Objectives:
- Hold the Line
- Die Like a Hero
- Make Your Escape
- Aid the Wounded
Primus City, Noris (874 ABY)
'Captain??', Ivan pondered aloud, stepping out from his covered arc-of-fire to follow the direction of the loud voice, yet the young Lieutenant wouldn't take long in discerning the Captain's rank-strip from the shadows in the distance. Still somewhat bemused as the old Thane drew closer, Sienar vebalised his thoughts in saying,
'With you and what army, Sir??', sounding more like a retort than curiosity, though Karsh was still of a mind to agree his subordinate was valid in his thoughts on the matter either way.
'Ha! Give him enough toys to utilise, and Captain Karsh is army enough to have fun until he runs out-'
<Slash to Ember Three.>
All those within earshot had fallen silent, letting the sounds of the other Embers and the cacophonies of war raging around them to take the auditory slack, letting Commander Greene reach for the,
"SPEAK", button as he rasped,
'Interesting.... Let me handle this call real quick, could be a lifeline - ya never know.', through the muffling effect of his helmet. Whatever information was about to filter through the comm-link, the Lorrdian wanted to be ready to answer at a moment's notice, ever-conscious of the proverbial ticking clock of their life-expectancies without support close by, ever-eager to get every potential playing-piece on the board moving.
<Sir, requesting if rendezvous coordinates have changed? Squad Six making its slow way to catch up, Sir. We were delayed by some party crashers.>
'Every little helps, kid.'
<"Slash, this is Callsign: Ember Three! Commander Greene when we meet face-to-face, and any help is appreciated; no matter the hold-up, no matter the troop strength.... We'll see ya when we see ya, Ember One ain't goin' nowhere anyway. Ember Three out!">
The Captain, whilst listening, was reloading his CSR-50i and chambering the first slug in the clip at the time, trying his best to make out what was being said on the other end in the moments of silence between clicks and metallic sliding-scrapes. Karsh then removed his helmet, and in the moment it thumped off the Duracerete beneath their boots, the Captain turned to his young 1st-Lieutenant and amiably growled,
'To answer your question, you'll see soon enough that you've had help this entire time.', trailing off for effect, with free hand waving back and forth between the light of the street and the shadow of the cover he was using at the time. Looking back to Ivan, Remmel then cocked a mirthful grin, sniggering as he gruffly continued,
'You'll be fine, just get back to the FOB in one piece. I won't be far behind with support inbound. Promise.', sniggering again as he pointed to the grenades on his utility-belt.
'I'll be needing your flashbangs and your smoke-grenades though. Got enough frags and incendiaries on site here anyway, don't need yours if it helps you more to have them. "Every little helps.", as Greene says.'
Some of Sienar's subordinates then began handing over their own, hoping that in giving more than what the Captain hoped for, it would give All-Heart some of the hope he was instilling in them in that moment. Never before had any of the Embers seen such raw confidence in Karsh before, but in seeing the sincerity that was driving it, the nearest idled troopers couldn't help but believe, even if it was only just a fleeting belief they could cling to as they wished and prayed for his return.
A LIFETIME OF SERVICE: ACT 2 (DEATH) - PART 3
FOB: Belisarius, Western Outskirts,
Primus City, Noris (874 ABY)
'Denzo! What's got you looking jittery all of a sudden?'
Waiting outside the field-hospital, along with most of the others, having received word from the hospital that they were required to wait for confirmations on location, and that the Colonel on site was hoping to speak to the Elite's saviours, the Master-Sergeant in command of Scope Platoon would make a point of waiting night and day by the entrance. Camped outside with their own little makeshift campsite, at the time, Cantrell's subordinates had been smart enough to do so with all the entrances to the field-hospital kept clear and unhindered with threefold reasoning; for their own sake, for that of the field-surgeons and medical staff in general, but mostly for the sake of their wounded comrades and hopes that more would walk out again with whatever small, menial helping-hands the Scopes could provide at the time. Otherwise, all that was left for the Scopes to do was attend to their guard-detail duties and wait for the final word on Erin E-138.
'Sarge-'
'-No, we're not doing that here.', Cantrell responded suddenly, relenting in his posture as the Atrisian corporal neared a little closer to hear his friend more clearly. Despite the snapping reply, the native of Empress Teta was right, the need for formality had long since passed them by, dwindling with their likelihood of making it out alive with every waking second; but hope of something they accepted was enough was still present, something far more precious on the back-foot, something far more effective against the denizens of the Maw. This was enough, especially for the sharpshooters of Scope Platoon, and none more than Ramon himself, pondering momentarily to himself before snapping out to continue,
'Not now anyway, not any more.', almost absent-mindedly by then. The increasing Mawite presence was most-certainly more worthy of concern than ever, but this wasn't the Tetan's main problem, though it was enough to distract him from his own curiosity - soon rectified by the diligent response of his Atrisian subordinate.
'Fair enough, Ramon.... And to answer your question, Jack E-141's been spotted walking in at the east entrance, assumed to have been called for the final word. Should we join 'im?'
Nodding assent, Cantrell let Futanara lead the way as he put the wire-brush for his rifle down on the rag he used to wrap around it for storage, then stepped out into the night - in search of Elites.
Cut off from the Spaceport, isolated from the other units in the area, and without any lasting logistical aid to speak of, so at the very least, it was clear to the Scopes that this would be a worse fight for them than Nirauan, and then some. However, what most didn't know was the backgrounds they came from, what spurring factors brought them all together, and most of all, the understanding of the fact none of them would survive for long as civilians otherwise. The 117th was their life, their soul and their dreams at night, they couldn't know anything else but their service-tenures with the best sharpshooter-platoon in the Empire; Cantrell's subordinates had know means of pining for something better on the horizon, no means of aspiring to peace, nor of true victory. The Embers was their better horizon, their peace, their true victory - they no longer felt the need to wish for more.
This, their last hours as living, breathing soldiers of the Empire, was everything to every last one of them. For every last second the Embers served together, and especially with those of Scope Platoon, would be seen as miracles for every instant that passed with ceaseless pride of fighting for something greater than all their individual humanoid forms combined.
To fight, and to die, for righteous Imperial order in the Galaxy - to men like Ramon Cantrell, there was no higher honour.
