Old Dogs

[Davon Karr]

The sound of a knife being slowly slid from its sheath caught his attention. It was an almost musical sound, yet tinged with a malice that made his gut lurch. Davon’s view was still spinning, so he went on instinct alone. He knew which way was down, so he knew which way was up. He also knew where the sound had come from.

Feeling, rather than hearing knees hit the ground beside him, he rolled and brought up both arms. He smacked aside a hand that had been reaching to grasp his hair. Rather than slit his throat, the soldier went to just plunge his knife down.

Grabbing furiously, Davon managed to grasp a forearm with one hand and then stabilise with the other. The blade didn’t catch the light; it had a matte black coating. However, he could see his dull reflection in the blade as it hung just inches from his shoulder. He looked old - old and desperate.

Kark dying today, he had a crappy job to retire from and another good forty year sitting on the porch with Stahl to look forward to. A feral growl slowly became a roar. Under loose skin heavy, gnarled muscles bunched up. The death watch mandalorian looked to his face, back to the blade. He was beginning to panic.

 

[Davon Karr]

The roar increased in volume, spittle flecked all across his lips. Good job he hadn’t stopped the weights work. Inch by inch that blade receded. The soldier could apply no more than his weight, whilst Dacon had his beck to the ground. With on final jerk he straightened his arms and let go with one hand. There was a ‘ping’ as he snapped the blade from its hilt.

The soldier tried to break free. Davon was having none of it. He was breathing hard, low on breath, but still strong as a rancor. With a snarl he rolled his opponent onto the ground. There was a sickening crack as he got a grip on an arm and snapped it back. Then, using his weight to pin the enemy’s back, he yanked the helmet off and grabbed his jaw.

Breaking a neck wasn’t like in the films. Not a sudden easy twist. No, the other man desperately bunched his muscles, but could nothing to halt that inexorable turn. Like taking off a stiff jar lid. A final crunch and it was done.

 

[Davon Karr]

Already behind schedule, Davon wasted no time in hurrying up the stairs. Well, he wasted as little time as he could. His stamina wasn’t what it once was and he had to slow to a brisk walk half way up.

If someone had told me an invasion was coming, I might have got back into running. Too many pies too as Stahl likes to remind me.

Battle senses seemed to have kicked in. There were two more soldiers watching the street from this floor. The first was taken quick and quiet with a blade to the throat, the second got a blaster bolt down his visor before he could fire back.

 

[Davon Karr]

Checking which window was above the tank, Davon smashed it out of the frame with the butt of his rifle. Then he did something stupid. He leapt out of the window. Even bending his knees as he landed didn’t take the full sting out of it. The tank seemed to groan as well.

Maybe if repeated the process a few times it really would give up the ghost? Stahl would have died of laughter. Too many pies…

He had to work quickly. The sponson mounted repeaters slewed back and forth trying to track him, but he was outside of their firing arcs. Wouldn’t be more than a few moments before the gunner decided to electrify the hull and burn him off. Probably do my ticker in, he thought to himself.

As the main turret rotated around he slammed the mag-clamp grenades in the gap between it and the main hull. The electrified hull would detonate them if the five second timer didn’t. Without further ado, he leapt back off the tank towards the building he’d come from. He smashed through a window on the ground floor and came to rest in a pile of safety glass pebbles.

Then the explosives went off. No one made explosives quite like the mandalorians and it was advisable to view the effect from further away. The concussion blaster dropped him like a stone, but he did get to see the turret lift in a manner it wasn’t supposed to, accompanied by the groan of tortured metal.

 

[Davon Karr]

“On your feet vod!”

Davon shook his head. Even that voice, close by, was muffled by the persistent whine. His vision slowly stabilised and he saw several sets of legs rushing towards him. Strong fingers grasped his upper arm and helped him sit up.

He brought one hand to his forehead, feeling blood pooling in a wide gash over his eyebrow. Turning up to those who had spoken, he smiled. Part of his mind was still fuzzy, but the rest of it recognised family.

“Got some…” he started to ask, but someone was already holding out a med-kit. He plunged a finger into a tin of bacta-grease and used it to cover the wound. Blood dripping into the eye wasn’t a welcome distraction in a firefight.

Awareness of the persistent sound of blaster fire came to him. “Am I missing the fun?” he groaned, helping himself to his feet. Armour would have been really good right about now. He idly wondered if this man was his son or grandson.

“Not the best bit. We dealt with the snipers. That tank still had mobility so tried to get out of there to find ground support. Ran right over our mine which finished them off.”

“Zerk!” Davon suddenly cried out. “You’re Zerk.”

“Grandad? You can sit this one out you know…”

“Nonsense, just a bit dazed is all. Let’s get to it.”

 

[Davon Karr]

The Death Watch in the entrance lobby had entrenched themselves well. Even repeater fire from across the street failed to dislodge them. Deciding they didn’t have enough men in armour to make the assault, Davon ordered some of his offspring to bring the tank back.

The tracked vehicle could be pushed, but it took several of them. When they complained he simply snapped at them to put their backs into it. Whilst the repeater and several other locals kept the defenders busy, they pushed the tank into position near the entrance door.

Davon stayed with that group, ready for the first assault. At the signal the repeater fire stopped and they burst from cover. He change in, following the men who had managed to get into armour before everything kicked off. Two men in blue and grey armour appeared and were gunned down. Another tried to run, but Davon shot him in the back of the knee before one of Stahl’s nephews could finish him off.

As they were about to head into the main building he felt a sudden blinding heat. Whilst he’d forgotten what it was like to take a solid punch, he could never forget what it was like to be shot. That acrid, yet meaty stench of your own flesh sizzling. The sudden flash of white across your vision. Instinct had him drop to the deck and roll into cover, prone.

Lifting up his shirt he was surprised to find nothing more than a flesh wound. Painful, but he could fight on.

“Just a deflection!” someone behind him called. From the smoking mark on his nephew’s armour he assumed that was the source. Grimacing against the pain, he pulled his old bones back up and carried on with the job.

 

[Davon Karr]

The overly confident Death Watch hadn’t left many behind. Stupid. They should have known that old, young and peaceful mandalorians were still a threat. Perhaps they had assumed more support for their cause in these parts? Stupid. The people here were members of clans who didn’t support them, so they certainly weren’t about to roll over and ask for a tickle from the invaders.

He didn’t kill another soul getting into the main bank. Provided plenty of covering fire though. In the end the last three defends laid down their arms and came out. Perhaps that was the most honourable cause, Davon decided. The Death Watch had gathered all the civilians in the building into the central chambers when they’d taken it. A swathe of people sat down in the wide open hall. Perhaps their commander had thought to start a hostage situation if things went south? Regardless, surrendering was preferable to putting the lives of the unarmed men, women and children in here at stake.

Davon felt like he was in some kind of daze now. The fighting was done. It had been decades since he’d last picked up a blaster. There might be more to come of course, it seemed they were in the middle of a planetary invasion. Though perhaps the real warriors would arrive soon and they could stay out of the way. He was old. He could feel it especially now. In his aching muscles, in the jolts of pain that plagued his joints. Barely a skirmish by his old standards yet he was gasping for air.

“Davon…”

That strained whisper was like icy fingers twisting his gut.

 

[Davon Karr]

“Stahl!” he cried out, head twisting back and forth. Spotting his white mane, he dashed through the crowd, sending a young man sprawling.

Stahl was lying in a pool of his own blood. His flesh was pallid, eyes half-closed. “Took…your time.”

A young woman had her hands over the wound, pressing down as firmly as she could. Looking up to Davon with desperation in her eyes. “He tried to fight them…” she stuttered. “Knocked one of them out before the other shot him twice from behind. They…”

Davon had a hold of his husband’s hand. The returned grip was weak. “…they dragged him back to the rest of the group, left him with us as an example. The back wound is cauterised, but this won’t stop bleeding!”

“Of course he tried to fight them,” Davon declared. A thin smile found his lips as he starred into his husband’s blue eyes. “Medic!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, startling the poor girl. Blood pooled around her hand before she pressed down once more.

 

[Davon Karr]

“Yes!” someone called back. They were no more than twenty strides away, which Davon covered in a heartbeat.

“My husband, he’s not good,” Davon said, his voice trembling. The cold fingers around his gut had turned to a shard of ice that pierced it. It seemed as if his throat was being constricted, each breath felt hard. His head pounded.

“He’s going to have to hold on.”

“What?” Davon snarled. Yet as he stepped around he saw the child crumpled on the floor. The young girl had been caught by a blaster shot in the gut. The fragile little doll was just as pale as Stahl. Davon had half a mind still to grasp the medic and force him to fix his husband. He turned to look back at Stahl, his own face now as pale as a sheet.

Stahl met his eyes with an almost vacant expression. His husband shook his head an almost imperceptible amount. Davon’s stomach lurched. Stepping away from the responder he started to make for the exit. There had to be someone else nearby. Someone to stabilise him before the aid arrived.

“Davon…please…”

He came to an abrupt halt. Turning slowly on the spot he took in a deep breath and sighed slowly. Stahl was waving him closer. “You daft bastard,” he grumbled as he approached.

“Just stay…please…”

 

[Davon Karr]

“Of course.” He didn’t tell the young woman to leave, left her holding the wound so he could take his husband’s hand with one of his own, whilst hooking his other around his neck. He looked into Stahl’s eyes again before leaning forwards and planting a kiss on his forehead. “They’ll be here soon, this isn’t so…”

Stahl interrupted him with a cough, before dribbling blood down his cheek. Davon quickly wiped it away. “Don’t humour me,” he said. His voice was weak. “I’ve had…a good run…we know what happens now…”

“Feth it all Stahl you’re not…”

“Make up…with Gelda and Sirla. It’ll be…hard now. Don’t let you…all grow apart…”

“Of course, of course.”

“You’re not…listening. Do a dying man a favour and…karking listen.” There was an edge to Stahl’s voice this time, a determination in his eyes.

“Sorry,” Davon replied, his own voice incredibly weak now. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Keep them all…safe…” Stahl managed before he gasped. His breathing became shallow.

“I will, I will, please just…”

The fingers wrapped around his went limp. Stahl’s head leaned back against the pillar. Confusion spread across Davon’s expression, then his face seemed to twist up on itself. His own breathing came in short rapid bursts, his throat seemed to close. “Stahl…no? No, no, no, no…”

He didn’t even see the girl take her hand from the wound, shuffling away on all fours to leave Davon alone now. Davon wrapped his limp husband up in his arms, pulling him tight to him. There was still some life in his veins, but it wouldn’t be long now.

 

[Davon Karr]

It was for a good thirty minutes that Davon stood before what had been his home, unable to cross that threshold. As he had walked back from the bank several mortar rounds had struck the streets around him. A grim look of determination set in his weathered features he had strode one, paying them no heed.

Now, finally, he plucked up the courage to step up onto the porch. He passed the bench, his jacket and tie still slung over the back, a crate of beer still wedged underneath. The old door creaked as he swung it open. Down he went, down into the basement. Amongst the weights and utility machines hung what was now the second ghost in this old house now. His beskar’gam, worn and battered just like him. It swung slowly from the ceiling.

Davon’s hands balled into fists. Tears welled in his eyes once more and his lips pulled back into a ferocious snarl. He’d made Stahl a promise. He’d make up with his estranged offspring who couldn’t see eye to eye with his mandalorian roots. But first…first he needed to protect them all. One hand unclenched, giving his palm a reprieve from the cutting press of his jagged nails. Stahl did always tell him not to bite them. Reaching out he touched the breastplate and he heard the slow, rhythmic beating of the hammer.

Ping ping tap…ping ping tap.

 

[Davon Karr]

778 ABY

Each blow of the hammer bent the plate into shape just a tiny fraction. It was an excruciatingly slow process. Long, tiring work. Davon was only three plates into his new beskar’gam and already he was starting to wonder if the process would even be worth it.

Beskar had only recently returned as a viable material for armour. A fleet engagement over Mandalore itself had seen several cruisers fall from orbit and devastate a small island. However they'd exposed new beskar mines. It was fortunate that the techniques of manipulating the rare material had been passed down the generations through the gulag plague.

 

[Davon Karr]

Now Davon could work durasteel just fine. Beskar was a little different. No leather aprons here. He was wrapped up in a metal coated, fibreglass suit. Otherwise the orange-hot plate would have currently been melting his face off.

"Pain in the arse," he grumbled to himself. Stahl, however, was close enough to hear. He'd always been so laid back he was almost horizontal. Stahl had been quite content to allow the beskarsmith from Mabdalore to do the bulk of the work on his armour.

"That bad, huh?" came the amused reply.

 

[Davon Karr]

"Yes, well, I didn't get Hake Betna to do all the work myself so it's been a long day!" he huffed. The pauldron was plunged back into the furnace for a few moments. He kept his eyes fixed on it as he spoke to his husband. The colour was everything, directly related to its temperature.

The colony here had all become members of Clan Betna over the last few years. That was one aspect of the culture that had perhaps fallen on the wayside during the Gulag plague. They only rarely sent envoys to Mandalore during that time and had never really needed to form back up into houses and clans. They were a small colony on a big agriworld. Worlds like this had relatively thrived through the plague. They'd started with low populations, spread far and wide and had abundant good sources. When the hyperlanes had mostly closed down, the population had actually grown over time. There had been a real boom as the effects of gulag vanished.

 

[Davon Karr]

"Gandim's asleep now," Stahl said quietly, watching intently from a safe distance.

"Should I stop?" His eyes stayed on the plate. Dull red slowly transitioned to bright orange.

"No, no. Once he's down he sleeps like a log and I enjoy watching you work. The plates are large."

Davon nodded, pulling the plate free from the furnace. The first strike sent a myriad of sparks rolling and bouncing across the workbench.

 

[Davon Karr]

"I'm making Beskar'kandar, interlocking plates for nearly full coverage." Sparks once again rolled across the table and then bounced along the floor.

"Won't that be heavy...oh no, what am I thinking. You weigh the same as a minor landmark already..."

"You know I'm trying to concentrate here right?"

"You always get so sensitive and emotional when you're forging. About the only time."

 

[Davon Karr]

Davon shot his husband a withering look. He then realised that it would have absolutely no effect through the mask over his face.

He'd need a break soon. Even with his strength this took a lot out of a man and he'd been at it for hours. The inside of his suit was starting to feel as hot as the furnace looked. He brought his hammer up and swung it down again. That moment when the hammer was in flight, felt somewhere just outside of control when it fell free.

 

[Davon Karr]

"Well you have a stupid impractical sword so I suppose a rediculous and heavy suit of armour will match it nicely," Stahl observed.

"Stupid sword?"

"Come on...who had a sword with an inward curving blade?"

Davon shrugged his broad shoulders. "Trained with one when I was young, now the balance just feels right."

"Yeah and to be fair, the look on Dexar's face when you drew it and challenged him to single combat was priceless."

Davon chuckled. "If you're going to kark your suit when someone swings a big old cutter at you, keep your helmet on in combat."

 

[Davon Karr]

Present day.

It was the creak of the stairs that brought his mind back to the present. Somehow he knew that sound didn't herald the approach of danger, so he stayed in place.

"Dad?"

Ah, it was Gandim. Davon was sat stick, his massive concussion rifle laid across his lap. "I can't hold it steady. I tried, couldn't keep it up and the barrel still."

Gandim sighed and walked up to him. "I wish Abffor was still with us. Or that Zed and Sil weren't off fighting."

Davon looked up at Gandim. His eldest son had never matched his younger brother in battle, but Abffor had been overconfident too. It was why Gandim had come home an his own two feet and he'd returned in a coffin. That wound was very old now, but it still hurt when it was tugged.

 

[Davon Karr]

"Someone should have known they were coming," Davon said quietly. The first words he'd spoken to anyone since he'd feel the life fade from Stahl.

"Dad's been taken to the hospital morgue," Gandim said slowly. "The others...theyre expecting you to take command I think. We've just heard, the barracks have been overrun, most of the soldiers captured. You don't have to you know. You don't always have to fight, dad...he knew that..."

Davon heard his eldest son's voice break. "We can hold his funeral soon, but this time there isn't a choice. That's...that's why Stahl isn't here any more." Davon reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.