STS. LOG-004. (Patreon)

LOG-004.[Forward reconnaissance team designation Alpha have successfully infiltrated target location utilising flitknot speeders through nearby terrain. Local forces remain unaware of presence. Requesting confirmation of orders.]...[Received, Alpha-1. Orders remain as stated: Determine purpose of target location, report all viable information and avoid detection. Comm silence is to be maintained unless contact is deemed strictly necessary. Assault teams will remain on standby pending additional updates.]...[Confirmed. Commencing operation. Cutting comm connection. By your authority, fleet commander.]---Crix Corrend was a simple man, with simple needs. Two meals a day, and a fair day's pay for a fair day's (even if he didn't actually see any of the credits he was earning) work that he could kick over to his folks back home.The Imperial Stormtrooper Initiative provided that, alongside the feeling that he was actually doing something worthwhile with his life. Besides, being a soldier was certainly better than working as some numb office clerk, or trying his hand at farming like his pops had wanted.His mama was proud of him at least, so there was that.Ah, but of course, he was in active service. That meant that he wasn't Crix at the moment, but rather TK-045555."ATTENTION!"It also meant that upon the beginning of his shift, rather than waking up in his bedroom apartment on Alderaan, he woke up in the sweltering heat of his squad's barracks, to the sound of the living and supremely effective alarm clock that was the Sergeant."ON YOUR FEET TROOPERS!"Morning came as it usually did, with stifled moans and groans as the Sergeant went about his favourite activity: yelling at kriffing everyone at what had to be an unholy hour, the time at which non-commissioned officers apparently thrived."EXCUSE ME? DID I KRIFFING STUTTER?! GET UP! NOW!"Thankfully for the Sergeant's far too healthy vocal chords and their eardrums (or whatever remained of them anyway), the entire barracks got up quickly enough after that.First of course came the standard routine. Don your armour. Do the little shake to get whatever damned dust had managed to sneak in whenever the door to the outside world was opened out. Make sure your helmet didn't have some critter nesting inside it, and finally put on the one piece of vaguely bucket shaped protection you had against breathing in the crappy elements outside.Then came rifle disassembly, cleaning, and subsequent reassembly. Something that, at this point, he probably could do in his sleep if prompted. Reach into his locker, use the applied rag and oil to keep his blaster carbine as neat as it could get on a bloody desert world, and then stand up for inspection."AM I LOOKING AT SOLDIERS OR AM I LOOKING AT WALKING CORPSES?! HM!? BACKS STRAIGHT! EYES FRONT AND CENTER. TURN! AND! MARCH!"Even with the incredibly loud and angry man yelling at them from behind, there was something brilliant in fourteen troopers marching out of the barracks and into the dust and sand, white forms moving in perfect lockstep beneath the broiling yellow sun, blasters at rest as they exchanged minute nods with the weary night guards who would finally get some relief from their own shift.Such was life on Torrid IV. The days were hot. The nights were cold. The only hint of actual civilisation was the base around them. And of course the weather was utter shit at the best of times, and downright treacherous at the worst.Still, being posted at a fringe watch post wasn't too bad compared to some of the horror stories the clones had told him about. He was doing his part in keeping this sector of space safe, and getting a solid pay check from the Empire as he did so.Besides, when brought up next to some of the other jobs he could have gotten, this one had the perk that nothing more complicated than a stray sandstorm ever came to ruin his day. Silver linings and all that.---[Alpha to command. Breaking comm silence to transfer vital intel brief.]...[Confirmed, Alpha-1. Proceed with brief.]...[Affirmative. Purpose of target location has been determined. Facility bears notable resemblance to standard Republic sector watch outpost. Locally intercepted data supports this, though iconography and comm chatter indicate facility is under 'Imperial' control.] [Subsequent garrison consisting of clone troopers and recruited personnel is estimated to be approximately fifty to one hundred strong, taking into account various structures. A vehicle bay, landing pad, multiple barracks and what is hypothesised to be a hydroponics station are also present. Forward reconnaissance team Alpha currently remain undetected. Requesting further orders.]...[Alpha-1, relay to all active infiltrator units. Imperial forces are to be designated as hostile pending further updates. The presence of this facility poses an unacceptable risk to the hidden nature of the fleet, and thus must be neutralised.] [Your new objectives are as follows: Sabotage the outpost's ability to contact the wider galactic datanet. Soften any and all existing defences for dedicated assault. Ensure potential for retaliation is kept at an absolute minimum.]...[Understood. What dedicated assault units will this unit have access to?]...[A pair of recently restored and rearmed HMP gunships will be allocated for your use. Additional BX units will also be prepared and deployed pending their retrieval and reactivation. Silent Guardian will begin deployment and dedicated jamming at your request. Conventional reinforcements will take additional time to arrive.]...[Confirmed. Commencing new operation. Cutting comm connection. By your authority, fleet commander.]---"Oi, Fives! How's that new armour holding up?"The stormtrooper remained silent in the face of the clone's question, before quickly sneaking a glance around. The lack of any officers met his quick inspection, though that wasn't all too surprising, considering they were all probably inside the command center, living it up in the one place besides the hydroponics station with proper air conditioning.Still though..."That's TK-045555, CT-2846. You know the rules."His voice came out low but reproachful, even as the two clones in front of him (Ticker and Bench, part of his brain unwillingly recalled) exchanged glances, the latter shaking his helmeted head with a grunt."Ah come off it Fives. Not like the commander is gonna hear us all the way out here. Prickly asshole is too busy doing all that datawork he's got to fill out. Besides, you new guys' codes are way too long!"And weren't they damn right with that last one. He'd apparently gotten lucky with his designation. Some of the other stormtroopers with more complicated numbers had needed weeks before they'd stopped kriffing up by mistaking their own codes as belonging to someone else.Though he supposed that was the whole point of boot camp, rooting out accidents like that.Unfortunately for him, that meant that the clones that hadn't been reassigned elsewhere (more and more of them had been taken away recently, he was starting to suspect they were finally getting that retirement plan that one nice looking senator had been campaigning for) had gotten an easy nickname for him, as was apparently their tradition.A tradition that outpost commander Maxir Minne Dara utterly despised, severely adherent to the new rules as the newly promoted officer was.Bringing up a gloved hand to wipe off some of the ever present sand trying to clog his damn lenses and blind him, he let out a sigh before relaxing ever so slightly. Dara would have them all sweeping the dunes if they were caught fraternising like this, but...aw kriff it. The clones were the best folks to talk to on base, especially whenever they got caught up enough to start comparing old war tales."Well?"The bastards also knew he was both curious and had looked up to them since he was just a snot nosed teen, and of course were all too willing to exploit that fact.Taking one last hesitant glance towards the command center, he stepped closer to the pair of CTs, clutching his blaster anxiously and taking some small bit of comfort in the familiar weight in his hands."You two didn't hear this from me, but I was on center guard duty a little bit ago. Heard the commander talking about the last shipment with some other higher up last time we had a check in. Apparently we're actually using repurposed phase three clone armour. Or at least the prototype of it."At that, Bench let out a quiet curse, a hand slapping at his waist (and subsequently knocking some sand loose) as he kicked at the ground beneath his feet."Are you kidding me?! And we're still stuck wearing the old stuff! When are we gonna get an upgrade? I've been wearing the same damn bodysuit for months!"TK-04555-oh kriff it, Crix could do little but shrug helplessly in response, even as the clone's brother pat his fellow trooper on the shoulder."New blood have priority Bench, that's how it always goes with these things. Remember the first few batches complaining when we showed up with the phase two kit?"The calmer clone let out a small snort, even as he knocked a fist against the side of his own helmet."Trust me. We'll get it when we get it. Just gotta be patient and let the system chug along."All three of them paused as the sound of a new set of footsteps made themselves apparent amidst the howling wind, prompting Crix to tense even as Ticker turned around, waving a hand at him."Back to our duties. See you later trooper."Nodding back quietly, Crix-or rather once more TK-045555 now, hefted his own blaster and resumed his wandering patrol. First going around the central barracks line before passing the speeder depot. He only paused upon spotting another figure silently crossing his path, apparently in the midst of adjusting their helmet.A quick inspection of his own bucket's built in registry system confirmed the other man's identity."Might want to pick up the pace TK-045968, don't want the Sarge catching you slacking."Unsaid of course, was the fact that he'd just been doing that exact thing moments ago. Not that his counterpart knew that.Regardless, the other stormtrooper glanced towards him quickly, one hand coming up and grasping the rim of his helmet, tugging it back into place even as his free hand kept a hold of his weapon."Yes, you're right. Just...needed a second."Tilting his head, he gestured to his fellow TK with a hand, taking on a knowing tone."Sand?"In response, the trooper just gave a quick nod, already beginning to walk past him."Roger roger. Sand."Frowning behind his helmet, TK-045555 considered that for a moment, before shrugging to himself and following the other man's lead, finally parting ways and resuming his patrol route.Yes, taking your helmet off while on duty was against protocol. Yes, he was obligated to report the breach in protocol to a superior officer...but the guy was probably still getting used to the weather, and that was fairly understandable all things considered.He'd 'forget' to report the slight mishap, this time. Force save him if the commander caught him trying to shake the sand out again though, then he'd be on his own.---"Hey, what are you doing in he-urk!"[Alpha-1 initiating check in. All elements report progress.]The glove fitted around its digits helped disguise the mechanical nature of its manipulators, but it didn't in any way soften the impact as the BX unit slammed a clenched fist into the guard's throat, knocking the organic backwards through the open doorway, sending the soldier falling to the floor with a strangled gasp and slightly muffled clatter.[Alpha-2 reporting objective complete. Thermal detonators have been planted within the vehicle depot.]"Hah...he-"That same fist was used to grasp the gasping man by a leg, dragging him along as the door closed behind both them and the additional pair of BX units that had been trailing behind the leading commando droid.From there, it was a quick process to force the man into a nearby side room. Multiple consecutive punches to the head (enough to crack apart the helmet after a point) put the guard out of commission in a relatively quiet manner, allowing the trio of infiltrators to quickly move on.Alpha-1's logic had proven sound, in the end. With multiple isolated sentries seemingly only protected by their fellow watchers, it had proven trivial to initiate several simultaneous takedowns, quickly followed up by stripping the uniforms from their previous owners and repurposing them in order to assist with the operation.The sound of a group of organics laughing in another room hid their footsteps as the three commandos advanced past the scene of their crime and down the next hall, one of them idly opening an exterior door to let in the other two droids in their splinter team, who'd been forced to wait in the shadows of a nearby barracks on account of having no uniforms of their own.[Alpha-3 concurs. Kill zone has been set at landing pad. Coolant seals of landed shuttle have been cut. There will be no takeoff.]The stolen vocal data altered its words to resemble the owner of the machine's stolen armour, even as it waved a hand forward before hefting its similarly appropriated weapon."Split up and search the building. Find wherever their primary communications array is and take it. Preferably intact.""Roger roger.""Roger roger.""Roger roger.""Roger roger."[Alpha-4, report.]Bringing up the same hand to the side of its helmet, the BX commando turned down another hallway, separating from the squad."Alpha-4 reporting. We have breached the command center and are in the process of neutralising any potential activation of a distress signal."[Confirmed. I will contact the open assault element and request they begin transit. Proceed with your objective. Alpha-2, you may initiate the plan at your discretion. All other units are to stand by and prepare to reinforce.]Stepping past the room with several uniformed (but not armoured) figures consuming some sort of organic foodstuff and laughing in between looking at a small pile of datapads, the droid noted the lack of its target and proceeded onwards before they could notice it."Roger roger."---BOOM!It started with the distant sound of an explosion. One moment, pure calm. Or as calm as the raging wind of the desert allowed things to be at least. Then a crackling ball of flame and smoke at the end of the base he'd just been at, drawing everyone's attention simply due to how loud it was.All of them hesitated for a moment. Well, all of them except the clones of course."Kriff! Move it troopers! We've got trouble!"Crix found himself following along behind the clone almost unconsciously, even as some of the newer guys continued to hesitate. But he knew better. With none of the officers around, the old guard of the Empire were the highest in command. Through sheer experience if not actual rank.He hustled to keep up, even as several others joined the jogging soldier, and then suddenly he could hear the distinct sound of blaster fire ripping through the air, followed up by the sound of screams, shouts, and the sensation of another body shoulder checking right into his, throwing him to the ground and, conveniently, behind a pair of storage crates he knew contained this week's protein mash."Keep your head down Fives!"He blinked at the familiar name, turning to glance over and confirm things using the registry.CT-2846. Bench. Oh thank kriff.Shaking himself of the brief reverie of just how quickly the clone had gone from his usual joking self to...this, Crix tried to follow suit, raising his blaster carbine and shifting himself so he was lying horizontally, popping off a few shots down range just like he had in training.His eyes widened as he realised the figures firing back at them weren't some desert guerillas or something, but fellow troopers.Crix's voice came out slightly shrill at the realisation, even as he shouted at Bench over all the relentless blaster fire."Why are our own guys shooting at us!?"Even as he spoke, the clone ducked to the side, a bolt barely missing his head (that t-shaped visor reflecting the light of the projectile for a bare hint of a second) before he almost casually returned the favour, sending several retaliatory shots into the apparently rogue stormtrooper's chest.He got his third shock of the day when the supposed man fell over with several holes in his armour, only for his helmet to go rolling off and reveal a head of something that was anything but human.A curse that he'd never heard before escaped Bench as the CT ducked back down, raising a hand to his own comm link and all but screaming into it."Clankers! We've got kriffing droid commandos on the base!"Silently, Crix noted that the comm line was strangely silent, all things considered.Desperately trying to wet his suddenly dry (far more than usual) lips, Crix pressed himself even lower to the ground as a handful of new screams echoed through the air, drawing his attention to several suddenly limp bodies next to the singular LAAT shuttle command had decided they'd been allowed to keep.Clankers. Commandos. He recognised the term and judging by the exposed head he'd seen, these ones were of the BX variety. He'd had a poster in his bedroom before he'd enlisted, of a clone ARC trooper punching one.Battle droids. What were battle droids doing attacking them!? They weren't anywhere near any of the Separatist worlds still actively trying to hold out! None of the ones that hadn't already been forced into compliance anyway!"What-"MMMmmmmmm...He was cut off by a sound he didn't recognise, similar to the repulsors of the speeders yet distinctly deeper, but that was apparently enough to get Bench cursing in what seemed to be several different languages, including Huttese of all things.A chill ran through his spine, and his eyes trailed up towards that deep humming sound just in time to witness one of the base's turrets trying to reorient to face the hovering craft in the sky, its sharp crimson 'eyes' glaring down at the emplacement even as two figures standing atop it began firing down at anyone caught out in the open, downing several poor bastards unlucky enough to have been caught outside of proper cover.Yet it all paled in comparison to the sight of the multiple missile racks attached to the big murder disk suddenly deploying its numerous munitions, sending the entire turret collapsing onto the ground in a burning heap of blackened and mangled metal as several explosions all but ripped the defensive emplacement from its foundations."Come on, now!"It was adjusting to face them, those red eyes almost seeming to stare into his soul as it did. He idly noticed one of the droids standing atop it take a running leap, landing with a roll before gunning down the Sergeant, just as the man had been trying to rally some of the troopers around him."Wha-"He felt a sharp yank."NOW FIVES!"Then Bench was grabbing him by his scruff and all but dragging him along as they sprinted over towards the burning turret for whatever damned reason, several clones and stormtroopers chasing after them, whether out of similar instinct or some sort of abruptly shared herd mentality.The sound of those missiles once more shrieking through the air filled his ears for a moment, drowning out the next wave of screams.Then Crix felt heat much hotter than the usual temperature the sun liked to gift them with. And pressure. And pain as he followed Bench in throwing himself behind what might have been the turret's barrel at some point.The predictable happened of course, his foot inconveniently tripping over some stray piece of rock or metal and sending his head sailing towards the ground faster than he could yelp out a cry of help towards his comrade.The last thing he saw before everything went black was, of kriffing course, sand.