GJW XI: Round 2: Fiction
By SBL Archangel
#7589
SBL Archangel (Sith) / PROF / Battle Team Dorimad Sol of House Scholae Palatinae [GMRG: IX] [SA: V] [ACC: Q]
Nest of Vipers
“I don’t like the looks of this.”
The wind whipped around them in a torrent, scouring their fatigues mercilessly. They lay in the open, with a few scrub bushes around them to contrast the amazing emptiness of the landscape around them. The winds had been blowing for days, seemingly endless in its assault on the city they currently looked down upon.
“What’s wrong?” the second man said, staring through an optical scope, set up with a tripod and glare shield. He was the younger of the two, with a scruff of black hair peeking out from under his flak helmet. With a twist of the lens adjuster, he focused in on the distant city, through the haze and glare.
“I expected it to be more… busy,” the older man replied, adjusting the rifle butt against his shoulder, trying in vain to get it into a more comfortable position. They’d been laying at the crest of his hill for several hours now, and the strain and boredom were taking their toll. He pulled at the collar of his uniform, but instead of getting a little relief from the heat, he only allowed a flurry of sand in to irritate his skin.
“I guess everyone’s doing what we’re doing,” the spotter replied, his pencil scratching slowly across his notepad, marking distances to buildings and range markers, “Sitting back and waiting to see what everyone else does”
The sniper nodded, staring through the scope of his rifle, moving miniscule degrees at a time, watching for movement. He’d been in the 101st Special Forces Legion since its inception, and was one of the top snipers in the Guard. In spite of a life under the direct command of Dark Jedi, he never expected to be laying in the dust and filth of the ancient Sith homeworld of Korriban. He felt that he should be more awed, but it was another planet, another dust bowl, and a new set of targets.
“Heads up,” came the call over the squad communications link, “We have movement on the outskirts. Looks like a speeder bike. 2-3, confirm”
The sniper repositioned himself, tensing slightly as his prowess with his rifle would soon come into play. He took a few moments to locate the speeder bike in question, mostly relying on the plume of dust it kicked up as it zoomed across the flat plain around the city. It was making its way around the edge of the city, dipping behind obstacles with trained ease. He lifted his hands to his throat, and pressed the actuator on his throat mic.
“2-1, this is 2-3. We have visual confirmation,” he said softly. Despite the distances involved, it was habit not to speak loudly in overwatch positions. You never knew who or what could be listening in.
“2-1, this is 2-Actual,” spoke up a deep voice, resonating with commanding tones, “Be advised. Target is known fugitive Connor Grey. Dispatch him at your earliest convenience”
The order was clear and simple, spoken without mirth or disdain. The sniper began to make his calculations, as his spotter set about assisting. The man acting as 2-Actual was the one of the highest ranking individuals in the Scholae Palatinae military, a hulking brute of a man who had spent almost double the sniper’s lifetime at war. The fact that he was a Dark Jedi as well only added to the abject terror the man could instill in his men. Thank the Force he was on their side.
“2-3, 2-1. Take the shot,” the unit commander relayed the order, though it was unnecessary. The sniper lined up the target, using the pips on his scope, and an array of mental calculations for range, air density, altitude and target speed. His finger squeezed gently on the trigger, and a bolt of red fiery hell lanced out of the barrel. The target dropped like a stone, falling away from the speeder bike and bouncing heavily on the hard packed surface before slamming into the side of a structure.
“2-1, 2-Actual, this is 2-3. Target eliminated.”
The sniper started breathing again. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped, and chided himself for his absent mindedness. His spotter gave him a sharp pat on the shoulder plate in congratulations, and he flashed him a smile in return. It was a good shot, not too difficult considering the atmosphere and elevation gave him pretty much perfect circumstances to take the shot. But a moving target, especially one that quick, is always a challenge.
“2-3, 2-Actual. Excellent shot. Pull back and regroup at RZ Aleph. We have the information we needed.”
---
“You are sure?” the voice said through the hologram before him. He nodded his head at the small image, a masked man he knew and trusted with his life. The masked man seemed to consider the situation for a moment before returning the nod with a sharp one of his own.
“Do it, Archangel. Better than letting it fall into Lord Ashen’s hands”
Archangel allowed himself an almost feral grin, and with a quick motion slammed his helmet back onto his head. Through the voice box of his helmet, he replied, though now with mechanically altered tones.
“Your will be done, my Emperor”
---
The city of Dreshdae had sat on that spot of copper coloured earth since before the Jedi Civil War. A rough and tumble borough, it was not even worth mentioning in most star maps of the area. It’s importance had long since passed into the annuls of history, and the only reason it was inhabited is because the denizens who did so had no where else to go.
So as the All-Terrain Experimental Transport walkers of the Scholae Palatinae 90th Airmobile Legion began their barrage, very few people batted an eye. Each AT-XT was equipped with a pair of proton mortars, some of the most dangerous mid-range artillery available to the Scholae Palatinae military. And with the legion’s entire array of sixty-four walkers, it was little more than a turkey shoot.
The area was saturated with fire, a textbook and clinical rain of destruction peppering the landscape. After an hour of constant bombardment, the walkers moved in, opening up with their laser blasters, targeting any fleeing vehicles or buildings too stubborn to fall over when struck by a mortar.
Needless to say, any clandestine meeting being held there, for whatever reason, be it an alliance of mutual benefit, or the exchange of documents relating to the Rite of Immortality, was now officially cancelled. It’s hard to find a document which is under tons of rubble, even if it did survive. And if it had, the delay in its retrieval would suit the needs of Scholae Palatinae just fine.
“You know what?” Archangel said, arms crossed tight against his chest. He stood with one of his best friends, and fellow commander, Dante, while they watched the smoke rise from the ruins of the city formerly known as Dreshdae.
“What?” Dante replied simply. Neither man was much for words at the best of times.
“I love artillery.”