Cold

[Blake Grinn]

Cold

It looked like an albino insectoid after an antenna shaving. It was on the ground. It was in the snow. Built of plastoid, it with stand my foot on top of it, and the weight of my lean. Comm units were built inside, along with a tracking and warming system; perfect for an ugly place like this. Ahead of me were the troops. A well equipped, dimwitted group of nobodys turned sombodys. All because of the Empire, and that pretty Empress - we had it made. A few years back I'd have been hunkered over, vomitting at a bar, but with a little stop at Carida I was serving the government and getting a fat paycheck.

Who'd complain about that?

Well, a few folks would. The group to the left of me was huddled to side me, taking a cig break. The smoke was billowing, flowing, and getting all around. Even though they had their armor on, they were still shivering. They looked like a pack of school girls with their arms together, shaking at the bits. I could understand though. Hoth was a very cold place, far in the depths of space.

Many others of our kind had died on this land, but more of their kind did. Back when Darth Vader was trotting around the galaxy, and the not-so-pretty Emperor was having us bag-up and tag anybody who dare speak out, there was a battle on this planet. The Rebel scum got shut-out. There was no repeat of Yavin. They got destroyed, and decimated. Their hidden tree-house of a hide-out hadn't a chance. Some of my friends had been sent out to handle them. Most made it back, and I heard all the stories about the bout.

So, we were back to reclaim what was rightfully ours - the base. The Lambda shuttle behind me had just opened up to let us out. We were a long ways away from our destination, but it was for the best. Scanners had picked up a few unknowns, and were were better off avoiding a possible trap or ran-sack by finding a nice landing space. We'd handle those unknowns as they came. That was our way. That was my way.

As the Major, I had say so in this operation. So, when I said move out, they moved out - so I did.

"Move out...guys." I bent down, picked up the helmet, and let it click. Sucking my teeth, it was time...Time to be a gonzo.

[Joel Yellar]

Joel Yellar had years of experience. This was just another run. Flicking the cigarillo off into the snow, he twirled the blaster rifle about with a push. The strap he had over his shoulder kept strong. It would have to, from what had been briefed. One of the techs spoke of unknown anomonalies. Often that gave the veterans a reason for alarm. Stories of anomalies turning into monsterous disasterious were too frequent to overlook. That was why it was good Blake headed the operation.

Joel wasn't known to the Major as Joel though. In the Corps people didn't call each other by their name when their helmet was on. The frequent interefences in the comm units, and hacks to the system, had left troopers' families in danger. It only took one name search, and parents were left for dead. Instead, they wen't by their identifcation codes: Joel's was JD-442.

The rest in his unit went by the same callsigns. With one finger to his helmet, he signalled for the rest. They'd form their line, they would trot, and get to their destination. Seemed simple enough, but Joel was alert. So was the rest of the unit. The snow was littered with their steps. Everyone gathered, flicking their cigarillos, and cutting their chatter, as the mission began.

Snow was ahead of them, and Joel was sure there was plenty more as well. The base was approximately 10 kliks away.

"Ready, Major," JD-442 alerted over the com. link.

[Blake Grinn]

The crew lined up behind me. The chilling bite of the Hoth winds desperately tried their armors so to taste the warmth of the soldiers' flesh. All was to no avail. Our manufactures across the galaxy had fixed wholes, supplied new resources and put their highest officals on the job to ensure the Stormtrooper Corp was well equipped for all enviroments. I had served in the wilderness before. Although the dangers were not human, or even abo, there was always danger.

Hills of snow were up ahead. The bumpy surface of the frozen tundra kept our steps easy. We tread carefully so not to slip into traps. Inside the helms there were detectors, and sensors of numerous kinds, leaving scales popping up on our radials constantly. At first, it was hard to get used to, but I had served years with the Empire at that point - so it meant nothing. Reading the scales became easy, and it was quite evident there was company in the distance. As I stared up ahead, the temperature scale had risen.

With a gesture to the right, and a flank arm to the left, the squad seperated. I balled my hand in a fist for the remaining. The squad spread, as a small unit of four lined in behind me. Over the small hill there were potential trouble. Lining up along side one another, we could spread the possible assault.

I'd lead. Carefully, I stepped ahead, blaster rifle in hand. Crouched a tad, I popped over the hill, staring down. There was a camp located a mile up ahead, filled with tents. Around the fire stood six men and a woman. The campers had adorn different armors hapharzardly in an attempt, that I could only presume, was for the purpose of defense against enemies and the cold. Blasters were leaned up against the tents, along with grenade packs and bandoliers.

They were resting. "Ambush, sir?" One of the troopers asked.

"Traingle formation." I replied.

[Stormtrooper]

The squad formed. Blake was at the point as Major, while the remaining troopers spread out, falling in position like a marching band, to form a triangle. The blasters were readied as the unit trotted down the hill.

They would be unexpected guest.

[Joel Yellar]

Joels eyes became daggers. He stared over his trooper's shoulder. Positioned at the point of the tail, he would handle the ambushed by giving support. Like the others, his blaster was readied for fire.

Up ahead stood one of the camper's lookout. As the soldier's waltz down the hill, the camper's eyes widen. In a sudden burst of shock, he dashed back to the camp. Before he could return the burning singe of blaster bolts tore through the freezing winds. The squad stayed position, but Joel and the rest of the grouping sped their steps into a qucik trot.

Red and green bolts shot toward the camp, and the lookout as he screamed out, trying his best to alert the others.

[Blake Grinn]

Swarms of campers flushed out the tents. Disdain mangled their expressions. Disgust set in their guts. I could see it. Through the distancing view of my radial, I calculated each of their steps, body temperature, and boiling anger. The thermal sensor even picked up the sudden rushes of blood to their legs and faces. Some were ready to run. Fear was definately one of those emotions they had, but I no longer could enjoy such an experience of fright.

It was not that I was badass, because I am, but that years of the Corp life had destroyed any semblance of sanity in the face of danger. Instead of buckling at the knees, like I had as a boy, I turned it into a thrill. The others were along with me. We were some of the finest troops in the galaxy, or so I believed, and we acted without hesitation. The mix of clones in the ranks left us with very little room for error. The absence of emotion in their behavior, at times, was daunting. We could be nothing less.

So as I stared pass the barrel, pass the tip of the rifle, all I could visualize was their deaths. They hadn't marked themselves as enemies, but they were targets to be done away with. They were, to put it simply: in the way.

Four of the mercenary campers sprawled out, using the tents for cover. Five of the ones surrounding the camp fire had spread. They used their feet to avoid hits. At least, they tried to. One of my fellow troopers hit one dead in the face. The echoing thud of his head banking against the snow left a resound in my conscious. A very natural smirk rolled up across my lips. I turned to the man. He was one of the younger of the bunch, but he was most definately an ace.

Giving him a nod, I continued on. As the lead of the ambush, I dove in without any heed. The press of my boots left deep imprints in the snow. Huffs and puffs of my breathe within the helm were kept cool, as the heated moment pushed my adrenaline. My eyes widen, and I watched as the mercs pulled for their blasters in slow motion. It was like a clip out of a holovid.

In a swift turn, I shot at one. The pivot of my foot allowed me to evade a shot. The accuracy of my shot, the experience behind my eyes, allowed me to hit him exactly where I wanted - the heart. The blast tore through his weaken armor. He shook to a fall. Although he was 10 yards away, I could see him stuttering his last words.

I pressed forward.