“Can anybody hear me?! This is Commander Fulmen of the Odanite Expeditionary Force 3rd Regiment Besh Company! Requesting immediate evac at Rally Point Dorn. Please send help!” This was the seventh time Fulmen called for aid over his comms without any response from orbital support. He had twenty-two men left after a heavy loss. Their mission had been to apprehend and control a major industrial site used by the Technocratic Guild. The mission took a turn for the worst when they ran into an unidentified opposing militant faction attempting to control the same area. They were imperialistic in nature, but they weren’t First Order or any known faction Fulmen could recognize. After their loss, the remaining forces collected their wounded and retreated to a more barren district in a warehouse next to a forsaken factory. Fulmen looked around at what was left of his company. Less than a platoon was left, and more than half were too wounded to continue a fight. He then took out a folded picture of his family and prayed to the Force for anything to give these defeated spirits some hope.
“This is Creon Saldean from Joint Task Force Hoth, we read you loud and clear Commander. Standby for further instruction,” a voice came back from the long-range commlink. Fulmen rushed back to the device with anticipation, having to juggle the mic out of clumsiness before finally taking a deep breath. His hands trembled as he paused with fleeting patience to hear the friendly voice tell him that he could take his men home. “Roger, standing by,” he replied.
Two redheaded human twins each popped their head in the room’s doorway out of curiosity, “Oi, you hear sumthin, sir?” one asks.
Fulmen hushed them as Creon’s voice comes over the communicator once again, “Commander Fulmen.”
“Aye.”
“We have an evac ship en route to location Forn Nern 74324588. It’s an open area that should be less than a kilometer away from your current location. Eta ten minutes; hurry, and may the Force be with you.”
“Sergeant Flotsam, Sergeant Jetsam!” Fulmen calls out for the twins, “Tell everyone to move, time now!”
From the corner of a window of an abandoned building across from where the survivors of Besh Company dwelled, an ID9 Seeker turned its camera out of view from the glass. The droid had recorded the conversation, both audio and video, and transmitted it to its master.
Granta set down her scanner and looked over to one of her officers listening in as the recorded conversation sent by the ID9 had played. “Tell everyone to converge on that evac point, immediately. There are to be absolutely no survivors!” she barked. The officer saluted and took off in a hurry. Granta, however, didn’t want to wait for their arrival. She packed a DLT-20A and a WESTAR-M5 and placed them on opposite sides of her swoop bike. After making sure everything was secured, she fastened a pair of swoop goggles from her utility belt and took off on the bike.
“It be a pull and slide handle, you dug!” Jetsam told his brother who had attempted to push the doors to the inside of a LAAT/i carrier to no avail. “Aye, thanks for the tip lad. Me next plan was to lift from the bottom up,” Flotsam replied sarcastically as he pulled the door open and backed away to let the others in. Two carriers had landed; one was completely void and the other had an small armed squad as escort security. Creon was by the security squad, and shook Fulmen’s hand as he approached.
“Don’t know what we could’ve done without you, tell the pilots to keep an eye out, there are-”
A blaster bolt pelted the commander right in the small of his back, making him fall in Creon’s arms. Creon shouted orders to take cover and scanned the area for where the shot had been taken. The commander was still alive, but needed medical attention or else he may not stay that way. Creon moved the casualty to the floor of the carrier ship nearby and dashed for cover behind some debris in the streets of the district. He drew out his WESTAR-M5 rifle and scanned the surrounding area like the rest of his comrades.
From a moment of silence, nothing had stirred. The wind was just as dead, aside from the exhaust fans from the carrier ships. Most of the men had been loaded on, with the twins aiding in the last final few wounded to the secondary ship. Another shot had been fired, hitting one of the men Flotsam had just loaded on. “Eight o’clock! 300 meters!” Creon shouted, and everyone turned to their left with a small display of cover fire. The shot was silent, it was only the quick flick of the bolt’s light and the scream from the impact that notified them. Creon’s guess was most likely off, but it was the best he could catch from the situation.
His guess really was inaccurate, for it was more so on the eleven o’clock range and 400 meters away. Granta chuckled at their cover fire some ways away from where she was positioned.
Pinging off people one at a time won’t stop those ships from leaving, she thought.
She decided on a more direct approach and mounted her swoop bike again, holstering the recently used sniper rifle on the side and making a slow and open ride in plain view of the ships. The security squad shifted their attention to the rider with guns at the ready, but Creon gave the command to hold their fire in case it was someone else in need. A feeling in his gut, however, told him that it probably wasn’t the case. Once Granta had parked, she jumped off her swoop bike and drew out her WESTAR-M5 from its holster. She was a massive woman, taller than anyone else in the arena, and probably with more muscle too.
“Put the weapon down!” Creon shouted as he brought his own weapon up to fire, his squad joining him in taking aim. Granta smirked and lowered to let the barrel face the ground, holding it with one arm instead of two. With the other, she fully extended and reached out with an open palm.
“Lass be spot on with her protein, eh mate?” Jetsam asked in jest to his brother. When he turned, however, his brother wasn’t where he last saw him. Instead, Flotsam had been yanked from where he had been sitting and through the air like a ragdoll into Granta’s grip. The rescue squadron responded with orders to drop him and the weapon with heated tones. Creon however, remained calm and took a deep inhale and slow exhale. “Sith,” he called and pulled back his rifle on its sling and unclipped the lightsaber at his hip. He ignited the emerald blade and pointed it to Granta and awaited her response.
“Jedi,” she hissed back, throwing her hostage aside with the force and dropping her rifle. She too unclipped a lightsaber and roared it’s blood-red fiery blade to life. She then approached with an aggressive posture, ignoring all other elements aside from her new primary target.
“Get the hostage to safety and leave. I’ll hold her off,” Creon relayed through his comlink.
“But sir-”
“This is a Sith. Do not engage. I will handle it. Get everyone to safety and leave now,” Creon interrupted.
“Yes, sir,” his squadmate replied as the rest of the unit moved to retrieve Flotsam.
Creon just needed to distract her and keep attention away from the evacuation. If they could get everyone out safe, then the mission was accomplished. Creon reminded himself that it didn’t matter if he made it home or not. Almost immediately, he was caught off guard by a quick dash by the towering woman and an aggressive downward slash of her blade. In just the nick of time from an instinctive reaction, Creon jerked to the side of the blow. She brought it back up with an upward strike, forcing Creon to hastily step away. Granta then chased him with a side swipe.
Creon attempted to block the side blow by redirecting the opposing blade’s momentum. The power behind Granta’s mighty swing, however, caused Creon to lose balance and he fell on his back. His lightsaber switched off and was flung to the side a few meters away. The Sith raised her blade with both arms for a final finishing blow.
Creon kicked the heels of his boots together and activated the attached thrusters. The burst from the small rockets made him fly away from his opponent’s blow, and he pointed his toes down in order to let the thrusters propel him upright in the air. While he zoomed away, Creon aimed his wrist rocket that was linked to the targeting relay on his helmet and fired a multitude of small explosives at Granta, causing a small smokescreen in the area where they had just exchanged blades. Creon kicked his heels together again to deactivate the the thruster boots. The Knight then searched for his lightsaber and pulled it back to his hand with the Force. He clipped it on his belt and unholstered his blaster rifle again, waiting for the smoke to clear.
Granta walked out of the smoke with her blade drawn in anger. She also didn’t seem to have any noticeable damage. Creon wondered if she had preemptively seen the wrist rockets coming and used the Force to avoid the explosive radius.
“What’s wrong, little man? You were so brave just a moment ago, and now you hide behind a gun?”
“First off, sir,” he told the hulking woman, “everyone is little to you. Listen to me, we don’t have to do this. You’ve already won here. Your task was a success.” He backed further away at a slow pace and prepped the grenade launcher on his rifle as he continued to speak, "Prolonging the fight after you’ve already claimed victory is a waste of energy you could be using for the next real fight. Think about it. Let these people go home to their families, they can’t get in your way anymore.”
