F A L S E _ W A R
A lone soldier making his way through the fog of war
It's the trooper you don't see that will get you
Tag:
Nukth Kelga'an
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Ardon Ryso
There was a stab, and a huff of surprise, and the body of the sentinel fell without a sound on the ground. In its fall, it was accompanied by the delicate, nigh loving hands of the one who had, half a second earlier, slit his throat while holding his jaw to prevent any sound from coming through. With a sleight of hand, the knife was freed, and the intruder silently marched on, avoiding open areas and remaining in the shadows formed by the failing lights of the corridor. From time to time, there would be a couple of soldiers walking around, patrolling the facility, but never did they notice the discreet shadow that slipped past them and made its way deeper into the heart of its enemies.
When the final door opened with a slow hiss, the shadow knew victory was in reach. Not wasting a moment, the rucksack came unbuckled and, one by one, explosives were placed on the main generator of the complex, creating a web of devastating would-be explosions, ready to tick off and consume everything in the room. It would be made sure that no one survived, and, with luck, parts of the facility would collapse too. The estimate was that, without energy, the occupants would be forced to vacate the place, exposing themselves to carefully crafted ambushes. With no-one to supply the repair parts, or a new generator, these insurgents would quickly freeze to death, hunted as they were from one redoubt to another. There was no telling, of course, how long they would endure, but, at least, they would endure in the dark and in the cold. And he knew, too, that a hot shower a week and a warm meal was what kept a soldier fighting for long enough.
At last he prepared himself to leave the place, when the door behind him opened. Two soldiers, not expecting anyone here, and who raised their weapons a bit too slowly. The element of surprise was on the shadow's side, and without skipping a beat he had lodged a slug in each of the soldier's heads. But it was clear, now, that he had blown up his cover, and that he needed to get out as quickly as possible. Picking up one of the rifles the corpse still gripped on, he got out as quickly as possible, shortening the explosive's timer as he did, and began to run in the corridors to the exit.
"
Serval, I'm on my way. Expect a bit of a… reception when you arrive, since I've attracted the attention of all those damned Dems on the way. I'll be here in a bit."
The comm had hummed to life and was now silent, the escape party on the way. Keeping his head down, the soldier gunned without trembling the next two sentinels he came across, then blew up the opening command for the door in the same salvo. This, he thought, would give him a minute or so.
He ran again towards the exit. One step at a time, he came closer to survival, and to completing the mission. Two blaster shots, over his head; three shots fired from his slugthrower, one enemy down, the other disemboweled by the vibro-knife. No time to waste.
With his heart pounding louder and louder, the commando made for the door and rushed out in the open.
The gunship was there, waiting for pickup, its headlights brushing over the platform where the last sentinels between the soldier and pickup had been standing. Only the smoldering blast marks on the walls were there to indicate a fight had taken place.
Stepping out of the compound, the commando holstered his rifle, and, still running, jumped over the railing onto the ramp of the gunship.
As he looked back onto the base, he saw a dim light, then an explosion, then, the buried sections of the compound were torn open by the explosives he had laid as deeply as possible into the base.
His face lit by the
flames, Jerec smiled.
It had been a year, almost, when he had first laid foot on New Bakstre. It was a world devastated by wars, with Yuuzhan Vong and other predators lurking in the shadows. In the regions where the soil hadn't been glassed more than twenty years ago, of course. In these regions, there was nothing at all, except fools trying to hide, and madmen hunting them. He just came back from there. In these places of desolation and bone-chilling emptiness, the rebs had taken refuge and organized themselves against the weakening hold of the Imperials.
Twenty years, it had been, since Exegol. A clean slate, the Empire torn apart from inside: between those who had asserted their independence, those who stopped answering, and those who reveled in the destruction, there was nothing more to fight for. Yinchorr had stopped answering pleas for help, and the Anaxsi had looked inwards. Jerec had gotten assignments, with a handful of soldiers at first, then on his own, as resources dwindled. But he never got to speak with the one assigning the missions. Steelfist-actual, the name was. Could only be the highest-up. But no-one had seen Julius Haskler in person for at least fifteen years.
And here he was, the boogeyman, with only a distant cousin to serve as his pilot. Not even the Imperials on New Bakstre knew he was there. Perhaps they suspected something, but he couldn't be less interested. These were foreigners to him, and his only job was to quell the rebellion brewing. Secret order, secret commander. He obeyed without question. But he was tired. He had fought shadow wars for almost twenty years now, concealing his actions, covering up his traces.
He had murdered that rogue Moff who wanted to resurrect some kind of Dark Side monster. He had raided Prefsbelt IV to recover a prisoner he didn't even know. He had been ordered to fake his death on Dromund Kaas. He had been to Anaxes, Bilbringi, Dvar, Coruscant, Foerost… He had fought a thousand wars on account of orders he didn't understand, and he was tired now. Risking his life was his job. But he longed for home, and he wanted to understand
why he fought these wars he fought.
"
You know what Odile ? Let's get to that Ardon Ryso noble who's calling for help. I'm tired of fighting in caves, I want something more concrete. We'll use Code 280801 to get through the defense, it's an old one from Ord Lithone, but it'll suit us well.
Enough of this blind fighting, we'll know for whom we're fighting, and we'll be of better help like that."
Without a word, the pilot turned the gunship around. It took a few minutes to get in range of the Imperial freighter which controlled the skies of the compound. With
Code 280801, landing was a matter of moments, and once they were on the ground, Jerec and Odile got out quickly and walked towards the buildings. They were a strange pair of soldiers, one with a black battledress and armor plates to protect his shoulders and legs, the other wearing what was clearly a refurbished
Sith-Imperial Legionnaire armor cuirass plate, battered through the years, patched up and repainted from standard gray and red to black.
Both looked like they had crawled through all the mud of New Bakstre, and the younger man sported a fresh scar to the face. They could have been in a fight just minutes ago, yet they acted with impassibility only known to Stormtrooper helmets. With a somber look, the oldest of the two said to the guard:
"
We're here to see Lord Ryso."
