The Imperial Shipyards
Imperial Creative Engineering => Fan Fiction => Topic started by: TheIRISH Rogue on July 06, 2016, 11:07:28 PM
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From the characters of the Changing Tides and Knightfall trilogy comes: COGS of the Empire
Star Wars
Clone Wars/ Rebels
Cogs of the Empire: Currents Ablaze
Darkness has risen! Memories of democracy and THE CLONE WARS fade beneath the secure vice of Imperial governance.
The Grand Army of the Republic has undergone a stark change in doctrine. STORMTROOPERS clad in shining white armor maintain an ever growing presence across every system; far and near!
Clone battalions fight on for promised peace! Continuous consolidation keeps their ranks from dwindling. The 501st again, are engaged with an old enemy from a war already lost…
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Slight and isolated, Mustafar burned as it had for thousands of years in the Outer Rim; a system more or less forgotten after the Separatist Council’s destruction at the hand of Darth Vader. An ember tirelessly seared its’ own molten, exterior. The planet’s volcanic activity was all that announced its existence in a dark vacant space.
Evidence of a fresh battle, recently waged, lingered above its hazy atmosphere. Debris floated merely beyond the planet’s gravitational reach. Imperial ships gleamed against the resource world while small fighter squadrons darted amidst a destroyed taskforce of rebellious, yet familiar vessels. Carcasses of ships that had remained hidden for years prior to meeting their ruin; forgotten from days when the Confederation of Independent Systems held a respectable level of relevance.
Their robust shells were burned throughout, deck after deck, from tremendous firepower wielded by the Empire’s advanced Star Destroyer turbo-laser batteries. Many of the old hulls floated powerlessly; devastated beyond reaping, even by scavengers. Command bridges bristled with fire whilst hulls seethed under the growing pressure deep within each buckling core. Power couplings, generators, loosened, volatile armaments all created reactions large enough to gut each tormented ghost ship sporadically. Seams of their bilges popped. An outcome for the battle in space was already decided, but planet side, the upheaval’s last breath encroached with every fired blaster.
Had this fight been any other sort of disobedience, defeat would come with the promise of decimation. Yet this adversarial force was led by none other than Gizor Dellso, a veteran Geonosian gripped with sentiments of old hostilities. His army was conceived by a refurbished droid foundry left in disrepair. Remnants which once revitalized fueled his old, festering hatred. Years were spent assembling various “Separatist” assets from an earlier galactic conflict until a sizable contingent was established. They stood little chance against the modified Imperial Clone Army, even before the battle began!
The 501st legion was dispatched due to their affinity for discipline and fealty to the Empire. An instinctual hatred rekindled deep within each trooper’s blood upon discovering their foe’s identity. For them the only acceptable form of capitulation was complete obliteration.
On the surface of Mustafar, empty darkness shrouded red belching flares, orange lava flows, and hot, towering peaks of sharp, glassy stone. Flows glimmered off the shinning edifices only to be dulled by showers of infinite ash. Peppered across the surface were dozens of installations that floated close above the molten rock. Every facilities’ underside glowed blue with combined effects of shield and repulsor generators hard at work. They operated endlessly; insulating the structures from the consequential wear and tear of sustained heat exposure. Short, red beams sporadically whizzed up into the distance. They all seemed to emanate from one structure, the Droid Foundry!
Waves of droids advanced from the factory in droves; their weapons raised to acquire targets. Jango Fett’s voice emanated above the fray as it had since the first battle on Geonosis, “Hit them with everything you’ve got! SCRAP EM!” Trooper’s shouted back and forth to update one another on newly arrived, dense pockets of droids. “Bring up the guns! Eat laser! Push forward!” Familiar taunts filled the air, “Get back to being scrap metal ya CLANKERS!” “We ended you once! LEARN YOUR PLACE!”
Stormtroopers popped up behind cover, continuing to mow down B1 battle droids. Crimson bolts burned through metal shells, singeing critical circuitry; their vacant cases congealed in mounting heaps. Even the bulky topped B2, heavy battle droids, found themselves chewed up rapidly from shots fired by E-11 blaster rifles. “I almost forgot how much I hate these guys! Clapper on the right! Troops, we’re being out flanked!! Watch out!” Incoming blaster fire made a familiar high-pitched hum as it whizzed close overhead.
A phalanx of B2’s heavily clanked up a wide stairwell catching a lone squad of focused troopers unaware! Lasers scythed through them! Bodies smashed to the metal floor with heavy thuds, dead before impact. Each body dotted with closely paired, smoking blast points! The lone Stormtrooper ran then glided behind a waist-high column, avoiding a torrent of incoming fire. “CLAPPER! NO!! Right flank, right flank! Detonator close!!” the trooper shouted out of habit, but no one remained to listen. Before the shouted warning was finished, his hand had already pulled a grenade from the back of his utility belt. A quick click ensued. Having leapt from his position to another, the trooper fired his blaster using one outstretched arm. The other reeled the small grenade powerfully towards the cluster of oncoming droids!
Lightly the grenade clinked, skidding across the ground. Prior to its momentum ceasing entirely, the small white cylinder with a single black band, erupted into a ball of concussive force! Shockwaves from the grenade toppled several droids, enveloped others in metal sweltering flame, and hurled two over a railing at one side of the staircase. Their landing proved fatal when they slowly sank into the molten river that flowed beneath the foundry. Their popping processors were audible to the trooper above; his footing now regained. Soot clouded the trooper’s ocular sights! Taking a quick knee, his blaster laid nearby. Using a gloved fingertip, the clone wiped at the crevice of his helmets lens unsuccessfully.
*Clank * Clank * CLANK
Familiar and foreboding sounds of machine feet marching reached his ear. “It’s.. this soot is.. sticking to my visor! .. can’t.. see! Cover fire!” There was no reply. “I need support! Any close support?! ..COVER ME!” With eyes tightly squinted, they revealed more heavy battle droids veiled behind dark wisps of smoke from his spent grenade. A scratch made itself as he scooped the E-11 from the floor.
Muscles in his arm tightened to raise his weapon. The soldier’s body wrenched uncontrollably. A burning sensation bloomed across his side! Righting himself, he remained in a knelt position; the warmth of his own blood clung to his glove when they attempted a quick examination of damage dealt. His voice was soft and in disbelief, “..skrag.. I didn’t see this coming..” The foremost B2 auto targeted the clone trooper then raised its forearm to execute, as was typical behavior during the Clone Wars. A narrow green beam through the smoke caught the clone’s upward glancing eyes.
Zzssooww! Zzzsow! Zsow!
Three precisely aimed shots slammed into the leading B2! Charred components were visible behind the fragments blown away. The alternate B2’s failed to identify the incoming shots’ origin and quickly crumbled to the floor; their metal bodies dismembered. Fingertips wrapped around the breathing tubes of the wounded trooper’s removed helmet. With the dirt covered bonnet resting against his thigh, the clone turned back, looking above to see another Stormtrooper whose armor bore a dark blue insignia. An insignia few had any privilege to bear under the new directives of uniformity.
“Commander, thank you..” The Veteran stormtrooper reached down to grip the younger trooper under the pit of his arm. Similar to a parent and troublesome child, fingers pressed into the kneeling troopers muscle then yanked upward. It was more of a dragging motion than helping hand that pulled the trooper to his feet. “No thanks required. Put that bonnet back on and re-focus! It’s like you’ve not worn a trooper helm before. GET SHARP!”
Both walked with quick purpose from the platform to an elevated over-watch position. Below victory was close at hand, but each side fought on. “Sir, the name is Contrail. My squad was wiped..”
Midsentence the trooper was interrupted by the grough Fett voice of his clone brother-in-arms . “This army functions on by numeric order trooper, not its nicknames! Yours is..?!” The interruption hit Contrail with a smack of reality, “I.. uh.. TK 4981 sir! Reporting for duty Commander!” Motionless, the blue armored commander nodded his head, “This isn’t the army it used to be TK 4981.” Sharply a female’s voice resonated over their commlink communicators, “All units fall back. Repeat: All units fall back to points: Lima and Hawk.”
Continuing as if he hadn’t heard the recent orders, the veteran continued, “..When you realize that, follow me. Hope it won’t take too long or you’ll find yourself among the clanker debris.” With a jolting shake from being chastised, the trooper increased pace to flank his new commanding officer. “Why retreat if we’re winning?!” Each sprinted over a long, thin bridge that intersected a rectangular landing platform. Hundreds of Stormtroopers descended with the call of the female’s voice.
Having reached the point as ordered, the veteran turned towards the cohort. So many troopers in one spot an orderly chaos ensued; not to be confused with disarray. “Legion: Form up and make it tight!!” With that command, troops reorganized themselves into an orderly arrangement hastily. Crisp and precise they stood, as if prepared to march for the Emperor’s parade. A solitary gap existed where a trooper had fallen from another squad. There the blue marked commander pulled the new addition to his team, TK 4981, “We do not retreat! ..Not even in death.” The commander’s hand punctuated the sentence against 4981’s chest with a curled fist. His helmet turned away and with an upturned finger, pointed toward an officer.
Clad in a sharply groomed tunic, the officer’s stance was rigidly attentive to the battlefield. Everything orchestrated during the attack was thoughtfully done from this command deck.
Macrobinoculars lowered from the brim of the officer’s cap. His eyes remained shrouded in shade and jaw severely clenched. Tapping rapidly, his leather gloved fingers dashed against a digit pad on the edge of the table; he stood motionless. Still as he intently anticipated.
TK 4981’s gaze turned upward. Cloud and ash obscured any sight of what existed above. A green hue swelled. Brighter and brighter! A thunderous clap the ground shook! Another shortly after and then another. 4981’s attention was redirected just in time to see the origin of two of the three booming blasts. Thick smoke bellowed from each impact which straddled the battle ridden factory. Without any more time passing, two dozen tremendous, green salvos pounded the factory walls! The orbital bombardment lasted another few moments tearing away the ramparts only to vaporize everything beneath. Nothing withstood the sheer firepower that rained from orbit! Once the core deep within the facility ruptured; generators ceased their work, dissipating the integral shields.
The barrage halted; its catastrophic damage dealt. What ruined shell stood, sank into the blistering, molten surface of Mustafar. Mission completed.
The officer swiftly spun from his perch. 4981 snapped back to attention to avoid additional reprimands. No attention, however, was paid to such a minute infraction. Metal taps sounded above the subtle, flaking shower of ash and debris. They too stopped a mere five steps beyond the platform’s stairs. “Commander, bring your prisoners front and center!”
“Yes General!”
“Prisoner’s?” the word softly spoken by 4981, but not soft enough to avoid the blue adorned trooper’s stark stare. “Examples are always made. Vader’s fist stands for the execution of those most pivotal.” 4981 was glad his helmet concealed any consternation caused by the double entendre.
16 troopers wearing a unique armor stepped forward. Their helmets had a sharp visor, black cloth visible where armor was not, and additional munitions around their waist. Elite reconnaissance soldiers and scout troopers escorted a small handful of Geonosian dissenters forward. Each prisoners’ wrists were bound firmly in front, bound by the tight vice of metallic binders. Battered and bloodied their heads hung low, yet remained resentful. Ushered over the Stormtrooper crowded platform, the scout troopers pulled them to the edge.
Without any command or words, the soldier’s pressed the flat of their palms against their defeated foe. Each positioned with no causeway separating them from the fiery clutches of bubbling lava. Eight paces were taken before the line spun to stare down their enemy through black, emotionless lenses. 4981 then recognized the officer dressed in a raven black uniform. Its crispness unmistakable.
Though aged and hardened from years of combat, the weariness and sharp blue eyes of Haide Valhallen (Vallen as the lads knew him) were unforgettable.
A glowing datapad raised, held firmly in Vallen’s grasp, “As decreed in Article 6, Section 2 of the Cato Neimodia Accords, the use of battle droids in unsanctioned military actions is strictly prohibited. AND if used against the Imperium, these crimes are considered actions against the Emperor himself! THUS, as a result, these crimes carry the highest sanction for the responsible. Gizor Dellso, you and your compatriots are not only found guilty of insurrection against the Empire, but are wanted for War Crimes.”
Suddenly agitated, wings of the Geonosian vibrated pugnaciously! His language, a series of clicks, rapid and hard to decipher. Vallen paused during the disruption only allowing it to continue while he consulted a black clad protocol droid. Its voice’s pitch was lowly, but matter-of-fact, “He denies the charge of War Crimes and says those claims are only decided before the Judiciary Counsel. “You have no authority to mak..”
“Oh, but I do have the authority Gizor! You were not present for the Confederation’s ratification of surrender, nor the hearings before the Judiciary Counsel. Abstention from those proceedings were certainly in part due to your insidious plot to continue the war. Reconciliation is beyond your grasp. You are a traitor, a terrorist, and you are sentenced to summary execution.. immediately!!”
Protesting from the party of insects grew to a clamor! Clacks and squaks signaled enormous agitation! Those that were solemn joined the others; fighting a fate against which they had little chance of appeal. “ “What war?!” -- “What war?!”
The protocol droid’s glowing orange eyes looked to his commander when translating. Teeth pressed into one another. Each side of Vallen’s jaw writhed under the pressure of being clenched. “What war?” Vallen asked rhetorically back to the shouting mass. His demeanor calm, even icy. Unsung tensions tore at the officer’s very fiber. That war had cost so much for everyone across the galaxy. The threat of it being forgotten enraged him!
His body moved suddenly toward Gizor Dellso! Steps broad, determined, and heavy until his hateful exhale was common with Dellso’s inhaling breath. “What war?!? THE CLONE WAR!” Reaching down, Vallen’s tinted leather glove embraced the smooth grip of his DL-44. Still standing on the battlefield, the safety clasp had not been reengaged. This allowed a fluid draw of the powerful blaster. The weight of pulling its trigger took little to no effort.
A single red eruption of energy exploded from the barrel! In an instant Gizor’s eyes blinked from the flash only to dull from the fatal shot to his insectoid cranium. Smoke withered in the breeze of lava heat. Surprisingly the bug remained standing; wings twitching. Gizor’s exoskeleton remained tense from sheer shock; wavering shortly before stumbling backward off the platform. His body fell with such weight until it met the orange flow below. Vallen’s rage mellowed only to be met with an overwhelming sense of angst. Angst conceived from the loathing of what he had become as an officer in the Imperium; reacting with such hate.
Turning towards his men, adorned in white, he commenced a march towards a nearby structure the 501st had taken as its temporary command compound. Passing a line of oddly armored elite troopers, the General raised his hand as if to issue a command to halt. Each soldier’s eye was keen to every movement he made. Illuminating with hope, the Geonosian’s body language lightened as he neared the firing line. If he made it passed the door, perhaps they’re punishment would be another day.
As if discarding trash, Vallen’s hand casually flicked to the side. And so followed the lives of the insect insurgents. Each trooper aimed down their barrel, hastily unloading a dozen charges into each bug. Their bodies spattered in orange pock marks that glowed brightly. The advance was ruthless! Bolts plunged into the foe with such force many were propelled off the precipice. Clone trooper 4981 thought the only way to stop their onslaught was if they too marched off the platform. They halted at the cusp where a single Geonosian carcass remained; that too was cast to the fire below with the shove of a boot.
Close behind Vallen’s shadow, the blue marked commander watched the imposing officer ascend the stairs, “Company: On standby!” he shouted. The uniformed white mass broke the hard attention they held during the final pacifying moments of Mustafar. Each initiated a myriad of duties. 4981 instinctually moved to follow the trooper who had saved his live, but was given a stern sign to hold his ground and not enter the skirmish scorned building. Hissing, the door sealed behind.
--- To be continued...
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Cool deal. Off to share.
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Inside, the halls were dim, lit only by an orange glimmer that prevailed through narrow observation slits. Beeps rang out of a room nearby. An armor clad trooper walked close behind his hurried general. He stopped short of the doorway; close enough to allow his ears to hear hints of what may be said. After a series of beeps, a higher pitched answer tone sounded. Vallen answered the incoming message using the administration room’s main holotable. A voice spoke, but was not one familiar to the commanding Stormtrooper. From reading Vallen’s body language, he didn’t recognize the figure either. The uniform worn had a smaller chest plate than was standard for military use; not to mention his helmet was tremendously customized. The triangle adorning his collar meant Intelligence.
“..allus, of the Military Security Bureau. Yet another successful mark on your record General. Congratulations on completing the pacification of Mustafar. Securing yet another industrial asset for the glorious Empire. Gizor Dellso was a prickly thorn to say the least. I can’t see his actions boding well for the future of Geonosis either.”
A solid nod of agreement followed from Vallen, “He was. Though older, their weapons were powerful nonetheless. A little disconcerting considering the “new” armor’s advertised potential..”
“Heh, surely you’re not doubting the armories’ efforts. They’ve produced far more armor for the influx of volunteers at a sound price for the Empire. For all your accolades, you wouldn’t want other officers thinking your Clones were deteriorating…would you? Oh.. so close to retirement..”
“Are you seriously considering the acceptance of volunteers or conscripts? My remark has nothing to do with their armor or abilities! They are staunch in their resolve and nothing will change that!”
“That is good to hear then General Valhallen.” A deep, foreboding voice dominated the commline. Vallen became very aware that his conversation had been observed from the start of his mission’s debrief. The ISB agent’s hologram dissipated. Another took its place, towering over the center of the table. Cloaked in swathes of black cloth; the figure’s glossy armor protruded his chest. Faceless, but a terrorizing, large presence, even by hologram.
“Lo- Lord Vader!” Veteran soldiers had reason to stutter when caught off guard by their legendary leader. The mechanical breathing was deafening. Each gap between strained gasps lasted an eternity. Even when conversations were short, they were excruciating. “How did the legion fare general?” Vader inquired. The five hundred and first was known by reputation as “Vader’s Fist”, but when he spoke, he refrained using any terminology of possession. The legion, a tool, same as his lightsaber.
“Excellently my lord. Casualties sustained were minimal, not to mention the lads were able to burn prevailing steam from an old feud. Nothing can stand in their way.”
“And their resolve: you were saying?” His cloak draped back exposing the hilt of a lightsaber hanging beneath his belt. No words or motions were ever executed without implied purpose. The dark lord’s gloved hands, rested atop his hips.
“Peek condition sir. After annihilating the enemy, the 501st is primed for any caliber mission.. alas, few sources of treachery remain. What is your will my lord: Shall we refit back on Coruscant?”
Percussive was the Dark Lord’s response, “No! Your next assignment will push the very core of the legion! ISB intelligence has brought the emperor very troubling news regarding a special contingent”
Vallen’s head tilted with curiosity, “A contingent? This a viable threat to the Empire?”
“Resistance and military action is ALWAYS a threat general.”
“What’s the origin of this rabble then?”
“Kamino.”
Vallen lurched forward and pressed his hands firmly to the table, “What?!”
“Messages intercepted by the ISB indicate a viable threat looming. It was categorized low risk; mostly economic in nature. That is until a series of orchestrated attacks were executed in an effort to cripple our presence in the sector. Attacks more organized and tenacious than any we’ve faced in a long time.”
“What purpose would they have moving against the Empire?”
“Intent matters not General… Before the conclusion of the Clone War, the Fett gene stretched far beyond its use. Now the Emperor is considering alternatives; the Cloners are lashing out of fear, hoping their position in space insulates them from repercussions. With the disintegration of the Separatists, there was no need to leave a shielding fleet to protect the system. Perhaps that was a mistake. Now they’ve grown bold…too bold.”
Vallen released a hidden, repressed sigh. This concept had not entered many imperial strategists’ mind or anyone else’s for that matter and highly troubling it was. Not only did this signify distress within the ranks, but if exposed quickly, the Kaminoan variable would act as a potent strategic threat. Holograms of the oceanic planet and phase one armor hovered above the table next to the cloaked figure. Holovids played, displaying a variety of troopers sabotaging Imperial targets.
Vader spoke again, “Treachery of this caliber is unacceptable. Our reprisal will be severe! Submit your code cylinders. Orders for the mission will be transmitted. Plan your assault with care. Do not underestimate our old ally. Failing to complete these commands as prescribed will result in far darker repercussions than a black mark on your record General. You are dismissed..”
A hard snap echoed off the walls when Vallen’s boots clamped together. His body stiffened at attention until his head bowed. Vallen’s demeanor couldn’t be read. His body language was severe in response to Vader’s intimidation. His hand had inserted a silver command code cylinder into a port located on the thick side of the table. “This is not going to be easy…” the officer whispered to himself while the cylinder finished uploading his instructions.
Into the room stepped the commanding Stormtrooper. His armor grey with soot, blackened by falling embers. “Seal the door commander.”
Softly the trooper’s gloved hand reached to the door, pressing the key to seal the door behind him. Vallen’s forehead glistened with drips of sweat from the heat. “Sir: Shall I have the men secure what facilities remain?”
The officer wiped his brow with the back of his hand. His face darkened from battle. “Nothing of note stands for us here. It’s time to mount up.”
“Sir, with such a victory, I’d be surprised if they didn’t want us back on Coruscant for a victorious march. The Clone War refought and won, yet again!”
“Not the case Hotsh. New Orders from the top. Next mission has come on-line.”
“But general, the men haven’t cleaned the scorch off their plates..”
“Where we’re headed, they won’t need to..” His eyes, somber. They looked out the window towards the white ocean of troopers standing above the glowing lava pools. Trooper’s helmets turned to the sky. Landing crafts descended from space.
“..the sea and rain will do it for ‘em.”
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Hundreds of silver crafts dotted the sky above Mustafar, returning to a large, gleaming triangle that hovered within the dark of space. General Valhallen sat behind the pilot of his Sentinal-class landing shuttle. He quietly starred over the main pilot’s shoulder at the growing shape. Temporary home looked untouched by the battle recently waged. The hull, grey and bristling with turbo-laser batteries, lacked the usual pock marks of ship to ship combat. Codes passed to and from pilots the nearer they flew.
Many Imperial Star Destroyers lingered; angled different directions, prepared to depart for missions elsewhere in the galaxy by the time the 501st began their ascent home. Seldom did battalions delay longer than was strategically necessary. The ship lightly jostled when it passed through the magnetic field of the massive Star Destroyer. It was atypical that the 501 remained stationed on the ISD Vehement for as long as they were. Much of Imperial military doctrine was designed to eliminate attachment to any specific element.
Unless an individual reached the level of high ranking officer, nothing remained theirs long.
For its size, the shuttle moved surprisingly fast. The main viewing shield illuminated when the ship entered the bright, sterile landing bay. A scene of organized chaos unfolded. On one end of the platform, crafts underwent triage repairs. Those too damaged, were pulled from the bay by a tug; later dragged to dawdle in space. On the other platforms, troopers sprinted purposefully. Some carried cargo bins, others supported wounded brothers too weak to walk on their own. Flight and ground crews directed incoming traffic to keep incoming soldiers debarking at peak effectiveness.
The Sentinal shuttle, swiveled. Its boosters simultaneously slowed and turned to face the identified deck lot for landing. A ground crewman ran in front of the hovering ship to marshal its entry. He snapped to attention and saluted the ship, a typical action of decorum for returning vessels; then began signaling the pilot with glowing yellow wands that contrasted the mirrored, black floor. His arms motioned back and forth. Slowly the ship sank; its landing gear absorbing the weight. “Smooth as always flight leader Senoj. Lets get the lads off quickly. Green light ‘em.”
“Aye aye, General.” The pilot was one of General Valhallen’s personal flight team, Jerr Senoj. An ace pilot, one of the first non-clones to be brought into the navy prior to the Clone War’s conclusion. His wing was attached to the General’s after Valhallen’s clone wing, “Thunder” disappeared from the roster following Operation Knightfall. Senoj’s team had a very slim, blue stripe which exclaimed their significance. His raven hair was tightly groomed, with a shadow of dark hair across his jaw. Normally a violation, if visible, but pilots more often than not concealed their countenance behind black flight helmets.
A green light activated simultaneously when the boarding doors slowly lowered. Dozens of tightly packed Stormtroopers raised to their feet. Each squad had a different route to exit the craft when all doors opened fully. In tandem, armor clinked and their steps marched off. Ground crews entered to clean the grime and blood that so quickly adhered to its place. Vallen was the last to emerge from the shuttle, his eyes scanned the commotion. Everything occurring was typical to the aftermath of a dozen other operations in his career.
Motion caught his attention. A female navy officer was in a direct path towards him. “General, we have a pair of Arquiten I-L-C’s sent to rally and accompany our next mission. The Tormentor and Instructor have arrived on mark. An officer of the Imperial Light Cruiser Instructor sent a request to come aboard directly after your arrival – assuming permission granted such an action.”
Vallen removed his hat to run his gloved hand through his hair, “Who would deem this necessary?” His battle fatigue gave an edge to his voice that made the deck officer apprehensive. Heat melted any care for formality from importance. She stuttered momentarily, “I.. l…lost the tail of the identifier..du due to their hastey jump to hyperspace, but it sounded like an old CT code.”
Vallen’s curiosity piqued. “Were you able to read receive any of the identifying code?!”
Some clone commanders became grotesque hunters for the Empire, some still duty bound, others fell lost to their grey state of morality. There was no question the hierarchy struggled with curing a solution. “CT – 75… was all that came through sir.”
A hint of a number not heard readily since the time around the Siege of Mandalore. “Accept the request immediately. I’ll remain present for their arrival.”
“Yes sir! They’ve been holding nearby. Deck to Flight Bridge this is…” her speech tapered off when she spun to communicate with the bridge coordinators overseeing incoming ships.
Vallen’s hands adjusted and popped his officer cap with a swift smack from the back of his hand. Snug, it hugged his forehead when he pulled it down his brow, covering his eyes. A high whirring filled his ear. Veteran pilots knew a craft was relatively fresh from production due to this higher pitch. A newer Sentinal, but same model, lifted its way into the docking bay. Its pilot, clearly less experienced than most, made the flight coordinator wave his arms vigorously. Finally, the ship had come close enough and the wands shifted from moving left to right to an “X” that lowered toward the floor.
“Set it down!” the coordinator was clearly becoming exacerbated after enduring the entire ordeal. Following a loud crunch the landing pads hit the deck. Reverberations spread through the floor in a broad wave, turning heads to watch. “GAH, NOT THE DECK.. beyond shiny! Skrag..” Quickly, the crewmember ran up to the ship. Bending to check the floor around each pillar. “eh.. not TOO bad, but still. These take forever to buff!” His rant concluded, the crewman stood up again finally noticing Vallen; standing silently behind the entire time. “General! M..my apologies sir! I didn’t know y..”
Only a hint of a grin presented itself on his superior officer’s chiseled face. “No apology is warranted. You and your crews take great care of this hangar. Tell you what..” the two men leaned closer together for the general to continue, “..do us all a favor and get that pilot’s identification. Get ‘em more time in the sims.” Reassured and even a bit humored, the coordinator released a sigh of relief. “Yes sir.”
Before long, the shuttle’s doors dropped. From within marched 3 crisp squads of the shiniest Stormtroopers. Their armor contrasted even more to those on deck. Amidst the troopers of varying heights strode a proud man in black fatigues. “Walk on troopers. Sergeant Coric, lead the way to the commissary. We’ll bunk up after these boys debrief- clean up and situate lads.”
After the issued orders were acknowledged the group moved forward. The aged veteran turned to Vallen. His face was less cold, but mildly hidden behind grown out facial hair. At the sides of his face were sideburns. Oddly enough, they faded the higher they rose towards his cap. No sooner had Vallen made eye contact, the clone removed his hat exposing a crescent scar barely visible against his hairline. Beneath the black hat, golden and grey hair were a welcome surprise!
Laughter burst from both men! Vallen grinned, “Ha ha ha, Rex! CC- 7567, the captain himself returns. Welcome back to the 5-0-1!” “It’s good to be back sir! I knew you’d make it! A general no less!” Each quickly extended an arm in a reverent gesture. Fingers clasped one another’s forearm. “Welcome aboard the Vehement old friend. Although, you did miss out on one hell of a fight.” Rex slyly grinned, “Oh yea? What’s this I heard about you wasting some old clank-buckets and buggers?! Sounded pretty fun over the net! I’m sure the boys did well no less.”
“Almost like old times Captain. Smoked ‘em all.”
Rex’s lips curled downward. “They keep up this pestering, the Emperor’s wrath will be immediate and more deadly than they realize.” Vallen’s other hand patted Rex’s shoulder while their hands released. Together the two began their way through the large docking bay. Vallen looked to the chest Rex had behind his feet, “Troopers! Pull that case to my quarters.” Two Stormtroopers of different builds paused to look at one another. A moment which lasted long enough for Rex to chastise the pair for their delay. “Hop to it lads! Crate’s not going to move itself. These command bars mean something!”
Vallen’s brow tightened. “NOW!” Rex snapped with an uncharacteristic sharpness. Both nearly hopped out of their armor! With knees bent, both handles lifted under the troopers hands until their shoulders were tight, “Yes sir!”
Vallen gave pause. His eyes, typically a vale for inner emotion, betrayed his concern. Rex caught a glimpse and beckoned the commanding officer to lead the way with a low wave. “Conscripts trying your patience Captain?”
An abrupt breathe left the clone’s lips. “You have no idea. Command mandates more troops and quicker turnover rates. Results of the expedited training program haven’t been field tested, yet.” Both walked through dozens of open blast doors to a cylindrical lift. “Only a matter of time before they’re put on the frontline.” Hissing, the door closed with ease. Safe behind the closed door from patrolling ears, Rex leaned back against the wall.
Soft noises rang, the elevator slowed its ascent. Once opened, the large command deck of the star destroyer was visible around an arched bend of tactical monitors. Officers’ countenances glowed brightly. Many of their faces illuminated by tasks and holograms.
Boots clattered. A pair of eyes raised from the port pit, “General sir: boarding is complete! Hatches are battened and we are underway.” Pacing quickly passed, Vallen motioned acknowledgement without shifting his attention.
Wearing a slim and well-trimmed, olive uniform, a navel captain stood near the primary navigation table. “General, I’ve cleared our next point with command. We’re to hold position until ISD Incredulous and ISD Spite arrive on our location. The rendezvous is set for 8 hours.”
Rex’s eyebrows raised in surprise, “Where we go, we’re not going alone then.”
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