Star Wars - dark forces - soldier for the empire

by William C. Deets

  Blaster bolts flashed out and struck stormtroopers where they lay. One of them tried to stand and staggered as the Rebs cut him down. The range was short,too short to fire grenades safely, but Kyle saw no alternative. "Grenades! Front and rear."

  The robots staggered and came apart as the grenades exploded around them. A stormtrooper's head flew off. Blood sprayed upward. No longer protected, the Rebels fired, and backed away. Furious, the surviving stormtroopers stood and met fire with fire. The Rebs turned

  and ran. The Imperials continued to fire. The sight made Kyle sick, and he was just about to order the firing to stop when the last man fell. His body skidded all the way to the durasteel

  door.

  Kyle had given up all hope of capturing the facility. He had to focus on salvaging what remained of his first command. Anal there wasn't much to save. The platoon was down to Sergeant Major Hong, twelve effectives, and two walking wounded. A retreat was unrealistic. To backtrack they'd have to pass the weapons slots, and, assuming they made it all the way to the cave in, tons of rock blocked the way. No, their single remaining hope was to blow the door, and search for another way out. Unless reinforcements had arrived - which would change everything.

  Kyle called R-1, heard nothing but static, and tried again. Same result. Maybe the additional thickness of rock had blocked his signal, maybe the assault boat had been forced to leave, or maybe just about anything. It hardly mattered. All he could do was work with the information at hand and hope for the best. Kyle looked at Hong. "There's no going back, Sergeant Major. Tell the men to scavenge for power paks - drag the droids forward - and blow the door."

  Hong nodded soberly. "Yes, sir. They're gonna be waiting for us, sir."

  Kyle nodded as he surveyed the rough-hewn walls, the blood-splattered floor, and the remains of his first command. The strange part was that the mission had been far worse than even his worst imaginings - yet the fear had disappeared.

  Kyle looked around and saw that his men had taken up positions to either side of the door, while Corporal Givens placed a magnetic demo charge against the control panel. Givens made one last adjustment to the charge and turned. "Any time, sir."

  Kyle nodded. "Thank you, Givens. Spread out, men, stay low, and prepare to fire. They'll be waiting for us. And remember - make every shot count. Power paks are getting hard to come by."

  Except for the droids small enough to drag forward, there wasn't a whole lot of cover in the passageway. Still, the Imperials took advantage of what there was, and Kyle gave the order. The blast blew the control panel out of the wall. Sparks arced, an electrical fire started, and the

  door whirred open.

  The Rebs were waiting all right, and opened up with everything they had. A barricade of sorts had been erected and the usual odd assortment of men, women, and aliens had taken refuge behind a makeshift wall of cargo modules, cable reels, and furniture.

  Kyle noticed as he aimed and fired that these particular Rebels seemed less disciplined than those they had encountered before. Some had a tendency to fire in a wild, undisciplined manner, others carried second-rate weapons, and at least two or three were frozen in place.

  Were they noncombatants then? Men and women who had been pressed into service out of desperation? They had numbers on their side, however, plus much better cover. Three of his troopers died and the rest moved forward. The Rebels held for a moment, wavered in the face of incoming fire, and broke.

  The stormtroopers continued to fire and Kyle knew he couldn't allow a massacre. His voice boomed over the command channel. "That's enough hold your fire."

  Hong turned in Kyle's direction. Even though he couldn't see the noncom's expression, the cadet could sense the frown on his face. Kyle found an excuse and ran it out. "We need to conserve our ammo, Sergeant Major. Most of the stuff the Rebs left won't do us any good. Come to think of it - let's use their oxygen for a while."

  Hong nodded and turned away. Kyle gave a sigh of relief, waved the men forward, and followed the handwritten signs. They read "Comm Center" and led him past what smelled like a cafeteria, a series of cavelike storage rooms, down a businesslike corridor. The rough-hewn walls supported an electronic message board and a hodge-podge of printouts. One announced a birthday party for someone named Blim Shahar, and another cautioned base personnel to

  conserve on water.

  Kyle surprised himself by having the presence of mind to scan the bulletins with the tiny battle holocam built into his helmet. The military intelligence geeks would be thrilled, and, in the unlikely event that he survived, the instructors would award him some extra mission points. Collateral documentation was just one of the thousand things an infantry officer was supposed to remember and take care of.

  A maintenance droid chose that particular moment to poke its nose out of a side passage, saw the Imperials, and gave a squeak of alarm. The droid had already engaged reverse gear, and was in the process of backing away when an energy bolt splashed the rock behind it. Hong's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Thanks, Dendu. You wasted a shot and missed the target. The Emperor would be proud."

  A pair of light-duty doors blocked the way. They rolled into the walls at Kyle's approach. He prepared to fire but saw nothing more threatening than some gray equipment racks. Moving cautiously, weapons at the ready, the troopers entered the room, turned to the right, and were

  confronted by an amazing sight.

  The Rebels, about fifteen or twenty of them, stood with their backs to a wall full of monitors and related communications gear with their hands in the air. Kyle, who was ready for anything but a surrender, struggled to cope. He checked to make sure the Rebs were covered, removed his helmet, and used his forearm to smear the sweat across his brow. What would he do with prisoners? They outnumbered his team and would be difficult to herd around. No, the more expedient solution was to kill them, trash the control room, and get out while the getting was good. Especially with more Rebels on the way.

  As Kyle considered the feasibility of what amounted to mass murder, his eyes drifted across an oval-shaped face. Something, he would never know exactly what, caught his attention. The girl was about his age, perhaps a little younger, dressed in a flight suit. She had dark brown eyes that matched the color of her hair and seemed to draw him in. It was peaceful there, yet centered, as if her whole being was focused on something he couldn't see.

  At that precise moment, a spark leapt the gap between them, and she, like the first person he had killed, crossed the line from variable to person. Not only that - Kyle knew she had experienced something as well. He could tell from the way her eyes widened. He felt his heart beat a tiny bit faster. He knew then that he couldn't kill this young woman - or the others, either.

  Sergeant Major Hong brought Kyle back to the present. His voice came over the command frequency. "Look! Up on that monitor, sir! I don't know who that ship belongs to, but it ain't one of ours. Let's grease the Rebs and get the heck out of here!"

  Kyle looked, saw a freighter settle into place, and watched dust shoot upward as a ramp touched the ground. It didn't take a genius to now that Reb reinforcements were on the way. His voice was surprisingly strong, and because his helmet was off, the prisoners heard it too. "Negative on greasing the Rebs, Sergeant Major. There's been enough killing today."

  Hong turned. Even though the cadet couldn't see his eyes through the visor, he could feel their intensity. The voice was like steel. "With all due respect, sir, the Rebs wasted two-thirds of your command, and will kill even more of our troops if you let them go."

  Kyle shook his head. "The answer is no. You heard my orders, carry them out."

  Hong nodded stiffly. "Yes, sir. Under protest, sir. Jonsey, pull the gory nods from the transmitters, Haku, set some charges. We don't have much time."

  Kyle looked at the monitor, saw space-suited Rebs flooding out of the freighter's cargo hatch, and wondered how R-1 had fared. Had the assault boat escaped? Were Imperial reinforcements on the way? The questions were acad
emic as far as he was concerned. If he survived the next few hours - and that was a mighty big if- he'd be court-martialed for allowing the Rebs to live. A punishment he very likely deserved.

  Kyle looked at the girl, saw the thanks in her eyes, and nodded. She at least was well worth saving. The helmet smelled of sweat as he pulled it over his head. "All right, men, clear the room, and let's find a place to hole up. Reinforcements are on the way."

  Kyle had no idea if his words were true. But he knew the men needed to hear them. He waved the Rebs to the far end of the room, waited for his team to back out through the door, and followed. The moment they were clear, he yelled "Detonate the charges! Follow me!" and sprinted down the hall. He felt rather than heard the explosions. The Rebs had plenty of time to take cover and he hoped they had. Especially the girl.

  For reasons he wasn't entirely sure of, Kyle had identified the cafeteria as the best plate to hole up. He skidded to a stop, stuck his head around the door, and confirmed the room was empty. "All right, men, stack some furniture in front of that door, and check for exits. It's time

  for lunch."

  The joke got a chuckle as Kyle had hoped that it would, the stormtroopers stacked tables against the door, and secured the air conditioning ducts. Once that was accomplished, he allowed them to take turns ransacking the coolers, and offered an overnight pass to the trooper who made the most outrageous sandwich.

  They even made one for Kyle, and the Cadet Leader had removed his helmet to eat it when a crawler-mounted drill bit broke through the back wall. Kyle barely had time to pull his helmet back on before Rebs poured through the hole and opened fire on the stormtroopers. Hong and four or five more died within the first five seconds of combat. Kyle swore, turned, and fired. Something hit his helmet, he fell, and darkness rose all around him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Kyle walked out through the main entrance of the hospital, blinked in the harsh sunlight produced by Carida's sun, and returned an enlisted man's salute. Stone neks crouched to either side of the entryway, each large enough to swallow an assault boat, symbolic of the Empire's strength. He started down the long flight of stairs. A metal railing separated downward bound pedestrians from those coming up. Consistent with the Emperor's disdain for other sentient species, and his not-so-subtle discrimination against women, most were both human and male.

  The Imperial Military Training Base on Carida was home to more than one hundred and fifty thousand recruits, cadets, and instructors. The Military Academy, also known as Cliffside due to the dropoff along the east side of the parade ground, took up less than one-tenth of the sprawling base, but produced a high percentage of the Empire's officer corps.

  The hospital, which had been busy to begin with, was even more so thanks to the steady trickle of casualties from missions like Kyle's. The cadet fell in behind some med techs and was halfway to the quad when someone hollered his name and grabbed his arm.

  The voice had a nasal quality. It had followed him nearly every day of the last four years. It belonged to Nathan Donar III, eldest son to Governor Donar II, and a real pain in the posterior. Beady brown eyes regarded Kyle from above a long thin nose. They were filled with false bonhomie. "Rimmer! How's the noggin? Good to see you up and around!"

  Kyle pulled his arm free, waved an acknowledgment, and continued on his way. Faces blurred as more congratulations came his way. It seemed as if everyone had heard the story. There were various versions but all of them had common elements The Cadet Leader had encountered unexpectedly heavy opposition, and, rather than turn back as any normal person would do, had fought his way through the corridors of a major Rebel inst allation, killing no less than four hundred and thirty-six insurrectionists and disabling an important communications installation. All of which Kyle knew to be a greatly exaggerated account of what actually happened. And the last part of the story he only knew secondhand.

  It seemed that two Rebel ships had arrived shortly after he'd been knocked unconscious, loaded the surviving staff, and lifted off. The first vessel made it, but the second fell victim to reinforcements summoned by R1, and was completely destroyed. A force of heavily armed commandos had swept through the Rebel base and found Kyle and the six remaining members of his original force. All were wounded and crouched behind a hastily built barricade. To Kyle, this seemed a clear indication of his failure. No one would listen to his objections, however, least of all the great General Mohc, who had appeared at Kyle's bedside two days ago and commended the cadet for his bravery.

  Later that evening, over dinner with Jerec, Mohc mentioned the young cadet's exploits. Jerec, his empty eye sockets hidden behind a band of black, looked up from his half-cooked meat. He couldn't see what the meal looked like but could smell the residue of blood. "I knew the boy's father. His life was wasted. Perhaps the boy will be different. I'd like to meet him."

  Mohc nodded, remembered that his guest was blind, and replied out loud. "It shall be as you say."

  Jerec, who saw more than Mohc could imagine, smiled and dabbed at his lips. The meal was delicious.

  Kyle, who had no knowledge that such deliberations had taken place, left the stairs. The large open area in front of him was referred to as "the quad" on the interactive maps issued to visitors, but the cadets called it "the grinder." How many hours - how many days had he spent marching back and forth across these acres of fused stone? He wasn't sure. The main thing he remembered was the mindbending fatigue that stemmed from endless physical training, long hours of study, and intentional sleep deprivation. All that was behind him now, with graduation only hours away.

  The thought brought guilt, but he pushed it away. No one else cared about the truth. Why should he?

  Kyle took the most direct route across the grinder, a path that took him through the shadow cast by a heroic statue of Emperor Palpatine.

  A column of underclassmen double timed through the space in front of Kyle and their leader snapped a salute in the senior's direction. He returned it, and in doing so, felt inexplicably happy. Somehow, against all odds, he had survived the mission and the commission would be his. His father would be proud, he would find a way to make up for his past mistakes, and everything would be fine. The thought put a spring in his step and Kyle quick marched toward the dorms.

  Behind the cadet, so high up that the movement was lost from the ground, a pair of electromechanical eyes blinked open and added one more image to the hundreds available on the video mosaic that filled an entire wall of the Commandant's underground office. The cadets were a mischievous lot. It was a good idea to keep an eye on them.

  Graduation day dawned bright and cold. Light streamed in through the curtainless windows and splashed across the synthetic floor. Kyle rolled out of bed, stretched, yawned,

  realized that the bad dreams had taken the night off, and took pleasure in the fact that his vision was clear.

  Meek Odom, Kyle's roommate, was still asleep. Kyle grinned, said, "Hey dinko breath! Time to get up!" and kicked the other cadet's rack. Having elicited the usual response, an oath accompanied by a flying pillow, Kyle headed for the shower. He, like those he met in the hall, was in a jubilant mood. An inspection, another march in the hot sun, and some boring speeches. That was all that stood between them and the commissions they had worked so hard to achieve.

  The next few hours were consumed by an orgy of pressing, dressing, and shining, all followed by a preinspection inspection, and a lecture on deportment. Once that was out of the way, the cadets assembled in front of their dorm and marched to the quad.

  A team of maintenance workers, freshmen, and droids had worked through the night to erect temporary grandstands, pylons from which gaily colored pennants flew, along with all manner of bunting, battle flags, and regimental heraldry. It made an impressive and heart stirring sight, as did the endless ranks of infantry, plus the company of imperial walkers, which included four gigantic AT-ATs, and four of the smaller but no less intimidating AT-STs,

  Yes, the sight of all that
military might, combined with Palpatine's statue, the marches played by the Regimental Band, and the roar produced by wave after wave of rooftop-skimming TIE fighters made each cadet's spine a tiny bit straighter, brought smiles to the faces of parents fortunate enough, and wealthy enough, to attend in person, and, when played as part of the heavily censored evening news, would serve to reassure the billions of Imperial citizens who, either willingly or unwillingly, accepted the Emperor's rule.

  Kyle's thoughts were elsewhere, however, focused as they were on the back in front of him, and the absolute necessity of staying in step. Especially since graduation from Cliffside involved one final test, a tradition that had emerged with the Empire itself, and had resulted in more than thirty-six deaths.

  The test started with a turn to the right, and the long march around the west end of the quad, past the grandstand at the foot of the hospital stairs, past the platform on which General Mohc and a cluster of senior officers stood, past the imposing administration building and the bronze mantigrues that guarded its doors, and straight for the five-hundred-foot drop from which the academy had taken its unofficial name.

  It was a challenge that the cadets had faced countless times during the last four years - and successfully - except for one critical fact. True to tradition, and with safety in mind, they had never faced the abyss itself. During drills, while practicing for this critical moment, a bright yellow line had been used to represent the edge of the dropoff, and like most of his fellow cadets, Kyle could remember what it felt like to stumble, trip, or fall over that symbolic cliff.

  The difference was that the consequence for those mistakes consisted of a tongue-lashing followed by fifty pushups, whereas for the real thing, a poorly phrased order, a lack of teamwork, or a moment of lost concentration could result in death.