The sound of nearly a dozen blasters of varying lengths and models being loaded and powered on filled the interior of the shuttle, overpowering the low, rhythmic hum that had been the only sound to permeate the cramped compartment only moments before. Gas filled magazines were quickly slotted into sleek DC-15S carbines and belt pouches alike, while long-range scopes were adjusted atop long DC-15A rifles with the precise clicking rotation of their circular tactical lens.
Eight elite clone troopers stood at the ready, each adorned in teal and mauve striped plastoid armor, representing both the Grand Army of the Republic as well as the elite 73rd Occupation Regiment that made up only a small fraction of the GAR’s ranks. Standing beside them were two Jedi cloaked in brown tunics, each brandishing the metallic silver hilt of what many referred to as a “lightsaber.”
One of these Jedi was Mon Calamari padawan learner Chell Raddus, a 15-year-old boy by the Republic’s Coruscant Standard Calendar, who already held the rank of “General” at such a young age. Beside him was his elderly teacher, Jedi Master Mon’grel Kbatha, a weathered Tarusnt warrior and longtime member of the Jedi Order. Both had been called to fight in the grueling Battle of Mygeeto, and both were about to participate in what would likely be its final battle as they retook the capital city of Aaalan Se.
A holographic display materialized from a small orb in the center of the shuttle’s floor, causing all of its inhabitants to hug closely to the vessel’s walls. Clone Commander Frank of the 73rd took a step forward and motioned towards the translucent blue map that was now rotating slowly in the midst of the soldiers.
“We’ve just received the latest briefing regarding our assault. Things will continue as planned, although the timeline has now been moved up,” the Commander said with authority, scanning the room to make sure all of his clones were fully attentive.
“Originally we were simply supposed to make our way across the northern bridge and claim the north parapets on the other side, before waiting for General Mundi and the marines to clear out the city from the South. Unfortunately, they are suffering much heavier losses than intended attempting to reach the southern bridges and city entrance, so they have request our group, as well as General Lissarkh and her 104th to the East, plus whatever remains of the 333rd Aerial Assault Battalion to the West to begin making our way into the city immediately, taking it from all sides at once.”
Clone Captain Alor, Frank’s right hand man and leader of the four-man Arc Squad, stepped forward, hands resting on his twin DC-17 pistols in his usual stance, equal parts relaxed and prepared. “We’re going to be splitting off into two groups the moment these doors open. The Commander will take Sergeant Moon and the rest of Pulsar Squad and lead the charge across the open bridge. We’re about 200 men strong as of the last tally, so it will be a tough fight, but we have the advantage with firepower. Especially once our Saber tanks finally hit the ground.”
Alor swiped his hand upwards across the holodisplay, and it flipped to reveal the underbelly of the bridge they were discussing. “I will lead Arc Squad down through the narrow service tunnels beneath the bridge. These schematics were provided to us by Mygeetan refugees, who were confident that the CIS does not know of their existence. We will navigate the bridge’s underbelly as quickly as possible and outflank them from the other side. If we can eliminate the tactical droid commanding from the rear, that should dissolve their ranks and give us a clear shot into the city. We’re keeping this team as small as possible to avoid alerting the droids of the walkway’s existence, so it will just be us four plus one of the Generals.”
“That being said,” Commander Frank spoke as he stepped back up, “we will need one Jedi with us on the bridge too, so it’s up to you two to decide who stays with Pulsar and who goes with Arc.”
He motioned to the two robed figures who glanced at each other. Mon’grel looked at his young apprentice, preparing to speak up and suggest that the Mon Calamari boy stay with the bulk of their clone force defending the bridge. However, as he opened his mouth, the padawan blurted out his brash desire.
“I’ll go with Arc Squad!”
Mon’grel bit his lip, glaring at his apprentice who had been doing everything in his power to spite his Master over the course of the last few months. On their last training expedition they had run into some “conflict” that had left their relationship all but fractured, and with the Clone Wars reaching it’s breaking point, there had been no time for the two to even take a moment to reconcile.
Now his apprentice would be running off without him yet again, ill prepared for the grueling battle ahead…
“Are you sure, young one, I-”
“Yes Master, I’m sure,” Chell said, flashing his master the ever so slightest grimace, “after everything we’ve been through, you should know I’m more than capable of handling this. You just babysit the boys upstairs while we go in and cut off the head of the beast. Should be a piece of cake, right Alor?”
The Clone Captain coughed as he noticed the Jedi Master’s disapproving expression, “uh, yeah, we’ll make sure we get it done quickly and casualty free.”
The lights within the Republic LAAT/i shifted from white to crimson, indicating the danger of their approach had just escalated. They had now entered the proximity range of the Separatist’s AA cannons, and the ship began to rock as explosions could be heard outside of the blast doors.
Mon’grel reached out with the Force to sense the ships around them. He could feel 30 friendly vessels, five of which were carrying Republic tanks securely latched underneath. Although only a moment and a few explosions later, the number of shuttles had already diminished by two.
The large suspended platform beneath them clipped into his flowing field of perception, and he could feel the first of the shuttles touching down ahead of them. The small slits on the doors to their own shuttle opened, and the occupants could now see the battle raging down below. There were already blue and red blaster bolts streaking all across the northern bridge, many of the combatants obscured by the intense blizzard that was currently engulfing the capital city.
“All right men, get ready to move out,” Frank said, drawing his blasters and pointing at the rest of Pulsar Squad, consisting of Clone Sergeant Moon, as well as troopers Buckshot, and Deacon. “Cover General Raddus and Arc Squad as they break away. No witnesses or this plan could turn out to be a fatal bust.”
“Yes sir,” the clones shouted, Moon tapping the comlink on the wall. “We almost ready? I’ve been dying for a battle like this!”
“Yes sir,” one of the gunship’s pilots replied, “bringing her down now.”
“Time to do or die!” Alor exclaimed. He nodded at Chell, who winked back at the Captain with one of his large, Mon Calamari eyes.
Mon’grel reluctantly admired all of the clones’ passion for battle, but he could not bring himself to the point of their excitement anymore. Where once there was thrill, now he felt only dread and and a sense of incessant hopelessness.
Would this war ever end? And what was this looming sense of despair and darkness that had been building up in his gut over the past few months. It was like nothing he had ever experienced in his elongated life, even during cataclysms like the Great Hyperspace Disaster or the bloody Stark Wars. Something was different, and if he couldn’t figure out what it was, he was almost sure it would catch he and everyone around him off guard in the end.
He just wanted to assure Chell’s safety and future. Ultimately no matter the cost.
“Blast doors opening in three…
Two…
One…”
**********
The sound of a nearly dozen blasters of varying lengths and models being loaded and powered on filled the interior of the shuttle, overpowering the low, jittery hum that had been the only sound to permeate the cramped compartment only moments before. Stocks were slid out from the rear end of rusty A280C rifles producing a harsh screeching noise, while custom barrels were quickly screwed onto the ends of old A280-CFE pistols.
Eight elite resistance fighters stood at the ready, each adorned in an assortment of thick, brown clothing and ammo belts, representing both a budding rebel movement, as well as a cell simply known as “Midnight Company,” comprising only a small fraction of the groups beginning to rise up against the Galactic Empire all across the galaxy.
One of these rebels was 23-year-old Mon Calamari commando Chell Raddus, who already held the honorary rank of rebel “Captain” at such a young age. On the other side of their comms channel was Colonel Mon’grel Kbatha, a Tarsunt strategist and once-member of the now all-but-dead Jedi Order. Both had helped organize this raid on a Jabiimi Imperial ore transfer depot, and both were about to participate in what would likely be a message that the Empire could not ignore..
Chell glanced around the interior of their long “borrowed” Imperial dropship, the walls were still relatively pristine, a stark contrast to their grimy base of operations. It reminded Chell of his days with the Republic, feelings of nostalgia creeping their way into his mind. He glanced around at his comrades, most of which he had known for less time than the clones of the 73rd Occupation Regiment with which he had once served. In this diverse strike team there were two Humans, a Rodian, three Dresellians, and a hulking Elnacon brandishing a blaster almost as large as Chell’s entire body.
One of the Dresselians stepped forward, the leader of Midnight Company who went simply by the title “Halberd.” He threw his cloak over his shoulder and adjusted his eyepatch, “The moment those doors open I want your fingers on those triggers. Based on our intel this depot is about eighty men strong, and given the backwater nature of this whole installation, most of their troops will probably be of an advanced age, inept, or both. So with a surprise sweep of the facility, we should be able to get in, plant the bombs, and get out before the nearby Imperial Garrison even knows what hit them.”
Colonel K’batha’s voice chimed in through everyone’s in-ear comms, “you will have approximately twenty minutes from the moment you land before the next major ore convoy arrives alongside a few dozen additional troops. Do not let yourselves get distracted and do not pursue any unnecessary tasks. Shoot only who is necessary, go only where is necessary, and destroy only what is necessary. Once you’ve evacuated, we can handle the rest of the operation remotely.”
Barrion, the lone Elnacon standing beside Chell, shifted his massive cannon from one shoulder to the other with a low growled, the intensity of his demeanor alone making the room feel much sultrier than it truly was. The lights around them began to flicker as Chell felt the shuttle start it’s descent, acknowledging that in a moment they would touch down on a hostile landing pad and emerge, legs pumping and guns blazing. Like Halberd had said, chances were a lot of the Imperials stationed here are either close to retirement, on the bad side of the Empire as it stands, or if the rumors were to be believed, they might even encounter a handful of aging clones who had long since been shoved to the wayside. The poor souls had no idea what was about to hit them.
Chell shook his head knowing he couldn’t let these thoughts seep into his mind now. They’ve worked so hard to reach this point, sacrificed so much to finally deal a noticeable blow to the Imperial war machine. And anyone who worked for the Empire was associated with the countless atrocities they’ve committed, and was thus in no way “innocent.”
A sharp rattle in the interior of the shuttle startled Chell out of his brooding, and his attention returned to the commandos around him. They were all performing last minute inspections of their gear, and Chell reached back as he felt under his cloak, confirming his lightsaber was still attached horizontally to the rear side of his belt. He had no intention of using it, as outing himself as a Jedi was one of the worst things he could do at a time like this. They needed everyone to see their attack as pushback from the oppressed peoples of the galaxy, not an outburst from a frenzied Jedi survivor, which was far easier for the Empire to propagandize.
Mon’grel Kbatha’s voice crackled back into Chell’s ears, and Chell could tell it was via their private channel. “Keep each and every lesson you have learned close at hand. I feel you may need to pull from much of it for this assignment.”
“I will, Master,” Chell replied, turning away from the group. “Any other last minute advice?”
“Just trust in the Force as I trust in you. I know you will make the right decisions when the time comes, even if they seem rather difficult in the moment.”
Chell chuckled, “Listen. I don’t even trust me, so you probably shouldn’t either… Colonel.”
“Well fortunately, I know you better than you know yourself, and you are more than prepared for a task of this caliber,” his Master replied rather stoically. “Be well, my apprentice.”
“Will do, Master,” Chell responded before hearing the comms click back over to the team’s shared channel.
The man beside Chell passed him a cloth map that had been making its way around the group, simply a last minute reminder of their intelligence’s estimated layout of the facility and the routes that they were intended to follow. Any deviation from the plan could result in too much time elapsing, and in turn, their escape potentially being cut off.
As soon as they land, the pilot will fire off a temporary signal jammer installed in the ship. This should shut down comms on both sides for approximately five minutes, meaning securing the command and communication center located at the forward deck of the base is a top priority. After moving from the landing pad to the command center, half of the group will split off with satchels full of explosives and attach them all around the lower compound. The other team, of which Chell was a part of, will sweep the upper halls for enemies and keep the comm system away from the enemy. The chances of them having two communication centers within such a small facility was slim, so if they kept the command modules locked down, there shouldn’t be any surprise reinforcements before their twenty minutes are up.
But first they just need to survive their surprise charge from the landing pad across the open loading area and to the front gate where they can plant their breaching charges. Making it across such a wide area with minimal cover was going to be the biggest challenge, and Chell began to infuse his legs with as much of the Force as possible in an attempt to give himself an extra boost right out of the gate.
Halberd was now rolling up the map, simultaneously drawing his blaster in the ready position as they all turned to face the ramp that would lower momentarily. Even after so many years of living on the edge and fighting to survive in a galaxy that no longer believed he deserved to live, Chell thought he would be used to stuff like this by now. But as he clenched his fist tight around the barrel of his blaster and felt a chill run down his spine, he knew that the brief nervousness experienced before a fight never truly went away.
And maybe that was for the best. At the very least it would keep him on his toes. Ensuring that he remained alert, which could be the deciding factor in keeping him safe and guaranteeing they all had a future. And not only that, but a future to look forward to, at least if everything continued to go as planned.
The team heard a pounding on the door to the cockpit, the pilot calling out to them all.
“Arming the jammer now, comms are about to go dark. Good luck everyone… may the Force be with you.”
Some of the commandos chuckled while others were taking short, deep breaths.
“Alright, ramp is descending in three…
Two…
One…”
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