve gas spread by the missile
warheads wafted down onto them. Others managed to sound the "unknown
bombardment" alarm before they died, while still others managed to
fully suit up.
Meanwhile, several hundred meters to the northeast, the two Rebel
Repulsorlift companies, slowly patrolled the perimeter around the vital
transports. Suddenly, all over the Rebel comm-bands, agonized shrieks
could be heard from the men inside the repulsorlifts as the Plank gas
ate right through their vehicles and into them.
The stunned survivors of the horrible Imperial bombardment raised their
heads just as Sheppard's tank crested the ridgeline.
"Driver, HALT!" yelled Sheppard as he grabbed the sides of the hatch to
steady himself as the tank ground to a sudden halt.
Behind him, the rest of Phoenix Company came to a halt. Sheppard sat
there, savoring the moment, despite the sub-zero temperatures swirling
around him right now and the fact that it was in the middle of a
blizzard.
As he hung in the cupola, watching the deadly clouds of colorless gas
waft through the Rebel lines with his helmet visor (the gas was UV-
tagged), causing men to twitch and fall to the ground dead, a parable
came to him.
"It makes no difference what men think of War. War endures. War was
always here. Before man was, War waited for him. The ultimate trade
awaiting the ultimate practitioner."
"CHAAAAARRRRGEEE!"
Almost immediately, from the external loudspeakers on all the Imperial
vehicles, blared the Imperial March at full blast, shaking the entire
valley, and causing micro-avalanches with it's intensity.
Every surviving rebel stopped what they were doing and looked up at the
source of the hated Imperial anthem. Fear settled into the pit of their
stomachs, like a festering flesh-eating virus, ready to explode at any
moment into sheer unremitting terror.
As his tank began to pick up speed, Sheppard mashed the 'seat down'
button on his keypad, sending his seat back into the turret with the
whine of smooth hydraulics. The hatch closed and sealed itself over his
head, making the tank a completely self-contained unit.
Making himself comfortable, he glanced at the trio of displays in front
of him. The leftmost one was displaying a map of the surrounding area,
enabling him to check the location of every man in his company at a
glance, while the center display was a direct feed of what was being
fed at the moment to the gunner's sight. The rightmost display was the
one that had all the miscellaenous errata, such as a listing of his
company's objectives, mission elapsed time, etc, along with being
capable of showing a real-time vidfeed of anything anyone with the
right equipment (such as a Stormtrooper helmet) was seeing at the
moment.
"Charlie, report, over."
Seifert grunted in reply.
"Stat report, ASAP, over!"
"Big Dog, enaging targets now, no time, out." For a moment, Seifert's
voice was drowned out by the roar of his A280 rifle.
"Big Dog, One less target to do the warm up, out."
"Big Dog out." replied Sheppard.
Seifert looked around, and motioned for his men to bring the PLX-2Ms up
from their speeder bikes. It was time to have some live-fire practice.
[Beta Platoon - LT. Hit-Man Commanding]
"AWRIGHT, YA MAGGOTS! LISTEN UP!"
"Make abso-fucking-loutely those damnned suit seals are tight! I'll
personally kick the ass of anyone who's seals are leaky!"
Everyone shuddered, even though they knew that if any of the shit got
through, even with their suit MedComps pre-loaded with the andidote to
the Fex-M3, they would have at best a 50-50 chance of surviving. If you
had asked them, they would have been emphatic in their agreement that
yes, the LT could track you all the way down even after you were dead
and still kick your ass.
In the red-lit troop compartment of the repulsorlift transport, every
trooper clutched their weapon like their life depended on it, which it
did, because the penalty for losing your weapon without recovering it
later or securing an replacement in LT Hit-Man's outfit was...death.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang that shook the entire transport, and
the red light snapped off. Moments later, it flickered back on,
illuminating a sizeable dent in the side of the transport that was
glowing slightly from the residual energy left from whatever the hell
had just hit them.
Still they ground on, several dozen meters behind the tanks of Alpha
Platoon.
[Echo Platoon - Lt. Dice commanding]
The grey-suited Imperial Army troopers tittered nervously in the back
of their own transport, which was well behind both Alpha and Beta
platoons. Normally, they wouldn't be sulking so far behind the
Stormies, as they were always ready to prove that they didn't need full
body armor like those pansies in white. However, as they always did
when going into combat in a NBC (Nuclear,Biological, Chemical)
environment, they decided that it was safer to err on the side of
prudence, as their grey jumpsuits and chest armor, while being treated
to allow minimal NBC protection, weren't as comprehensive as the
Stormtroopers' armor.
Dice smiled, despite this seeming slight on the honor of Echo Platoon,
because the Captain had given them the task of clearing out the Rebel
base. Close quarters combat was the hardest test you could put a man
to, and rightly so.
Finally, he would get a chance to use his custom vibro-sword, which he
had had designed by one of the Empire's leading experts in edged
weapons.
The blade was unique in that it reassembled itself using nano-
technology in a manner similar to that of a lightsaber being activated,
allowing him to carry a full-size broadsword into battle witho