“Escape.”
This was the word that was on the mind of Imperial Stormtrooper Tim Gresch most hours of the day as of late.
For a while now he had desired a way out, and just when he was about to lose all hope, one had miraculously been provided to him.
Tim was busy attaching his white, plastoid armor from the legs up while lost in his fantasies. However, a grunt from beside him snapped him back into reality.
Seated on the bed to his left was Sergeant Fil Baker, although most of the men simply referred to him as “Smithy.” The meaning behind the nickname had eluded Tim, and he felt it best not to pry, although based on rumors, he believed it was in reference to Baker’s potential past as a Republic experimental weaponsmith.
Tim allowed this rumor to serve as closure for his questions, and did not refer to the man by any nicknames personally. He found that he respected the Sergeant too much to resort to informalities, even if the older man showed no signs of truly caring one way or the other.
A knock at the door alerted the five or six stormtroopers still gearing up in the barracks that it was time for their company’s shift as sentries.
“C Company, let’s go! Especially you, Smithy!” Corporal Salemi-l Poulty called out from the hall.
The Sergeant just grumbled, clipping his chestplate into place. He stood up, beckoning the rest of the troopers to head for the door. Tim rapidly slid the cylindrical armor up onto his arm, following the others as he grabbed his domed helmet.
The men sprinted single file down the hall, past the base’s different amenities, and out into the garrison’s courtyard. There, the fourteen-man company gathered into a loose formation, the Sergeant and Corporal standing in front.
“Inspection!” Smithy barked.
For a moment, there was silence, before Imperial Commandant Fezix came hustling out of his personal quarters and down a small flight of stairs leading into the yard, still buttoning his overcoat and adjusting his cap on his way over.
Even under the limited lighting, the base’s commander looked tired and worn, his facial stubble much longer than what was usually allowed by the Empire. Fortunately, here on Tenoo, they were more or less outside of the Empire’s watchful eye, which was both a blessing and a curse.
On the one hand, everything was much less strict, and as long as Fezix submitted an all clear report to the Inspection Bureau, they left him alone.
On the other hand, bases like theirs were usually monitored much more closely by other… “bureaus” as a preventative measure against rebellion. More and more recently, small Imperial outposts like theirs were being revealed to be safe havens for Imperial defectors and rebel sympathizers, and so, while policy seemed lax, everyone was still sure to watch what they said and did, for fear of false accusation. Or in Tim’s case, to avoid getting caught for being the real deal.
Fezix took his place alongside Sergeant Baker, scanning the men whose armor sharply reflected the bases’ orange nighttime lighting.
“C Company reporting for inspection, sir,” Baker announced.
The Commandant groggily stepped forward, walking between the two rows of six, briefly glancing at each of them before looking to the next. He coughed a few times and yawned once, failing to even notice that one of the men, TK-253/7711-C, had failed to fasten his breastplate securely.
As he reached the other end of C Company, he threw his hand up in the air.
“Very good, Sergeant, carry on,” he called out, not even turning to face them as he headed right back up towards his quarters.
“Thank you, sir,” Baker bellowed after him, saluting before turning back to his men.
“Corporal Poulty, would you call roll?”
“But everyone’s here-”
“Corporal Poulty,” the Sergeant repeated in a much sterner tone than his first request, “would you call roll?”
“Yes sir,” the grizzled Coporal hesitantly replied.
“TK-421/8338-C!”
“Sir.”
“TK-428/1127-C!”
“Sir.”
“TK-325/8-”
Tim marveled at the interaction between the two NCOs, understanding that it was all for show. The fact was that both the Sergeant and the Corporal were the instigators of their little escape plan. What they liked to refer to as, “the Jog.”
While there truly was a base-wide special exercise arranged by the Sergeant scheduled to take place in three days’ time outside of the garrison’s walls, this was only to cover their sporadic conversations about the true, much more permanent trip outside.
There were now four of them planning to leave, including Tim himself. Aside from him and C Company’s two officers, a guy from B Company named Kaden Gressel had also been shrewd enough to catch onto their little plan. Somehow he had wormed his way into the picture using what Tim could only assume was blackmail.
Personally, he still didn’t trust the man, but Sergeant Baker seemed relatively okay with altering the plan to accommodate the newcomer, so Tim could only accept that this Kaden fella was truly all in.
“TK-759-1025-C!”
Tim regathered his attention, looking at the two officers who were glaring back at him with cold demeanor.
“Sir!”
“All members of C Company present and accounted for,” Corporal Poulty barked.
“Very good,” Smithy replied, glancing over his men once more, his eyes resting on Tim. “C Company, move to the armory and gather your weapons, then return to your designated posts.”
“Yes sir,’” the dozen Stormtroopers cried in unison before turning and marching towards the base’s armory.
It was a quick hike over to gather their standard issue E-11 Blaster Rifles, and a similarly quick march up the open metal stairs and onto the rampart that surrounded Tenoo’s lone Imperial bastion.
The group split up into pairs, taking up positions periodically across the wall and relieving B Company from their 9 hour long sentry shift. Tim and TK-253/7711-C, a guy he simply knew as Benny, made their way to the furthest barbette, waving the two B Company guys off station.
As the Stormtrooper duos passed each other, one of them tilted his helmet ever so slightly towards Tim, a motion he recognized as intent observation. It was Kaden, he had learned, and he hated that there was now a wildcard inserted into their previously airtight deck of a plan. Kaden had proven himself incredibly clever, but Tim believed that could either be a valuable asset or an equally terrible curse.
The two C Company members stopped at their post, facing the darkened forest that surrounded the secluded base. It was quiet, very quiet, which was a worst case scenario for Tim. He was now trapped within a plastoid prison that constrained and conformed to his body. His breath continued to fog up his visors, which limited one of the only aspects of his life he still had some control over.
He was standing beside a man who would most likely have him arrested or killed should he learn of the hundreds of traitorous thoughts that raced across his mind every minute now, and at any moment, a stray blaster bolt from a guerilla insurgent could strike him from within the infinite shadows that lay before them.
Tim could not wait to shed his armor and abandon his post, but it was not yet that time, and so he would continue to have to endure being a slave to the Empire until the Sergeant deemed the moment right. And that day could not come soon enough.
Tim sighed and straightened his posture, shifting to more comfortably accommodate his torso plate and codpiece.
It was going to be a long night.
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