4 BBY ???
The white grain spreads around me on all sides. I'm a child again, dressed in the familiar blue uniform of a cadet.
If I put out my hands, I can't even touch the top of the grain, but it goes on forever. And the drums. The drums beat in the distance.
Where am I?
I keep walking. Ahead of me move shadows in the form of men. They wear a kit I recognize, right up to the helmets. They walk far ahead of me. I break out into a run, but no matter how far I go, I can't reach them as they walk toward the horizon.
One by one, they're gone. Ghosts.
I keep walking, hoping to catch sight of them again. But the terrain grows only rockier. I stumble. My foot catches the divot in the ground. I almost fall, but catch myself and briefly there it is, a deep snare drum sounding loudly. Gasping, I collect myself and walk on as more drums join the chorus. There's voices amid them.
It's a song I don't know.
But the music is familiar. Something old and Mandalorian. Distracted by it, I stumble out onto a footpath and this time, I fall.
My knees hit the ground, jarring me. Before I can scramble up a pair of boots appear and stop before me. They're black, except for the dust stuck to them. A cloak hangs to the ground. I lift my gaze and find armored legs, dented beaten armor and a thick shoulder pauldron segmented and strapped together with leather. Above it all rests a helmet carved from bone.
The T-visor is unmistakable, though. This is a man I've only read about. Mandalore the Ultimate.
The drums are thudding in my head now, threatening my ear drums. Then they are silent.
I pant, unsure why fear has turned my skin cold, but unable to break its hold. And my eyes flicker off to see another figure far off. I cannot make them out, but they are following my path exactly.
I strain to see them, but the Mandalore moves and his hand emerges from his cloak. He reaches down and offers his hand to me. I take it. He helps me up.
Again from within the cloak, he produces another hand, this time holding a helmet, black, dented, mangled almost. It looks like it's been through hell.
Silent, he places it in my hands. I stare at the empty visor, reflecting my own childlike face. A face I haven't seen in years. The face of a cadet.
When I look up, I stand alone. The drums beat louder and crescendo into a flourish. The last beat strikes, hitting a chord in my heart and suddenly I'm falling, starting, and jerking awake.
#
20 BBY Indol Mines
We were wrong. Looking over the edge of the pit that spirals downward into mines I note the ranks of thin necked B1's completing their drills, marching back and forth under the watch of an orange painted Tank Commander. SBD are stationed around old mining tracks. In the center sits a decommission crane, at least I assume that's what it once was given the placement, and the fact this was once a mine. All that remains is the scaffolded base, though. The rest has been converted into a fully functional surface to air ion cannon.
That's what took down our ships. That thing killed Aftermath.
Crouching along the edge it's clear I'm outnumbered. One clone and a small battalion of droids. No doubt more wait hidden in the mines. This is their base of operations and we never knew it.
Everything before this was a front to destroy us and pick us off so the Seps could steamroll the survivors. I don't know what they want with this planet and it's people, but I know they sure as hell aren't getting it.
Each droid is a blip on my HUD. I creep behind another rock and sit with my back flat to it. I grip the stolen droid blaster. If I was suicidal maybe I'd go in guns blazing. Sadly even I'm not that brave.
But I'm no idiot either. I toggle my scanner, and while it's rudimentary compared to a real planetary scan, I can see there are in fact more red blips inside. Probably whatever patrols are keeping out predators, and no doubt more droids racked and ready for deployment.
From this vantage point I can make out one clear weakness. The mines are old, which means everythings been dug out of them. All that remains are a few rock pillars holding up the structures and scaffolding left behind by miners. A couple well placed charges and the whole thing will come crumbling down.
Aftermath would approve.
The only problem is I don't have the ordinance. But the droids do. Among the marching chunk-chunk-chunk of the parading SBD's are smaller droids clanking along the tracks with carts of weapons. A quick zoom on my HUD and I can make out more than enough ordinance to take down a mine. There's enough ordinance there to take down another whole city.
They didn't just kill Aftermath. They killed them all.
I glance back at the horizon. I haven't seen a trooper since I left. If they are looking for me, they'll presume me dead eventually. No one else even knows about this place except that kid. If they Jedi can get him to talk and decipher what he meant, or triangulate this position, it'll take them hours to get through all the decisions needed to mobilize even a few troops. Chain of Command exists for a reason, but sometimes, it only gets people killed.
Whether I succeed or fail here is entirely on me.
But if I do succeed, if I survive, where do I go after?
I remain perched at the edge staring at the pit of hell before me. Surviving is slim, but it seems to be the only thing I have done so far. Every mission, every squad, I'm the survivor. Returning to the 212th will just restart the cycle. More people will die, and I'll still be here mourning every death. I'm a walking calamity. Maybe I'm death itself.
I shake my head and steel my nerves. I can't go back. I won't go back.
Deserting might not be the most honorable thing to do, but if it keeps someone alive then maybe it's the right thing to do. I'll stay here, let them think I'm dead and hide out, live among the locals and become a quiet farmer where no one will have to remember who I am, where I come from, or why I exist.
Farming was their dream. I'll live it for them.
A tinny voice calls out an order. I look back. I can dream later. First I need to take revenge.
#
My boots grip the stone wall as I rappel down in the shadow of an old scaffold. It keeps me hidden from sight until my boots are back on solid ground. I'm still a level above where my HUD tells me I need to be, but the way I've mapped it out, I'll be able to descend without detection. A couple of old reactivated mining droids push two old carts up toward me. I crouch in the shadows and wait for them to pass into the cavern to the right.
Coast is clear. I jog after them. The lights are dim, droids likely don't need them. But then again, neither do I. My HUD flickers into night vision as I run up behind one of the droids and take aim. The blue light of the sun bolt illuminates everything for only a moment. The droid drops with a metal thud. The sound echoes. I hold my breath.
The other droid merely trundles forward with its cargo, leaving its decommissioned companion.
I gather as much ordinance as possible. Another droid returns with an empty cart down the other side of the track and with ordinance in hand. I flatten myself to the wall. The cart whirrs past. These droids look simple minded, and if I can slip into one of those carts I'll have my ride down.
As luck would have it, another droid comes down with another empty cart. I only have to hope this won't set off any alarms.
The cart trundles closer. I grip the ordinance and lunge out, hoping the darkness masks me from whatever sensors these droids have. I plant one hand on the edge of the cart and leap inside. The metal cart rocks. The droid driving it pauses. I get the briefest look at it's face and see they have no eyes. It turns its head, though, first right, then left, and after a nerve wracking moment, it continues its descent.
The cart is dusty. Thank goodness for helmet filters. There's also a tarp caught in the bottom. I drag it over me and my own cargo as light breaks overhead. I hear the familiar chunk-chunk-chunk of droids on the outside, their tinny voices echoing. Then the world descends into darkness again. I assume we've entered the tunnel on the lower level.
That's my cue. I manage to leave the cart without being seen. That's a miracle. But I don't know how many miracles I have left.
The faint sound of droids is everywhere, echoing, and I keep to the shadows. I have entered one of the lower tunnels, though. It looks like this whole place was mined downward, and I don't know how deep it goes, only that it won't be here when I'm done. Where I'm standing now amid the dust of past endeavors, I can make out the faint racks of droids being stored. They're dormant for now. I keep a close eye on them anyway as I walk to the inner wall clutching the ordinance I've stolen.
There are at least seven of these tunnels branching off according to my earlier mapping. I'm in the west now. Some of the rock pillars supporting the excavated walls have to be structurally integral, but it's safer to rig them all.
Clamping detonators in place against the first wall and priming them quietly, I sneak behind crates of droid weapons. The droid's have made this place home and there's enough equipment down here to excavate a whole planet. Maybe they were planning to.
I didn't get briefed on whatever the Separatists want down here, but this mine is clearly a staging area. It won't be for long if I have anything to say about it.
A patrol marches past. I slip behind them for cover and make it to the next tunnel. Droids might be great in groups, but they're dullards when it comes to everything else. They'll be scrap soon enough. I slap on more detonators. Second base down, onto the next. I move like a shadow hidden behind crates and slipping in where the droid's are blind. Three, four, five walls are marked for demolition.
At the sixth, my luck runs out. I prime the detonator, check the connection and hope to whatever gods are out there that this will work, but the disturbing clank of droids reaches the corner before I can find a shadow to hide in.
Then and there, the detonator decides to connect with a faint, beep.
"Do you hear something?" a tinny voice asks, not slowing.
Droids might be dumb, but that doesn't make them any less deadly. With this many around, I'm a dead man. I grab my blaster.
"It's probably rats," one answers. "Idiot."
"There's beeping, I'm sure of it!"
Don't come in here. I don't have cover. I slip as close to the wall as I can but I'm white armor against a dark backdrop, and the nearest cover would be past the voices. There are minecarts moving through here, but that'll only buy me a few seconds.
"You're paranoid," one droid chides. "But might as well check it out. Nothing else to do."
They all give a tinny sigh. My chest tightens up, as does my grip on the blaster. I can take them. They're just machines. And they're likely going to be the death of me. I didn't really want to go back anyway.
The first one rounds the corner groaning about rats. Shooting it will give me away, the droids will swarm and I'll probably die. Staying here, well lets just say the outcome won't be any prettier.
I only have one option left. Sheer kriffing luck.
The droid looks around. And we both hear the click-clack of that miracle I need right about now coming from the shadows. The B1 spots the mine cart coming out of the shadows first, but I already know what's coming. The moment the droid is off the tracks, I open fire. Laser fire sprays the mining cart and the droid carrying it panics, flipping the cart off the tracks. Now I have cover. I bolt behind the metal shield and lay down covering fire as the droids come rushing in.
"In here!"
"I saw a clone!"
They're going to call for backup. I need to make sure I bring this place down, whether I'm in it or not. But I haven't placed the seventh charge.
Shrapnel hits the overturned cart. There's grenades spilled across the floor. I grab one and lob it and as the air explodes hot around me, I lunge over the cart and make a break for it.
Dust and shrapnel dings against my helmet. I rush for the scaffolding clinging to the rocky wall outside and duck behind it as laser fire erupts in pursuit. I fire my grappling hook into the rocky ledge above. There's no subtlety left now.
"Sir!" Droid's pour out, alerting the tank commander.
"Look!"
Tinny voices overwhelm the air. I hear the tank turning, charging. My grappling hook sticks and I plant my feet on the wall, scaling as fast as I can. Laser fire pockmarks the wall and shears through rotting planets of wood forming a flimsy shield around me. I drag myself over the ledge and immediately fire another hook at the top of the wall. A menacing chunk-chunk-chunk follows me as I duck for cover behind an outcropping of rock and collapse against it. I grab the detonator in my free hand.
The wall beside me explodes and rains dust. They've got the tank going. I can barely catch my breath. Another hit like that-Don't think about that. Focus.
I peek out at the sea of red blips. In the pit of the mine, the droids are converging in the middle, so it's now or never.
If this fails—I don't have time to think about that either.
I tug on the line. It's securely at the top of the ridge. Now or never, Kian.
I slam my thumb against the detonator. Silence. It's always silent at first. Like someone started a holovid and forgot to press play.
But really, it's just a slow starter. The rumble of explosions overtakes the clank of the advancing droids. A tremor shakes the ground under my boots. The droids start screaming.
Amid their panicked cacophony I lunge for the wall and scramble up it as the ground shakes and rocks begin to break apart below. There's a resounding boom and the world begins to crumble as the charges all go off at once. I look up, certain I'm going to lose my footing, and there's the foggiest vision of shadows standing at the edge of the mining pit's rim.
Ghosts? Or maybe I've already lost my grip and I'm the one dying now.
"Sir!"
The ghosts have voices.
"Over here!"
There's a jerk on the line and without warning my feet are slipping out from under me as I'm hauled up to the edge. Hands grip my shoulders and drag me onto firm ground again. I'm shaking. I can't breathe. The world is spinning, but I manage to look back.
The mine rubble and dust. Troopers stand at the ready to fire down into it. Both General's are here. General Nidor looks down at me in particular and I realize I'm trembling with relief, and adrenaline, and it hits me hard in the gut. I'm alive.
The smoke and dust are clearing. General Kenobi peers down with a hand shading his eyes. "They had us properly duped," he says. "Nothing on our scans showed a presence here."
General Nidor steps over to me. "Trooper. You took this place down single handedly?"
I nod and pull away from those helping me. I stand slowly. I'm not sure how I'm here, how I'm still standing. And how in the hell did they find me?
I look at the General. Kenobi too walks over and stands behind Nidor. Kenobi's gaze always bothered me. He looks at his men in pity that he tries to hide behind a calmer expression. He understands what orders are, and he knows how to issue them, but he knows that orders good and bad all get men killed.
But General Nidor's yellow eyes are sharp, they are clear, and they bore into me as he crosses his arms over his chest.
"That was rather impressive, clone."
I try not to recoil at his lack of use of my name. He doesn't know it. Why should he?
"You're with the 212th," Kenobi notes. "Where is the rest of your—"
I look down. Only my hands are still shaking. I clench my fists. "Dead, sir."
"I see." Kenobi's tone is like his face, full of pity.
I don't want your pity.
Nidor looks back. "You know, Kenobi, I mean this as no offense, but this man you have here is quite resourceful. And given my lack of troops, perhaps you'd allow me to take him on loan?"
"Are you trying to take all my best men?" Kenobi hints at a smile beneath his beard.
Nidor almost laughs. "Only because they're good."
Kenobi smiles this time. He looks at Nidor's captain, then at me. "I leave it up to the trooper." He nods and moves away.
Nidor blinks. He looks more like a brute than a Jedi. Maybe he is. Trandoshans and Jedi, let alone Trandoshans and anyone are not a good mix. But I don't want to go back to an empty barrack. I won't work on another team, I will not watch another death.
Nidor extends a hand. "Trooper, this is a one time offer. What's your decision?"
I look at his hand. Accept, or go back to the 212th? I look in the General's hardened eyes. "On one condition, sir." My hands have finally stilled.
Nidor's brow ripples in surprise.
"I don't need a unit, just myself."
"I am not looking for kamikaze sentiments," Nidor's voice darkens.
I nod. "I'm not looking to be one. But my squad is gone, and that's that."
Nidor withdraws his hand. He folds it back over his chest. "Fine then. An independent operative. I'll put you in intelligence. Clearly," he looks over my shoulder. "You have talent."
I don't know if that's an insult or a commendation but I'll take it. I'm too tired to do anything else.
Nidor turns and nods to the captain. "Secure the area! I want this place cleaned out, understood!"
"Clear it out!" repeats Addie.
I stand and watch as the survivors move around me. They call out and organize groups of two and three who descend to ensure the droids are gone. Others stand ready to fire down if something moves. In truth, there's less than twenty of us now. Medics move ready to spring into action as if they were serving a battalion though. And me. I'm simply here. I'm staring at phantoms in white flickering past me, and I can't convince myself yet that I'm really here.
My whole life I've been part of a greater picture. A unit. A family. We were taught to move as one, to think as one, to do as we're told. Good soldiers follow orders. And good soldiers die.
"Hey," someone taps my shoulder. I turn and I'm face to face with a clone in dusty armor painted with rusty red stripes. He's got a helmet on his head, and one in his hand. He offers me the extra. It's painted orange.
"Found this at the crash site."
I take it. The inside is smeared with a bit of blood. The outside has the telltale paint job I remember watching vanish into that LAAT/i. Aftermath.
I look up. The man has moved on. I don't even know his name, and I think I prefer that. I turn Aftermath's helmet in my hands. Whether that trooper knew who this belonged to or not, I appreciate it anyway.
I tuck the helmet under my arm and look up as the buzz of LAAT/i's descends again. The sound is hollow this time. It attracts more than just me, though.
The man from moments ago appears at my side. He pulls off his own helmet and wipes down his brow, revealing a face not much younger than my own. He looks up, but tilts his head my way. "By the way, I'm Headshot."
I try to ignore him. My fingers squeeze the edge of Aftermath's helmet.
Headshot doesn't give up. His hand lands hard and heavy on my shoulder. "Heard you're coming with us. That right?"
I nod.
Headshot smiles. He pulls on his helmet and steps away. "Then welcome to Bad Company, brother."