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STAR WARS
STOP THAT SHIP!
A storm troopers tale

By Ian Tanner
Set roughly 5 years before New Hope

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

The rumble of the repulsors shook the ferracrete landing platform as the Gamma Assault class transport descended gracefully into the Depta IV Imperial supply depot. As the transports landing struts extended and took the immense weight of the shuttle, the roar of the repulsors slowly died away, revealing the bustle of the urban sprawl outside the depot, a budding metropolis of low level dwellings and small industries that made up Deptotia Central, the only settlement in the entire Depta system. While the access hatches on the transport slid silently open a series of automatons emerged from various coves within the walls of the landing area. A trio of binary load lifters, their bulky grey forms moving noisily to the cargo hatches on the backside of the shuttle while a wiry overseer droid directed their movements as a conductor directs an orchestra. While the droids toiled away removing cases of ammo and supplies from the shuttle a line of figures emerged from the forward compartments access hatch, their pristine white armour glistening under Depta’s two suns.

A tall man in a grey imperial officer uniform met the emerging figures, his stern visage cowing the armoured group into formation. “Alright you stinking Jawa scum, get your worthless arses into formation” he screamed, forcing a scurrying of movement as the storm troopers snapped to a immaculate drill posture. The officer then took out a data pad from his pocket, examined it briefly and then continued his rant, “ok you wamp rats, I am Sergeant Kresh squad leader of the third platoon of the second battalion of the five hundred and sixty first storm trooper legion, Malak’s Tyrants and from now on you will not breathe, eat or piss without my direct say-so, do you understand” this was met by a resounding chant of “sir yes sir” by all eight of the armoured figures, their mechanically altered voices rebounding in the confined landing platform. Sergeant Kresh then slowly moved down the line of troopers, ticking off individuals on his datapad, pausing before one, “MT861” he bawled to an academy perfect response of “sir yes sir”, almost as loud as when all eight troopers had yelled at once. “It says here you were born on Fondor, that correct private?” Kresh screamed, moving his face to within centimetres of MT861’s faceplate, the ringing noise vibrating inside his helmet. “Sir yes sir, my farther was among the construction crews for the first Imperial class star destroyer sir” came the impersonal mechanical voice. “Is that so, happen to be a Fondor man myself, born and raised in a pit of machine parts and engine grease” came the relatively quiet response, the shout still echoing around the walls of the landing bay, the silent lumbering forms of the binary load lifters being the only ones seemingly not cowed by this demonstration of lung capacity. Kresh apparently satisfied that all was in order turned sharply around and marched quickly towards the main door from which he had emerged earlier, giving a short shout for the storm troopers to follow.

As the line of white armoured figures weaved their way across the landing platform, dodging the bulky forms of load lifters which continued on their set paths, carrying massive crates of supplies regardless of the presence of people in their path, they entered the base the first impression was of the mess and grime present everywhere, whether it was the moss growing across the walls or the bundles of wiring left chaotically running across the floor. A far cry from the pristine white corridors and immaculate panelling of the academy that they had just left or the recruitment holo-vids that had enticed them into signing up. Despite the loud display that had greeted them upon their arrival the lead trooper in the line, 777 an unusually short man for a storm trooper, gathered the courage to ask Kresh a question, “sir” he stammered, “is the base always this err…”“filthy” Kresh answered, “yes, for a backwater command like this the conditions here are actually quite good, at least they’ve got the mynock population under control anyway.” After this the line of armoured figures, headed by their grey uniformed officer filed their way silently through the base, passing stacks of cargo containers, maintenance crews and more binary load lifters, seemingly marching around the base in perpetual circles, moving cargo from one area to another for no perceivable reason.

Eventually after apparently marching for miles the entourage arrived at a small blast door labelled ‘temporary barracks’, Kresh led them inside, inserting his rank cylinder into a data port by the door to open the hatch. Once inside the troopers soon recognised the layout as a prefabricated barracks facility, a sight very familiar from the academy, with its rows of bunks, lockers and separate showering and eating facilities. These prefab constructs were present throughout the empire, being easy to deploy from even the smallest of ships. As the door slid shut behind them they again lined up into a parade formation. Kresh turned to address them “ok listen up we are staying here till the Conviction turns up, apparently its stuck in the Telos system with engine trouble so I cant tell you when it may arrive, until it does I’ve volunteered you bunch of Banthas for security patrols of Deptotia Central, the local boys could do with a rest and I don’t want you getting fat, too much paperwork to requisition larger armour!” he bellowed in his usual booming voice. “Now get cleaned up and rested, first patrols in six hours, your access cylinders are on the counter there”, he said, indicating the row of eight rank cylinders on the food preparation table. “Your equipment should arrive shortly, one of the droids is bringing it direct from the ship but they do tend to take the scenic route to get anywhere so don’t hold your breathe, I’ll see you in six hours” at which he marched swiftly out of the door, the hatch slamming shut behind him.

For a long moment the soldiers standing in parade formation didn’t move, the shock of their first assignment and the loudness of Sergeant Kresh keeping them in line despite their isolation within the sealed barracks. Then with the shock gone or at least faded their formation broke, the troopers removing their helmets and scurrying to claim a bunk, not much of a challenge as these prefab barracks were designed to house ninety men, allowing each trooper ten bunks to himself, leaving a further ten for the sergeant who seemed to have left some personnel effects on one of the middle bunks. Then the troops stripped off their armour, which they had been wearing throughout their seven-hour flight from Caridia to this backwater planet for their transfer to the Conviction, a Bayonet Class frigate for their first assignment post training. With their bulky armour off the troops stripped off their body suits and hit the showers, throwing their suits armour into a cleaning bucket where an automated process cleaned their uniforms of the bodily odours of their journey. “So 861 what you think of our gallant officer” said 777 jokingly as they showered, “seems very friendly… in comparison to a Rancor, did you read his service record on the way in? Said he killed a Wookie with his bare hands, I didn’t think that was even possible” replied 861 to a plethora of laughter from the showering troopers. “I believe it”, said 843, the only female in the unit, her short brown hair cut back in a military style but her naked body still arousing the interest of the seven other naked men sharing the communal shower, an interest that new the limit that it should take after she broke the jaw of the last trooper to get too interested. “Did you see the size of his muscles, almost as big as yours 416” she continued, referring to the giant of a man showering at the end of the row, who clearly stood head and shoulders over the rest. “Hah, even I couldn’t tangle with a Wookie, those things would tear your arm out of your socket, even with your armour on” he replied in a rare burst of speech from the usually silent giant.

As the troopers finished off their shower and dried themselves they slipped back into their freshly laundered jumpsuits leaving their armour and helmets on their bunks. 910, an older man from Corellia, an the self appointed unit cook started to prepare some of the ready made meals at the barracks food preparation counter while the seven other troopers took seats at the metal table next to it. “Sith spit, how do they expect us to eat this crap?” he said while dropping a platter of Chattels on the table, “Ewok food!” he exclaimed while taking a seat among his comrades, to a plethora of half hearted thanks and curses. “Why do you think we’re being sent on patrol? None of us knows this planet,” said 777 while stuffing his face with a large Chattel “what use would we be.” No one replied for a few seconds, most having their mouths full of Chattel or not wanting to take part in 777’s rant that from past experience could continues for some time. Eventually 843 spoke up, after swallowing a mouth full, “like he said he wants to keep us busy, Conviction is probably older than even you 910 so it could be a while before she turns up” she said to a round of sniggering, even from 910. “What’s more this planet probably only has fleet garrisoning it, I didn’t see any proper troops on the way in so I’m assuming the base commander wants to make use of the resources available” added 861, referring to the black clad troops that had been patrolling the corridors on their way in, who were commonly regarded among storm troopers as being little more than bantha fodder, and not very good bantha fodder at that.

The troops spent the next half hour gossiping away, relieved to be out of the confines of the troops transport, 810 and 811, twins from Coruscant who enlisted together started up a game of sabbac, liberating a few credits from 910 before being losing the jackpot to 777. After this the troops cleaned up the table and hit the bunks for few hours, none were that tired as they had slept on the transport but they knew that Kresh would run them ragged patrolling the city later so they got some rest while they could, finding the luxury of the near empty barracks in comparison to the cramped facilities at the academy on Caridia.
Soon they were awoke however by a banging on the door, 861, whose bunk was closet to the door, jumped at the sound and made a grab for a blaster that was not in its holster, their armaments being stored in their luggage that had not yet turned up.

As the vagueness of sleep left his mind his location returned to him and he relaxed, to the laughter of 843 who lay in her bunk. “Easy there soldier boy,” she taunted as he rose from his bunk to answer the banging on the door. When he opened the door a large bulky form barged into the room, forcing 861 to dodge to the side to avoid being crushed under the clattering legs of the binary load lifter as it barged into the barracks, carrying a pile of crates that he recognised as their equipment cases. The droid dropped the cases in the middle of the floor and quickly turned around, again forcing 861 to dodge to avoid it massive fork arms before it stomped outside, the door slamming shut behind it, “stupid droids” was all he could say.

With their equipment arrived, however inept the carrier, the troops proceeded to get ready for Kreshes arrival, who doubtlessly would be exactly on time to the microsecond. They quickly strapped on their armour and put on their helmets, surrendering their individual selves into the persona of the storm trooper. 501, as the designated unit supply officer, was the one to open the factory sealed supply containers, issuing out the eight Blastech E-11 blaster rifles, the thermal detonators and the Blastech t-21 heavy repeater rifle to 416, the units heavy weapon specialist. After doing the text book safety inspections of their equipment and replacing a few of the components that had been installed incorrectly at the factory, an unnervingly common problem with the Blastech rubbish they were equipped with they spent a little time checking over their armour, straitening out their shoulder plates and forming back into the familiar parade ground stance, clicking their heels together in salute as Kresh entered the room, exactly on time.

“Very good, squad at ease” Kresh said eventually after a long slow assessing glare of the assembled troops, now wearing his own glistering storm trooper armour, his black shoulder pouldron the only indication of his identity. “Now listen up, we are going to march to the central business district together, we will then split into four elements for standard patrols of eight hours before returning, patrol routes are being uploaded into your suit systems now, Deptotia Central is fairly relaxed, its got a population of roughly ninety thousand so not too big and its pretty low level stuff as you may have noticed on your way in” he said while walking up and down the line of assembled troops, inspecting their equipment and armour. Then suddenly he turned sharply about, his E-11 swaying at his hip, and marched out of the door, giving an abrupt order to follow.
As the troops marched through the corridor they passed several technicians standing around a toppled binary load lifter, its left leg snapped cleanly in two with broken crates of food rations littered across the floor. Despite this the squad marched onwards, through the dank bowls of the facility, the moss on the walls growing denser and the floor dirtier until they reached the main door, a massive slab of durasteel, three meters tall. The door was flanked by a pair of fleet troopers who upon noticing the squad of storm troopers, their armour flashing under the broken lighting of the chamber, as Kresh marched straight to the door, ignoring the fleet troopers who were frantically trying to straighten their uniforms without drawing undue attention to their slovenly appearance, he swiftly inserted his rank cylinder into the doors access terminal, which immediately started to grind upwards, letting the daylight flood into the dank chamber.

The squad filed out of the chamber into the glare of the day, their helmet visors blocking out the harmful light, leaving the pair of incompetent fleet troopers to their fumbling attempt to look like soldiers of the empire. As the troopers emerged into the open, 861 took stoke of the view that assaulted him, the base was a giant black obelisk rising up out of the dirty sands, the city that he had seen while landing was separated from the facility by a fifty meter strip of scorched earth, the city itself was little more than a series of dirt ferracrete blocks, none rising more than three stories tall. Looking behind him to the facility he saw the large door sliding shut but flanking it were a pair of AT-STs, their bulbous box heads being instantly recognisable. “Pretty heavy firepower for a tranquil city” he said, not meaning to say it aloud. “That is correct 861” Kresh bellowed into his face, having turned round to face him so fast that 861 visibly flinched, earning a silent chuckle from 777 and 843 who were able to see this. “There was a riot a month ago, a couple of fleet troopers got themselves killed so the governor requisitioned some armour”, Kresh said unusually quietly, “sir yes sir, sorry sir” blurted 861, unhelpfully unable to remove the image of Kresh tearing out a Wookies arm from his mind. “Not at all 861” said Kresh, backing off to his original position where he could see the entire squad, “a keen and observant mind is what separates us from those fleet imbeciles, not this armour, now come on, it’s a ten minute walk to the central business district” he said, wordlessly turning about and marching down the dusty highway.

As the squad moved along the road they got a better view of the buildings of the city. The further they got from the garrison the cleaner the building got until they eventually entered an area with pleasant terraces of immaculate houses, with well constructed roads replacing the dirt paths closer to the base. Eventually they reached what they assumed to be the business district, the houses gave way to larger retail centres and the amount of foot traffic on the roads drastically increased, whereas there had been scant few individuals on the road by the garrison here the crowds were thick with humans and a large variety of aliens. The squad drew curious looks from many of the obviously local residents, who were accustomed to seeing fleet troopers patrolling the streets, not storm troopers but those that were obviously visitors to Depta IV didn’t give them a second look, other than to get out of their way.

When the squad reached the central square, a large tiled area with multiple fountains giving welcome relief from the arid planet, Kresh ordered them to form up, lining them up facing a large curved building with a massive holo-projection advertising it as Astar’s Casino. “Okay we’re going to split into four patrol groups, alpha group will be 777 and 910, you take the northern residential zone. Beta group will be 810 and 811, take the eastern residential zone. Gamma group will be 861 and 843 you take the western industrial district and everyone else come with me, we’ll do the dock district. Move out.” At that the squad broke up to a scattered mutterings of good luck and a joking “may the force be with you” from 777, which raised a few chuckles, even from Kresh, which surprised most of the squad.

861 and 843 moved off towards the western side of the square, quickly loosing sight of the squad in the bustle of the crowd that grew thicker with aliens as they got closer to the industrial district, large groups of Duros, Quarren and even a Wookie crossed their path. “I wonder what the sergeant would make of that Wookie,” quipped 843, setting her comm to a private channel first “probably a nice rug” replied 861 after a pause while he similarly switched his comm to a private channel while dodging a Dugg whose short height had avoided his gaze and nearly walked straight into him. “What’s with the pause soldier boy? You staring at my arse?” 843 taunted, putting on her best seductive tone. “Me, positively not, I like my jaw in its current shape thanks” replied 861 with a chuckle. 861 and 843 had been together since enlisting and although their relationship was strictly a friendship 843 liked to flirt with 861, if for nothing else but to imagine his face reddening underneath his helmet.

As the armoured duo progressed away from the square the quality and cleanliness of the buildings quickly dropped away, until with the square out of sight the dirt and degeneration became worse than even the areas outside the garrison. The buildings turned from small dwelling and shops into larger dirtier factories, smog belched from chimneys that rose into the sky light the towers on Coruscant. Soon the smog blackened the very sky out and the troopers were relying on their helmets enhanced night vision to be able to see where they were walking. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” said 843, her blaster raised. “Relax, this is like the academy gardens in comparison to the smog on Fondor, that stuff would dissolve you skin in a microsecond if you went out in it without protection” replied 861, being more than used to this sort of living conditions having grown up in a Fondor slum. “Your just too used to the beautiful manicured gardens of Caridia, did you even leave the planet before today?” asked 861, “I went to Coruscant once with my family, that was… different, no green anywhere but it was clean and hygienic, on the upper levels anyway” she replied, knowing she was touching on a delicate subject with 861, being from a wealthy merchant family on a pleasant planet compared sharply with 861, raised in an slum dwelling on probably the most polluted planet in the galaxy. 861 was expectedly silent after this.

As the duo was passing an especially large industrial complex they received a patchy communication, “Storm Patrol MT861/MT843 this is Deptotia Central control respond” the corrupted atmosphere apparently interfering with their signal. 861 quickly clicked his comm back onto the main channel and responded, “this is Storm Patrol MT861 copy, over,” “reported civilian dispute grid A45.004 please respond shots fired over and out”. Temporarily dumbfounded by this tern of events 861 was a few seconds behind 843 in bringing up the co-ordinates on their visor maps so it was her that started off at a trot first, with 861 bringing up the rear while clicking off the safety on his blaster. “Slow down 843” he cried, fumbling his comm back onto private loop, “it should be that big domed building on the left” he said, indicating a giant grey building with a pale dome crowing its main body.

As they drew closer to the building they spotted the main entryway, a small access door that opened directly onto the main road. As they reached it they took position on either side of door, “ready” they both said at once, “try not to break any civilians jaws, it creates a mess of paperwork” said 861, only half-jokingly. “I’ll try to keep that in mind” replied 843, swiftly moving in front of the door and giving the weedy plastic thing a thorough kick, smashing it in. 861 then swung round into the building, his blaster raised and his helmets visor scanning the gloomy interior for threats. Moving silently the pair moved through the abandoned corridor, their weapons pointed at the door on the far side from their entry point, when they reached it they heard faint angry shouting from the other side, “Tiz nanna d’guzka petrere,” this time 861 kicked down the door while 843 swept into the room, which was much better lit. When they both had entered the scene that presented itself to them was more comical than threatening, a pair of Wookies were stood by a table, one of them holding up a Duros by the ankle, his body dangling and arms squiggling frantically for a blaster that had obviously fallen to the floor, nearly a meter beneath his head.”

At the sudden entry of two armoured figures the two Wookies turned quickly to face them, the Duros quickly stopped struggling and hung limp. “Kick that blaster over here and put him down now Wookie” cried 861 in what he hoped was an intimidating tone. Fortunately the Wookies complied, even if they dropped the Duros down with considerable force. “Now explain what’s going on here,” said 843, crouching to pick up the blaster pistol that the Wookies had kicked over. “Dees Wookies not work, Wookies not work me not paid, me not paid, me no happy, me encourage Wookies to work” said the Duros, his broken basic barely comprehensible, partially because of his ill shaped mouth but also because of his uncontrollable shaking, even as he crawled away from the Wookies. “Encouraging them with a blaster pistol?” asked 861, annoyed at the obvious arrogance of the Duros, “what about you two, what’s your side of the story?” he asked. “You speak Wookie?” asked the Wookie that had been holding the Duros, in a series of roars. “Great we’re going to need a translator,” moaned 843 knowing how long such a request could take. “I speak a little, just go slow,” replied 861, lowering his blaster slightly now that the situation had calmed down. “You can speak Wookie?” said 843, astonished at the unknown skill her friend had. “Yes there were a few Wookie workers for the shipyards at Fondor, I picked up a few words from hanging around with them” replied 861. “I am impressed Imperial, few of your species can understand us, or have the will to even learn” continued the Wookie slowly and as clearly as he could “this Duros refused to pay us our wages for the last week unless we staid on for another month, which we do not wish as we have saved enough money to return home.” As 861 translated this for 843s benefit the Duros got back to his feet, however nervously, interrupting 861 he cried “don’t believe these animals they…” “Shut up” shouted 843, marching up to the Duros and hitting him in the face with her rifle, sending the Duros flying backwards, “Now I’m not too sure on Deptotian labour law but lets focus on Imperial firearms control legislation shall we, I don’t suppose you’ve a permit for that blaster do you Duros?” she continued. “Okay calm down,” said 861 stepping closer to 843, if anything to stop her hitting the Duros again. “Pay the Wookies their wages and a bonus and we’ll forget all about this okay” 861 said, picking up the Duros roughly. Faced with two angry storm troopers and two angry Wookies the Duros had little choice but to accept the imposed terms, “okay” he said weakly, fumbling in his belt for his credit chips before handing them to the so far silent Wookie. “This acceptable to you two” said 843, to a response of a pleased grunt from both Wookies. “Then we take our leave”, said 861 already backing out towards the door that they had entered by, “don’t even think about charging us for these doors” called 843 as they exited, passing over their shattered remains. As they emerged into the gloom of the outside from the factory, 861 teased, “What did I say about civilian’s jaws?”


As always everything, even the eyes used to read this are the property of Lucas Film Ltd. and the big man himself, Darth Lucas will you hunt you down if you try to steal anything and make you watch Jar Jar Binks perform fart jokes, a fate worse than death to people whose sense of humour has matured beyond age four.

i forgot to ask everyone for their opinions

so please speak honestly

be as evil and overly critical as you want

Darth Tanner wrote:i forgot to ask everyone for their opinions

so please speak honestly

be as evil and overly critical as you want

I just saw this.... pretty good. It is a much different spin on the whole SW/FF thing, taking the perspective of the stormtropper..... well done.

CERC

from now on you will not breathe, eat or piss without my direct say-so, do you understand”

good! I love it!
However, I have one complaint, the city you are describing sounds like it has a few million people living in it. Otherwise it is great!

thanks for the feedback

ye with the city i sort of started off with a small town, but then i though why would a small town get an impeial garison? oh well, i'll try to make a decision on which way to go

one of the big themes that i hoped to get across is that those poor stormtroopers who keep getting shot are just normal people under that armourm

not evil, just obediant

Darth Tanner wrote: one of the big themes that i hoped to get across is that those poor stormtroopers who keep getting shot are just normal people under that armourm

not evil, just obediant

Yeah, I find it humorous how they still call each other by their designations when they are off duty. We do stuff alot the same, we still call each other by their callsign or last name, most of the time.......


CERC

really? wow scary!

i initally had names for all of them but started to use numbers because i didnt like the idea of a stormtrooper saying "hi jane"

whos army you in? American?

heres a question for all u military types,
do seargents sleep with their men? or do they get seperate quarters?

Darth Tanner wrote:really? wow scary!

i initally had names for all of them but started to use numbers because i didnt like the idea of a stormtrooper saying "hi jane"

whos army you in? American?

heres a question for all u military types,
do seargents sleep with their men? or do they get seperate quarters?

US Air Force, and I'm an officer, so I don't really know about the army enlisted barracks situation.... but I would assume that on deployment they are seperate.....

CERC

thanks
i hope to have chapter two up some time over easter

Good start, i like it.

A female stormtrooper? And i always saw them as front-line-combatants, not those who do garrison-duty.

They are just stationed there while they are waiting for their broken down ship to arrive, although I believe they are used for garrison duty anyway, or at least people wearing storm trooper armour (not trained to storm trooper levels) are as in the X-Wing books where new conscripts are shoved into the armour for the look of it.

As with the female trooper I got a lot of inspiration from the IMPS Relentless fan film, which I incidentally think is as good as the films.
Also I think even Palpatine must fear equal opportunity lawyers!

Very good piece. Dont stop writing this till its done.
And as for a fem Stormie, I always just assumed they were there but didn't have any dialogue in the movies.

concrete evidence of female stormtroopers

lol

EDIT: by the way chapter 2 out soon!

The heels spoil the entire effort she must have had with the custume.

I like it. A lot. Well done with the new perspective on the Empire's forces. Keep it up!

She, my friends, is what one calls a keeper.... hehehehe

CERC

Okay everyone part 2 is finally done! im sorry it took so long but ive had a few essays to do and Oblivion was released aswell so there!
anyway id just like tosay how happy i am that at lest 400 people have looked at this story (even if most would have looked at it for a few seconds you still count!) thanks everyone

The remainder of the patrol went without incident, dispersing a group of Rodians who were loitering on a street corner before turning back towards the main business district to meet up with the others and conclude the patrol. When they reached the central square the crowds they had seen earlier had gone, with only a few stragglers remaining in the square. “We early 861?” asked 843, not spotting any of their squad in the square. “Only a couple of minutes, the others should be along soon enough, unless they’ve all been killed by a hoard of wild Ewoks,” he replied, referring to units first combat holo-simulation on Caridia where they had been overwhelmed by an army of the diminutive creatures, not exactly impressing their instructors with their martial prowess. “I wonder how Kresh scored in that exercise,” mused 843, “ha, I can just imagine him ploughing through a hoard of Ewoks, battering them down with their own ripped off arms” replied 861 chuckling.

It wasn’t long before the other squads arrived, 777 giving a griping tale of how he had beaten off a legion of Gamorean berserkers, 910 putting in how the two of them had actually dealt with a drunk Gamorean who could barely stand up, much to the protest of 777. Eventually Kresh and the remaining two troopers turned up, perfectly on time, leading them back up the road to the garrison, the two AT-STs in the exact position as before, raising the suspicion in 861’s mind that the fleet troops may have just left the things there unmanned, not an uncommon practise on these far out outposts. They moved silently through the base, tracing the maze like route back to the prefabricated barracks, when they arrived sergeant Kresh again unlocked the door with his rank cylinder leading them inside. “Ok you Jawa's, stow your arms and stand down I’ll expect all of you in the training area in sixteen hours, till then take a break, you’ve managed to complete a patrol without embarrassing the Empire” said Kresh, while stowing his blaster rifle in his bunk locker. “The base bar is in the northern section, get a mouse droid to show you where or you’ll never find it” he continued before disappearing out the door.

The eight storm troopers quickly secured their weaponry in their lockers, sealing them with their own rank cylinders, 416 having considerable trouble getting his larger weapon to fit. “You’d think they would design these things to fit standard weaponry” he complained while trying fruitlessly to jam his gun into the box, “err you have to detach the barrel” added 861 concerned about the rough handling of the weapon, especially considering 416’s habit of ‘forgetting’ to put the safety on. 416 quickly detached the barrel and easily placed the two parts in the locker, grumbling inaudibly under his breath. With their weapons securely locked away the troopers threw off their helmets, activating their auxiliary comms on their belts before leaving the barracks. “Now all we have to do is find a mouse droid,” said 777, leading the way. The troops filed northwards, getting directions from an engineering detail before coming across a mouse droid, which lead them to the base bar, a large room with a wide window looking out over the cityscape, the sun setting in the distance.

The troops quickly picked up some drinks from the bar, which had a wide selection of local drinks, most of the unit chose Deptotian Ale, but 843 opted for a Depta Twister, a bizarre cocktail of swirling colours with cream on the top. As the troops sat down at a corner table they took in the other occupants of the room, the pair of droid bartenders stood idle behind the bar while the only other occupants sat at the central pair of tables, a group of ten fleet troopers, all of them men, chatting noisily and quite intoxicated, apparently oblivious to the new arrivals. “So 843, I heard you got another jaw,” said 777, “do Duros have jaw bones?” she answered with a grin. The unit spent the next hour chatting harmlessly about their patrols and various amusement programs on the holo-net, the serving droids serving a selection of light snacks as well as occasionally bringing refills of ale and cocktails, 777, 810 and 811 becoming more adventurous and trying several of the more exotic cocktails.

After about an hour the group of fleet troopers decided to leave, rising rather chaotically from their table they apparently noticed the storm troopers for the first time. “Hey look, its our armour clad saviours” said the biggest of the fleet troopers, stumbling towards their table, followed by his comrades. “Think your better than us do ya… Just because you get your shiny armour” said one of the troops at the back of the group. “You do realise we technically outrank you” said 501, checking their rank cylinders for any sergeants red markings. “Ooh think your big shots in that armour do you, your all privates same as us” replied the big fleet trooper, “if anything you should be saluting me as I’ve got seniority here.” This raised a grin from 777, “yeah right, a storm trooper salute a fleet bantha, that’ll be the day” he quipped, “if you need us to educate you on imperial seniority regulations I’m sure we can give you a physical example of why storm troopers out rank fleet scum” he continued, standing up, quickly joined by the other storm troopers. At this the rest of the fleet troopers fanned out in a surprisingly effective combat posture for drunken fleet troopers, forming a solid wall of black uniforms cutting off the corner table that the storm troopers had been sat at. “Hey look at that pretty thing,” remarked one of the fleet troopers, noticing 843, which was a great mistake for him as she quickly laid him out flat with a single punch.

The ensuing fight was over before it started, the drunken fleet troops were all down within seconds, the four storm troopers behind the table didn’t even get a chance to join in. “wow three jaws in one day”, quipped 777 as the unit retook their seats, “and you weren’t excited about being assigned this far out,” “hey I can’t help getting my hope up, those recruitment posters promised me a post on a star destroyer blasting heaven rebels” she replied, waving the serving droid over for a refill. As the unit continued their discussion, ordering some more snacks, the fleet troopers got to their feet, the more able of them carrying those who hadn’t regained conscience yet away to the laughter of the storm troopers. “Those fleet bums, do they even go through standard military training,” said 501, always disdainful of any lack of military protocol. “Hey if it wasn’t for the button pushers wed have to be stationed on world like this permanently, not just while we’re waiting for our crappy ship to arrive,” said 777 referring to the often used term for fleet troops, who were often assigned administration roles guarding desks throughout the empires facilities.

The troops chatted idly for a few minutes more before rising and making their way back to their barracks, fortunately finding a mouse droid to lead them back. When they reached their quarters they stripped off their remaining armour and threw their jump suits into the cleaning basket again. “Why do they design these things to get so sweaty,” said 843, throwing her own jump suite into the bin from the other side of the room before heading off into the shower block. “Its so that they hug your beautiful figure,” said 777 jokingly, only just ducking the tin of nerf meat that came hurtling threw the air after him. After the unit showered they immediately hit the bunks, being tired out from the lengthy foot patrol earlier, 861 suspected this planet had higher than standard gravity as he wasn’t usually this tired after a lengthy march and the Caridian training officers did enjoy their training marches, especially since they weren’t carrying heavy packs.

The troops clambered out of bed a couple of hours before they were to meet Kresh for training, they quickly consumed a quick meal, 810 & 811 opening up the can of nerf meat that had nearly hit 777. The meal was a quite affair, only broken by 777 telling 910 a few jokes about a Twilek dancer that involved some quite descriptive hand movements, before 843 made a move towards another can of nerf meat to shut up his vulgarity. After finishing their meal the troop quickly slipped into their fresh jump suits, clipping on their armour as they polished them. When they were fully suited they unlocked their weaponry from their lockers and did another safety check, 416 having to replace his safety clip after accidentally snapping it off with his earlier forceful movements. When everyone was ready the troops filed out into the base, again finding a mouse droid quickly to lead them to the training area, which turned out in the open in the south section of the base. As they filed out of the narrow door into the bright morning sunshine they saw Kresh waiting for them by what appeared to be a target range overlooking a wide empty plain littered with burnt out machinery and vehicles. “Welcome to Depta Central Target Range, which also happens to be Depta Central metal waste storage” he said in his usual booming voice, an imperial sniper rifle balanced in one hand. “There has been a slight change of plans, the Conviction has been repaired ahead of schedule and is reroute, ETA is about 2 hours, apparently they were able to confiscate some parts from a parsing freighter” he continued “so we are shipping out as soon as she arrives but this leaves us with a little time for some target practice, I understand you have already had some instruction in hand to hand combat with the fleet troop garrison” he said, staring intently at 843, “and that you upheld the honour of the legion.”

At this he quickly turned about and flipped off the lid of a packing crate filled with blaster packs and blaster gas canisters and then activated the firing range computer system with his rank cylinder. “Take your positions please,” he said, apparently leaving the incident in the bar alone, “E11’s only please 416, for now at least.” At this the troops lined up in their positions along the firing range, each trooper having a micro scanner fitted to the balcony in front of them to track their fire as well as a series of holo-projectors to create targets. “3…2…1… live fire in the range” Kresh yelled and at that a series of holo targets appeared on the range, a variety of humanoids ducking in and out of the wreckage at various distances, the further away a target was the more points it was worth to the target computer, which were immediately met by a hail of red blaster bolts from the line of troopers. After each trooper had fired off their 100 shots that their rifles held the range fell silent and the range computer processed the data to give each trooper a firing efficiency number; 861 scored 62, 843 scored 59, 777 scored 58, 416 scored 22, 910 scored 61, 501 scored 79 and both 810 and 811 scored 55 each. “Trooper 416 give me 22 push up now” yelled Kresh, who was immediately obeyed by 416. “You couldn’t hit a Hutt with a heavy repeater you Jawa spawn,” he screamed. After 416 had completed his push-ups he sprang back to his feet, apparently not tired by the exertion but 861 and 777, who stood to either side of him could clearly hear his panting under his armour. “Now 501 you try the sniper rifle” Kresh yelled, tossing the lengthy weapon to 501 whom only just caught it, fumbling with the bulky weapon while still holding his E11. “416 use your heavy repeater this time” continued in Kresh, “and the lowest score will give me 33 push ups” He threatened.

After the troops reloaded their rifles power packs they retook their positions, 416 levelling his larger weapon on its folding tripod on the banister, its 1000 capacity power pack requiring him to score considerably more shots than the others. “3…2…1… live fire in the range” Kresh called out again, producing another wave of humanoid targets darting between the burnt out waste of the base. This time the wave of red blaster bolts was drowned out by the stream of tiny blue pinpricks of light that swarmed out of 416’s position, a veritable tide of fire hosing down the range. After they had all expended their ammunition, 416 using his 1000 shots quicker than the others used their 100 shots, they again awaited their score results; 861 scored 64, 843 scored 60, 777 scored 57, 416 scored 69, 910 scored 60, 501 scored 90 and both 810 and 811 scored 50 each. Kresh didn’t even have to speak before 810 and 811 both hit the deck to do their 33 sit ups for coming last. Nodding to himself Kresh moved over to 416, “nice shooting there, guess that’s why you’re the heavy weapon specialist, but don’t neglect your E11, a heavy weapon is no use in the tight confines of a ships corridors”, he said “sir yes sir” replied 416 proudly. The firing training went on for another hour, the unit expending a considerably number of blaster packs and gas canisters while each trooper tried out the various weapons the unit had, each round the worst scorer being made to hit the deck for 33 sit ups. After an hour though Kresh called a stop to the firing, “501, I’m making you the unit sniper, good work corporal,” he said to 501, who despite his full armour and helmet was visibly beaming with pride at his promotion. Now restock your ammo and follow me to the shuttle dock, the Conviction’s drop ship is going to pick us up along with a few cases of supplies.

The troops silently filed though the corridor of the base, a noticeable bounce in the step of 501 because of his promotion to unit sniper but also everyone else felt much more positive now that they were finally getting to their assignment aboard a real war ship and not just this smelly old waste world. “Hey 501, if your head gets any bigger do you think you’ll be able to get a helmet to fit it,” said 777 over the private comm quietly at the back of the line, “well I don’t know, where did you get your helmet made that fits you ego” replied 501 jokingly.

As the squad emerged into the open of the landing bay where they had arrived they quickly surveyed the chaos that surrounded them. The pile of crates that had been unloaded when they had arrived not long ago still sat on the shuttle bay floor, several of the stacks having fallen over. There was also considerable activity around the launch office, a small area at the side of the bay where the control operator sat, with numerous technicians running around frantically with various complex looking devices in the arms. “What the hells going on here” shouted Kresh at a parsing technician, who nearly knocked himself out trying to both salute and carry the large device laden in his arms. “Err… sir… there’s a minor technical glitch with the loading bay hatch controls… sir,” stuttered the technician, obviously highly intimidated by the squad of storm troopers in their shining armour. “Okay technician I hope this will not be effecting the arrival of the Conviction’s assault shuttle” replied Kresh after giving the technician a very long stare, that despite his emotionless storm trooper helmet portrayed to the technician a considerable sense of dread. “Err… no sir, the drop ships still on schedule I believe sir” replied the tech before running off towards the other technicians.

The squad waited for a few minutes before they heard the buzz of an approaching shuttle, a low droning sound that vibrated through the metal flooring, shaking the storm troopers, the technicians as well as the crates where those few that still stood in their piles toppled over under the vibrations. “What in the name of the Emperor is that!” asked 777, unnerved by the unusual vibrations, “err Sir” he added hastily as Kresh gave him a glance. At this a large metal box came roaring overhead, the vibrations making it difficult for the storm troopers to stand, and impossible for the technicians, who fell down dropping their equipment all over the place. “I’d say it was a shuttle with an antigrav system that’s older than all of us combined,” said Kresh looking up at the now descending flying box, “Alpha class if I’m not mistaken.” “Alpha class, those things were old long before the clone wars,” exclaimed 501, amazed that something so old was even able to fly. “Err sir, that’s not our ride is it” asked 843, looking uncertainty at the ship, its bare metal hull showing a vast amount of carbon scoring, “yes” was all the response that Kresh gave.

The shuttle eventually landed, its antigrav system cutting out leaving the sip to rest heavily on its metal support legs. The quiet that descended on the shuttle bay was incredible, the overwhelming silence of the lack of the antigrav system putting both the storm troopers and technicians off balance. When the shuttle had come fully to rest the side hatch popped open, revealing a single black uniformed pilot in full flight gear standing at the opening. The pilot quickly jumped down to the shuttle bay floor, the shuttle lacking any sort of ramp or access ladder and walked over to the squad, holding a data pad out towards Kresh. “I’ll assume your waiting for transport to the Conviction so sign here and get on board” a female voice said from under the pilots helmet, which surprised 861 who had never met a female pilot before, the pilot wing of the empire being a testosterone dominated arena.

After Kresh signed her data pad with his rank cylinder the troops filed onto the shuttle, filling the first two rows of seats while strapping their rifles into net racks below their chairs. While they fumbled around, trying to fit into chairs not designed to fit people in full combat armour, the pilot flipped down the back two benches so that they presented a flat area. After this she waved over to one of the technicians who was standing next to a load lifter, which carried a large crate of various supplies. The technician effortless manoeuvred the droid into position next to the shuttle, the droids powerful arms effortlessly securing the crate on the flattened benches. After a quick inspection of the container the pilot returned to the single pilot seat at the front of the shuttle, closing the access hatch and strapping herself in to a much more modern flight seat. “Okay stormies brace yourself, the Conviction Express is a rather bumpy ride,” she said before flipping the antigrav systems back online.

The ride was surprisingly smooth; the vibrations were merely enough to bounce the storm troopers up and down in their seats while outside the forward window, whose large square display was quite unusual for a spacecraft, showed the technicians all falling over again at the resumption of the repulsors. The flight upwards was swift, what the shuttles primitive repulsors lacked in subtlety they made up for in brute strength, pushing the shuttle high into the atmosphere before the pilot kicked in the ion engines for space travel. The journey to the Conviction was brief, the frigate having jumped into the system close to the planet but the storm troopers still got an impressive view of the ship as it grew in the forward screen. The ship resembling a Star Destroyer from afar, but upon closer examination the ship revealed itself as a Bayonet class vessel, its small angular hull following the wedge design common throughout the galaxy for assault vessels of all sizes.

The shuttle came up beneath the Conviction, lining itself up with a rectangular hole in the centre of the frontal wedge that looked like it was cut to fit the shuttle exactly. As the shuttle rose towards the ship the storm troopers onboard were able to see clearly the filthy surface of the frigate, what had appeared to be a pristine hull from afar was revealed to be a patchwork of repairs and battle scaring. When the shuttle finally inserted itself into the launch hatch on the frigate and the bay doors were sealed beneath it the pilot again switched off the engines, again enveloping the storm troopers in the glorious silence of the engines deactivation. With the ship secured the pilot opened up the hatch and un-strapped herself from the pilots seat, “welcome to the Conviction” she said, “the mightiest Imperial warship in the entire Depta system, and also the only warship in the Depta system” she continued as the storm troopers disentangled themselves and their equipment from the benches netting.



as always all comments welcome, as me bumping my own story is illegal and punishable by hot pokers & sharp sticks

Interesting perspective. I like.

Radio procedure correction, "Over and out" are never used together.

Over: I am done and awaiting a response
Out: I am done and expect no response
Roger: I understand
Say again: say again
Repeat: used in a fire mission for call for fire, not to be confused with, "say again"

In answer to your question: NCOs will generally have their own quarters when they are at home station (garrison), but they'll sleep in the vicinity of their soldiers when deployed (a common tent or quarters of some kind). Males and females never sleep in the same location (at least in my experiences with deployments) in order to keep soldiers from screwing each other. NCOs would never salute other NCOs or call them, "sir" (or "ma'am"). Not sure how that would carry over in the Empire. In the US Army, NCOs are addressed as follows:

CPL: "Corporal"
SGT: "Sergeant"
SSG: "Sergeant"
SFC: "Sergeant"
MSG: "Sergeant"
1SG: "First Sergeant"
SMG: "Sergeant Major"
CSM: "Sergeant Major"

Your story is quite entertaining - keep it up!

Very nicely done! Keep it up!

jegs2 wrote:Radio procedure correction, "Over and out" are never used together.

Over: I am done and awaiting a response
Out: I am done and expect no response
Roger: I understand
Say again: say again
Repeat: used in a fire mission for call for fire, not to be confused with, "say again"

In answer to your question: NCOs will generally have their own quarters when they are at home station (garrison), but they'll sleep in the vicinity of their soldiers when deployed (a common tent or quarters of some kind). Males and females never sleep in the same location (at least in my experiences with deployments) in order to keep soldiers from screwing each other. NCOs would never salute other NCOs or call them, "sir" (or "ma'am"). Not sure how that would carry over in the Empire. In the US Army, NCOs are addressed as follows:

CPL: "Corporal"
SGT: "Sergeant"
SSG: "Sergeant"
SFC: "Sergeant"
MSG: "Sergeant"
1SG: "First Sergeant"
SMG: "Sergeant Major"
CSM: "Sergeant Major"

Your story is quite entertaining - keep it up!

Oh - sorry about this, as I assume you will have realised I have no military experience what so ever, except for my friend who just enlisted so all I hear from him is horrbible tales of bonding rituals and large amounts of booze! defenders of the realm indeed.

I must admit however I have based some of this of off Starship troopers (the film) so i'll blame the communal sleeping arrangments on that.

Anyway thanks for your feedback, part 3 should be done within a week, ish

Chapter 3! I know you've all been dying with anticipation...

As the storm troopers piled out of the shuttle’s hatchway into the close confines of the Convictions loading dock they got their first impression of their home for the next three years, the duration of their assignment. The impression was not good. Along the far wall was a stack of filthy supply crates, a pair of rusting ASP labour droids standing deactivated next to them while a team of four technicians prodded them with various tools. The unit quickly formed into a perfect parade formation four men wide while Sergeant Kresh talked with the pilot about their orders. “Where is the major? He was supposed to meet us upon arrival” said Kresh, “I don’t know Sergeant, maybe he’s stuck in one of the lifts the things have been malfunctioning lately” replied the pilot, in a surprisingly calm voice considering Kresh was yelling straight into her helmets visor. At this the door at the end of the loading dock slid open, to a symphony of screeching metal that did not sound healthy at all, revealing a man in an imperial officers uniform who marched quickly up to the unit of storm troopers, revealing his colonels rank bar as he drew closer.

“Officer on deck” yelled 501 as the major stopped directly in front of the formation of storm troopers, to a perfectly executed snap of boot heels being brought together. “At ease” said the officer in a soft quiet voice that was barely audible, even with their helmet speakers enhancing his voice, “I am major Trax, commander of the ground forcers on this rust bucket of a ship, and thus your commanding officer” he continued. “Sergeant are all your men accounted for?” he enquired of Kresh, still in his quite smooth voice. “Sir, yes sir third platoon, second battalion, five hundred and sixty first storm trooper legion, Malak’s Tyrants reporting fully armed and prepared for orders sir” barked out Kresh in his usual booming voice, which was even louder in the confines of the loading dock. “Your enthusiasm is noted Sergeant“ replied major Madine, “but perhaps misplaced, this is shall we say a nerf waste assignment, but I digress, shall we get moving” he said while turning round and striding back towards the door he had entered by, not giving Kresh or the other storm troopers another glance. The annoyance was visibly radiating from Kresh despite him being fully enclosed in armour.

As the storm troopers filed through the corridors of the Conviction, following their enigmatic colonel, they began to realise the true extent of the degradation the ship was suffering. All along the corridors of the ship access panels had been removed, revealing various cables and pipes either pulsing with the lifeblood energy of the ship or lying dead and inactive. The troopers continued on through the maze of corridors in silence, passing fleet troopers and technicians busying themselves with the numerous repair schemes underway across the ship but seemingly achieving little. Eventually they reached their destination, a large black bulkhead identifying the area as the barracks, Trax inserted his rank cylinder into the door control and waited patiently while it slid open to the same screeching of metal as had the docking bay doors, a disconcerting occurrence.

Trax led them inside the barracks; a much smaller room than in the Depta garrison facility and it was already occupied by several fleet troopers, sat at a table eating a meal. As the troopers reformed their formation inside the barracks Madine summoned one of the fleet troopers over, who picked up his helmet off of a bunk as he approached. “This is sergeant Bode, whom commands the squad of fleet troopers on this ship, I expect you to work closely with your fleet counterparts and I defiantly don’t want to see any of the traditional friction between your two branches of fleet infantry” he said before abruptly striding out of the door. “Well, now that you’ve met our glorious colonel, I’d get comfortable there’s not much chance of seeing much action other than emergence repair work on this crate,” said Bode, removing his helmet. “My men have the left bunks yours can have the right, I’ll show you the sergeants quarters,” Bode continued, leading Kresh out of the barracks.

“Well” said 777, “is everyone as excited as I am about this assignment” he continued while the squad dispersed across the ranks of bunks, stowing their weapons in their lockers. “Could be worse, we could be on a non-stop adventure ride on an Imperial star destroyer clashing with Rebels on a daily basis while enjoying the lavish life of the Empires finest” said 910 to a round of laughter. As the storm troopers tried to secure their equipment in their lockers, the automatic locking mechanisms failing to acknowledge the storm troopers rank cylinders until they received a few smacks the remaining fleet trooper strolled over to join the storm troopers. “Hi, names Kral, what did you do to deserve this Hutt slime assignment, you stormies usually get the best stuff” he said, his crumpled uniform clearly showing food stains. 777 was the first to respond to him, “We’re a new unit,” he said while removing his armour components, “where’s your uniform sanitation unit.” “Oh that old things in the corner over there” he said indicating a brown box, much larger than the one on Depta, “its broke though, hasn’t worked in months and technical is too busy keeping the ship from exploding to see to it” Kral said while sitting down at a desk nearby. “I’ll see to it,” said 810 opening up the casing of the machine, which fell off of its frame at the slightest tug, “looks like its motivators burnt out, just give me a second to replace it” he said, while kneeling down and quickly replacing the blackened electronics.

As the unit dumped their armour in the sanitation unit for cleaning and polishing they gathered around the table to eat, 910 and Kral jointly preparing a meal of Mon Calamari fish sticks smothered in Hadrak sauce, a surprisingly exotic and delicious meal. “Hey, turn the holonet on” said 501, “the weekly broadcast in on” he said, referring to the weekly broadcast by Emperor Palpatine to the entire galaxy, outlining key events within the Empire and publicising new policies. 416, who was closest to the emitter controls, reached back and flicked the on switch before setting it to the Imperial announcement frequency, immediately summoning a holographic character to be created hovering above the table. “And economic growth is expected to stabilise at 2.4% galactic central for this financial cycle” said the figure, “ah its only Tarkin” said 777, “pass me some more of those fish sticks”. Tarkin’s image continued to rattle on about the status of various economic indicators, quite regardless of the fact that only 843 was paying any attention, noticing this 777 butted in “fascinating stuff hey 843, really gets the blood pumping” he said, the sarcasm almost literally dripping off his tongue. “Charming to the last” replied 843, a personnel joke that only she understood, having met Tarkin several times in her child hood and having heard him say that phrase repeatedly to counter the often insulting tones that resulted from the business negotiations that they had attended on Kuat.

After Tarking finally finished his presentation on the status of the economy he introduced the Emperor, the hologram switching to show the dark robed leader of the galaxy. “My citizens of the empire, I come before you today to tell you of grave news, Grei Numbat , the senator for Sullust has been arrested for high treason and the planet of Sullust has been declared an enemy of the empire for its support for the rebel alliance. As the emperor said this holographs of both the traitorous senator and the rotating orb of Sullust appeared to either side of Palpatine, the image if Sullust showing the vast sprawl of shipyards even from the small scale. “Ha, he means we want their shipyards,” said Kral, still eating his fish sticks, the others at the table having stopped eating when the image of the emperor appeared. “Hey, show some respect, it’s the emperor talking,” shouted 416, giving Kral a look that could have melted a re-entry shield, after this display Kral went very quiet and seemed to shrink considerably. “The mighty Imperial fleet has already moved to crush the Sullustian rebellion and under the command of Admiral Screed their fleet has been crushed and order restored to that sector of the galaxy” the emperor continued before his holographic figure dissolved, along with that of Numbat, leaving the image of Sullust to expand to fill the projectors view.

After a few seconds a fleet of imperial ships jumped in system, perhaps fifty Imperial class destroyers escorted by over two hundred victory class destroyers emerged from hyperspace, lead by an enormous Titan heavy cruiser and advanced on Sullust, swarms of Tie fighters spilling out of their hangers in a cloud of ion engine trials. “Wow” exclaimed 861, “they must have really pissed the emperor off to send that lot in”, “don’t be too sure, last I heard Sullust had been rebuilding its own fleet up to clone wars levels” said 843, “that’s at least twenty destroyer size vessels and I heard a rumour they had built a couple of dreadnaughts in one of their hidden facilities.” “How do you know that,” asked 501 “Kuat likes to keep an eye on its competitors” answered 843, with a mischievous wink towards 861, who was from Fondor, Kuats only true rival for Imperial military contracts.

The imperial ships continued to close on Sullust, forming into a classic attack formation when a series of ships emerged from behind Sullust, about thirty orange Sullustian destroyers and a pair of giant orange dreadnaughts, each one being perhaps ten times the length of its escort destroyers, orange being the Sullustian colour of war. As the two fleets closed long range turbo laser fire began to light the space between them, red and green blasts crisscrossing the darkness of space. As the two fleets came even closer it became obvious that the Sullustian fleet was not slowing to combat speed, instead remaining at full thrust. “Their going to try and make a run for it” said 811, “wouldn’t you?” asked 501, “even with those dreadnaughts they don’t stand a chance of standing their ground” he continued, always keen to show his passion for large scale space warfare. The imperial ships desperately tried to block the paths of the approaching Sullust vessels but their smaller size and greater speed allowed them to get deep into the imperials formation, at least until the heavy guns on the star destroyers opened up, tearing chunks out of the hulls of the outlying destroyers which quickly erupted into fireballs as their reactors blew, showering the surrounding imperial ships shields with flaming chunks of orange hull and destroying hundreds of Ties.

“Ten credits say they make it out” said 777, always eager to supplement their meagre wages, “at least one ship anyway” he hastily added. “Done,” said 501, “you underestimate the firepower of a Titan cruisers main batteries, it’ll stop those big eared freaks cold”, “ah it is you that underestimate Sullustian dreadnaughts,” said 843, “those things have dam strong hulls, and their weapons are more than a match for a mere Titan heavy cruiser” she continued, “Kuat are stealing several of their ideas for the new Super Star Destroyer program.” As the Sullustian fleet quickly shrank in number the two dreadnaughts closed on the Titan cruiser, concentrating their main batteries on the largest target available to them, bashing its shield down and smashing chunks of the hull away, sending gun emplacements and crew hurtling away into oblivion. Despite the massive barrage that the Titan received its surrounding fleet of destroyers were no match for the combined firepower of the remainder of the imperial fleet, and by the time that the dreadnaughts were pulling away from burning hulk of the titan there were no other Sullustian ships left in tact.

“Two dreadnaughts free, that’s ten credits” said 777, mere seconds before a massive barrage from the closest fifteen Imperial star destroyers hit the closest dreadnaught in a single coordinated barrage, tearing the aft engine section of the ship clean off and sending the remainder of the ship into a headlong spin into open space. The sole remaining Sullustian ship, fire belching from its belly where debris from its doomed sister ship had struck it jumped into hyperspace soon after, leaving the imperial fleet far behind. “Well one ships worth the same as two” said 777 happily collecting his winnings from 501, “I’m sure its treasonous to profit from the defeat of imperial forces?” asked 501, grudgingly handing over the money.

With the battle over the holo image shifter back to Sullust, the imperial ships taking up an orbital bombardment formation and closing to commence the liberation of the Sullustian people, when all of a sudden the image erupted in a blinding light, forcing the storm troopers to raise their arms to shield their eyes. When the holo returned to focus the sight that met them was horrendous, the shipyards that encircled Sullust had detonated, creating a massive wall of fire that had swept across the imperial fleet. A newsreaders voice declared that twenty-one vessels had been completely disintegrated by the blast and that over ninety were heavily damaged, being visible in the holo spinning uncontrollably and belching fire and smoke from major hull breaches. “They destroyed their own shipyard,” said 861, “vindictive little bastards!”

As the broadcast switched to further business and financial news the storm troopers collected their armour and strapped on their body plating, before doing another safety check on their systems and weaponry. As they were doing this sergeant Kresh and the fleet troopers sergeant, Dral, returned, “mission briefing in five,” barked Kresh, the look on Dral’s face showed that he had obviously had to listen to him shouting away for the last few hours and was none too happy about it. “You too Kral,” said Dral, “major Trax is giving the entire ground contingent the heads up for this tour. At this the storm troopers and fleet troopers filed our of the barrack and marched through the dingy corridors of the ship, coming eventually to a large theatre designated as the ships briefing room. Kresh lead them inside and saluted major Trax, who was stood at the pedestal at the front who gave a sloppy return salute before returning to his notes. Unfortunately for 777, who had been quite joyful from his gambling winnings, he had headed the file into the briefing room and had to sit next to Kresh on the long metal benches laid out before the podium, the irritation radiating from beneath Kresh’s armour felt like it could irradiate a nerf from a dozen paces.

As the storm troopers sat silently filling the back two rows of benches a stream of fleet troopers entered the room, giving salutes to both Trax, Dral and Kresh before filling up the front benches. By the time Trax deemed to begin his presentation over twenty fleet troopers had filled up the front benches, the last two who arrived having to stand awkwardly by the doors. “Greetings,” began Dral in his soft tones, “and welcome aboard to our new storm troopers” he said with a sweep of his arm to encompass the gleaming white figures among the crowd of black clothed fleet troopers. “As some of you know we are en-route to the Neptess sector on a standard patrol cruise, we will be the only imperial vessel in the sector and so will be operating completely independently of fleet command, relying on the local Twilek regional authority for both supplies and reinforcements.” At this he pressed a button and a two dimensional image of the galaxy appeared on the wall, immediately it zoomed in on the far rim until only a single sector was displayed, the furthest out from the core that there was before the galaxy faded out into the endless void.

“There are seventy-three inhabited systems in the Neptess sector, and the only one of any importance is Feltra, the main Twilek colony, population about one million, hardly a metrolpolis but an important source of various engine components for civilian shipping along the Rimma trade route,” he continued indicating a large dusty planet in a binary system close to the inner edge of the sector boundary. “The other planets in the sector are very minor mining and agricultural outposts that are very sparsely populated, however there is one point of interest in that the Mashat system the ExGal organisation are constructing another of their listening posts so its protection is to be considered a high priority as requested by the emperor. Other than that the sector is empty, there is only limited shipping, with transports coming and going from Feltra every other day and a sector shuttle service roaming around the various outposts transporting supplies and limited passengers.” At this he deactivated the two dimensional image and asked for any questions from his audience.” Kresh was the first to put his hand up, “Sir, what forces do the Twileks have available to back us up” he asked, shouting as usual. “Well Feltra itself operates two wings of fighters, most are ex-imperial V wings which were sold off when we upgraded to Ties but they do have two squadrons of hyperspace capable Z-95’s that they have been using for patrols as well as about thirty thousand ground troops listed as ready for service under the imperial auxiliaries program but they probably have ten times that number available for planetary defence” came the reply. “Are there any more questions?” he asked, when no one asked any he dismissed the meeting, quickly gathered his notes and left, pausing only to give a pair of data pads to the two sergeants.

The storm troopers and fleet troopers eventually emptied the briefing room, the fleet troopers returning to their assignments and the storm troopers to the barracks. When they had all arrived Kresh formed them into parade ground formation and gave a standard inspection, finding no fault except for 777 having credits in his ammunition belt. After stowing them in his locker and returning to formation under a murderous glare from Kresh the speech began, “major Trax has given us guard duty shifts of both the bridge and the engineering compartment, I intend to have one of you at each location for a six hour guard shift rotating with a standard shift system of training exercises, I have already agreed with sergeant Bode that joint exercises to build up unit cohesion will be scheduled into your duty rosters as soon as possible.” After this Kresh read out the duty assignment schedule and updated the units rank cylinders, pushing each one into the receptor on his data pad to give each storm trooper ship wide access. “Okay, 810, 811, 416 and 910 your with me, we’re going to have to construct a firing range in one of the disused cargo bays before we start training, 861 and 501 get to your guard posts, check the ship map before you leave, the ships doesn’t have any mouse droids on board, 777 and 843 get some sleep you’ve got guard duty in six hours” at this Kresh led four of the storm troopers out of the door.

After calling up the ships map on the holo-projector and then downloading the data into their suite systems 861 and 501 set off out of the barracks, leaving 777 and 843 to their own devices, “have fun you two,” 861 shouted before shutting the door, barley hearing 777’s reply of “I’m sure I will,” which was followed by a loud bang, audible even through the bulkhead. “You sure he’s alright?” asked 501, “because he’s relieving me in six hours, I don’t want to be waiting for a man stuck in the med bay with a broken jaw.” This gained a chuckle from 861, and as they walked through the grimy corridor to the elevator bank he said, “I’m sure they’ll play gently,” earning a snigger from both of them.

Once they reached the elevator bank, and checked that they were working, they parted ways, 501 heading for the bridge while 861 headed down into the engineering compartment. The elevator journey took a considerable length of time, especially as the ship only had seven decks but eventually the doors slid open revealing the engineering section in all its glory; a vast mess of pipes and cables crossing the ceiling haphazardly while the main hyper matter reactor, a massive dome built into the floor of the central chamber hummed erratically, changing in both volume and tone. From the look of things it was lucky the reactor was sealed off behind triple thick radiation shields, the thing was visibly emitting energy, even with the half a dozen technicians crawling over it in engineering radiation suites seemingly trying to perform maintenance on the beating heart of the ship while it was still running.

While 861 stood awestruck, or perhaps terrified, at the sight of the engineering compartment a small dirty man, who looked like he had Gamorean ancestry had sneaked up behind him, quite a feet on a storm trooper. “Oi,” he shouted while laying a heavy fat fingered hand on 861’s shoulder, turning him round roughly, “you the stormie they sent to ‘guard’ this place,” he spat, putting enough sarcasm in the word guard to kill a medium sized mammal. Despite this rudeness 861 was quick-witted enough to notice the rank marks, partially hidden under a thick layer of engine oil designating the man as a lieutenant engineer before striking the man. “Sir, yes sir” he barked in as loud a voice as he could, shouting always seemed to placate angry officers. “Well you can cut out that academy crap and stay out of our way, that alcove back there,” he said indicating a small groove in the wall next to a stairway leading upwards, “any invaders trying to steal the Conviction, who just either shoot them or offer them counselling, they’d have to be mad wanting to steal this Hutt slime harvester” and at that he waddled off, laughing at his own joke.

As always please leave a comment, even if you just want to defacate on my feeble attempts at story writing.

Entertaining chapter - look forward to seeing how long the ship holds together.

Good and getting better still.

BTW I was previously disproportionately annoyed that you had relatively elite soldiers requiring mouse droids to show them around. I get the point and sure it would prevent Spinal Tap style stupidity, but it just didn't seem to fit in right. Nice to see now they can navigate without them when needed.

One question about the Twilek colony. One billion people, and they only have ~300,000 personnel for defense, along with 2 wings of local fighters, and 2 squadrons of FTL capable fighters?

That seems rather small. I'd increase it to ~30,000,000 for planetary militia (this would include local police, and emergency response, only 3 million would be actual combat). For space defense, the current US Navy is ~300 ships, I would expect a roughly similar number of space borne assets (stations, ground defense centers, and actual ships).

Unless the population is only 1 million people, then the defenses make a little more sense. Still, if the planet is a major commercial center, then the trade income would be enough to finance a larger military. Sounds like there is a lot of corruption going on.

Still though, it is interesting to see the Stormtroopers trying to make the best of their situation (repairs, laughing, trying to get along) in the midst of a completely run down ship. Hopefully they can get a few civilian replacements at the colony (new doors, lifts, cleaning equipment).

Maybe while there they can stop a slave ring, smuggling Twi-lek females off planet to various customers, and secretly connected to one of the governing families. That would be a good way to show the good side of the Empire, as if your home is trying to kill/sell you, you can work for the Empire, or get transferred somewhere else.

There could even be a military base set up on the planet, staffed by liberated slaves, who are very happy the military set them free. They don't want to return home (as they would get sold again), and they are protected on the Imperial base.