Fey'Dann - The Forgotten War: Zero Hour

[Captain Tyle]

<center><font size=4>Carlist Rieekan Military Starport, Coruscant.</font>
<font size=2>0800 Hours.</font></center>

"Second squad, up on line!"

"Ammo check, pass it down."

"Bearden, check your jump harness again. Carry on."

The morning air had a damp chill to it, which was slowly fading away with each successive minute. Not that the cityscape of Coruscant heeded the rising sun. Speeders, starships...they came and went, regardless of the hour. Though, passing Rieekan Base, it seemed they slowed, watching the unusual take place. The NRSF was deploying. Hundreds upon hundreds of the toughest, most skilled soldiers in the galaxy now milled around on the flight tarmac, with nothing to do but kill time.

Half of the troops spent their time waiting by laying down, preferring not to remain standing while shouldering bulks of 120 pounds and more. These were the Orbital Infantry...Fat Boys, named for the bulky space suits and repulsor harnesses they wore, that gave them an appearance of being more rotund than usual. They sat in clumps, propped up on their repulsor harnesses and rucksacks. Some chatted, some smoked cigarettes one after another, and some played cards. The ones that didn't do this busied themselves by checking their gear, double-checking their gear, and checking a squadmate's gear. An Orbital Infantryman relied on his harness and suit to function, or he stood no chance of making it to the planet's surface alive. All of Krayt's first platoon had been assigned OI duty for the jump into Fey'Dann. I knew they were ready for it.

Intermingled with the Fat Boys were the Puke Troopers, or Dropship Infantry of second platoon, who followed the OI's down in their boxy, uncomfortable F7 "Vomit Comet" Dropships. The name Puke Trooper came about due to the consistency of the dropship's floor deck, after the ride down. It was no less dangerous, as the Vomit Comet raced to the planet's surface at the maximum speed its hull could withstand. It took frighteningly little enemy fire to instantly end the lives of a platoon of DI's, and send their coffin through the sky in a rain of fire.

There were no illusions made about the job at hand. The men knew their job, and the job of the other man just as well. All knew the risks, but few talked about them. There was no sense in discussing the possibility of Eternity that hung over every head like some metaphysical noose.

I watched Krayt company form up, next to their deployment zone. Most were somber, like myself, and went about their job of securing their equipment, before settling down to wait. If there was something to do...something besides sitting down, with hands idle and mind wandering, then it was done. With my OI Fat Boy suit on, I moved about as best as I could, working with some of the replacements that we'd picked up since returning from the Balmorran Frontier. Some were transfers, and some were doing this for the first time. They became my highest priority. Sometimes it was something as little as remembering their name, and saying a few words. These things worked wonders.

"Hey, Hal?" I paused, next to the OI private, Hal Jaalens, in first platoon. He didn't look a day over eighteen, and with his sandy hair and freckles, he made for a funny sight, buried somewhere down in his Fat Boy suit.

"Cap'n sir." He strained to get up.

"At ease, at ease." I allowed him to remain seated. It was a chore to move around in an OI suit any more than you had to.

"Have you been checked, Private?"

"Well, I've already checked my gear out three times. I haven't got anybody to double-check though."

I squatted down to where he was, and pressed at his shoulders, causing him to hunch forward, while I adjusted and examined his harness and rucksack.

"Well, I've got nothing better to do. Lets see if you learned Rucksack 101 back at AIT."

We both laughed, and I continued the procedure, making sure all fastenings were secure, that his load was evenly distributed, and that his repulsor harness and shield generator had a full energy charge.

"So, I hear you play speedball?"

"I did, sir. Back on Kuat. Local school."

"That a fact? How fast do you throw?"

Hal took on a smug look. "A lady never asks, and a gentleman never tells, sir."

He looked at me curiously. "Do you play?"

I tightened his left support strap, locking it into the shock webbing on his suit. "I did, a while back. Every now and then."

My modest response seemed to bait Hal on, and he continued. "Think maybe if we got a game going, we could talk you into it?"

I picked up Private Jaalens' rifle, and began to give it a cursory check.

"I'm sure we'll manage something, Private." I dropped the rail slug magazine and blaster power pack out of their respective slots, and checked the sockets for each, making sure nothing was inside to impair them.

"You sighted in?"

"Yessir. Can knock the tits off a flat-chested Ewok at 400." Jaalens grinned triumphantly at me. Giving his weapon a final looking-over, I tossed it to his expecting arms.

"Alright, Private. You're good to go. Carry on."

[Sophia Harten]

Sophia made her way between the lines of soldiers and various groups already milling about, looking for the Captain. As many times as she'd seen this scene, she'd never get used to it. Part of her felt proud and honored to be a part of such a fine group, but another part hurt as she knew half of those here today wouldn't be coming home.

Finally spotting the Captain, she stepped up as he finished standing from examining one of the Fat Boy's equiptment. She saluted sharply before speaking.

Looks like the preperations are well under way and quite orderly.

The time for her to breif the troops on the intel gathered for the mission had not yet come, so she looked to Tyle for something to do. She always did just hate sitting around and waiting.

Is there anything you'd like me to do before the briefing, Captain?

[Sam Riley]

Men and equipment cluttered every open space, lining walls and stacked in corners. Some sat, smoking idly - there wasn't much else to do, they'd been ready for hours. Some stood, shuffling from foot to foot, jawing with one or two or three other guys, passing the time. Others, had such restless energy they were fit to pop and checked, re-checked, and checked again everything that they could get their hands on. Walking up, then down, then up again. Agrivating some, entertaining others.

It was the same with every shipout Jordan had been a part of.

O'Neil - Sergeant of the 127th Krayt and Communications Officer was one of the "other" types. She could not keep still. She moved up and down the rank and file, inspecting, assessing, correcting where she could. This was the time that went the slowest, yet was forgotten the quickest once they were underway. And hopefully soon they would get underway. It was not that she was anxious, it was just her personality. She found strenght in order and occupation. She had a job to do, and she wanted to get on to doing it.


"Smoke Sergeant?" the young man offered her, hoping to ease his own tension in some small way.

He'd surprised Jordan, so fixed had she been on things further down the line that she hadnt really noticed the man walking toward her had stopped.

"Trying to quit" she replied, and then took one anyway.

"Not doing too good, Sir, then are you?"

A smile - the first in close to 24hrs, and she tucked it into her chest pocket.

"First one today, I'll save it for later."

[Marc Tycho]

' Yurdan Pod, Injection UVI, Bandages, Criculem 921 ' Said Marc as he placed everything in in his Medi Kit corectly and neatly. Marc was jumped fully in a Fat Boy Jump Suit which was exsactly the same looking at the other soldiers all except a large pouch on his left side with a large round circle and a red cross upon it. Marc was a Medi and unarmed, he did not carry any type of weapon unles he included with combat knife which was used more for on site surgoery than it was for killing.

For a few moments Tycho looked out over the sea of soldiers. Some would not finish the jump, some would not come home and some would have Tychos hands inside there guts but he knew his job was saving lifes and doing the best he could on the ground. Tycho had no weapon and so even if he was under fire, getting his body ripped apart by the stupid felines he had no means of defending himself. However if he could he would pick up a rifle and defend himself and others if he needed to and he thught other people knew damn well he would.

Tycho ventured out into the hot sun and continued to view his friends, allies and counterparts. Some he would never see again.

[Sol Blake]

The scenario was not of an entirely alien nature; back on Wayland the special forces had established a temporary base somewhere at the base of Mount Tantiss from which troops were mobilized to counter a fierce uprising led by Imperial separatists who had embarked on a siege of the neighbouring cities in that area. There I had hoped to get my first taste of real combat but instead I had the pleasure of watching other units prepare for that which I so eagerly anticipated, my platoonmates and I could only sit idle and watch the casualties rolling in. Before it was our turn to move out the opposition had been neutralised. Now I am one of those anonymous faces heading out yet here I am, sitting idle, spectating.

Then again, at times like these, what else can one possibly do? I'm a combat virgin, just like Neir over there. The only credible experience I can speak of is the few words spoken by veterans of the game like Tyle; they don't say much about their time out in the field so the newbies are left guessing. How much I want to get up and talk to someone, but the fear of falling flat on my face is too prominent because right now these legs of mine have all the strength of poodoo; warm and fresh from the bantha's hole. I never thought I'd be this nervous but it could be the excitement and anticipation. So with my butt cheeks icing up on the floor, I'm happy - albeit a little uncomfortable - to stay seated and watch.

Coruscant has that timeless quality; quite literally because aside from night and day there is little difference in activity of which to take note. So it's loud, it's always loud what with the hustle and bustle of the flylanes overhead and the thick morning fog drapes itself from the landing platforms dotted about all around; it's as common as the shimmering dew on the grass of a fresh morning in spring. Not that it was anywhere near as pleasant. In fact, coupled with the ongoings on the flight deck there was something quite eerie and unnerving about it. A grim sense of foreboding dwells heavy in my mind and now I just want to go.

Having checked and double-checked what gear I had with me in a text book manner, I could only wait until another officer gave it a once over although fairly confident in my own judgement, training young in my head, it's better to be safe than sorry. A simple but smart way to live; much like the majority of privates I had briefly associated myself with, most were simple but smart. Regardless of background or upbringing, one thing I remember being told back in basic training; "You are all grunts together!"

This I saw as a humble way to percieve oneself considering the men and women surrounding me had a career which required them to put their life on the line for the good of others; be they friends and relatives or criminals and nameless street rats. They fought for the New Republic and now I join their ranks to help bring order to some corrupt world in some forgotten corner of the galaxy. To give these people a better life even if it presents a threat to my own. And they say Jedi are the defenders of justice and peace.

[Sol Blake]

The time spent on the landing platform seems to drag, so much so that you can't help but wonder whether or not your commanding officers put you through the agonising wait in order to toughen you up. Well I don't know much about that but the longer I stay seated, the fear of the inevitable unknown grows inside and it feels like a nest of butterflies has hatched in my stomach amongst the toast and cereal flaskes from breakfast. The taste is still strong in my mouth, probably because I keep burping, I tend to do that a lot when I get that queazy feeling. Occassionally one of the Fat Boys will trudge past and it gives me shivers.

"You need a hand with that, buddy?" The question was instinctive at the sight of seeing the Orbital Infantry trooper strugle to grasp a loose piece of harness. I stood and walked over now rather gingerly given that I had something to do other than just pass time. The load on my back wasn't half as bad as that which obscured the face of the soldier whose equiptment I was adjusting, I was thankful that for my first combat mission with the forces I wouldn't have more than half my weight on my shoulders.

"That looks pretty good to me. You're set to go, man." I reassured the trooper whose face turned to meet me. I recognised him and smiled with suprise, the guilt of doing so suddenly presented itself at the sight of his own face; a twisted visage of worry and discomfort. He squeezed out a smile and tried to shrug off his burden for a moment.

"Nero? Zak Nero. Damn, it's good to see you!" I crouched down excitedly, he was shorter than me and always had been, even in school back on Corellia. The last time we'd seen each other was in the final week of summer after we'd finished our last year of studies. That was when we were sixteen. He had babyface features which made himi instantly recognisable but I could tell by the look on his face he was a little unsure who he was looking at. Then came that look of realisation, the trademark one we all have; mouth agape, eyes wide and usually followed by a high-pitched cry of exasperation.

"Ha!" There it was. He took my hand and shook it, and with our free hands took each others arm, it was the closest thing you can get to a hug with the type of gear we had. "Blakey, what in the Emperor's Hell are you doing here?"

Zak then went on to remind me of how I should be roaming the halls of the Imperial Justice Courts or conducting a life-saving operation on a senator somewhere. Maybe he was right, my grades would hint at a comfortable future in an office somewhere swimming in a room full of credits and reading the GNN daily edition. But that wasn't what I had wanted to do with my life, it never had been and dad was probably still moaning about my choice to fight alongside these men and women back home. This is my future.

"Nevermind me anyways, what's your excuse?" We took a seat and I then proceeded to hammer the olive-skinned face of my past with a barrage of questions. It turned out that Nero had spent two years working on his grandparent's farm on Chandrila, his mother had died of a cerebral haemorage a week before his sixteenth birthday and I felt a crease of pain on my icy face recalling that very day five years ago. It had hit him tough because his father was still in prison so he had to spend the rest of his time on Corellia with his auntie and uncle. Even to this day I remember when he told me 'Sol, one day I'm gonna get off this rock and I'm never coming back!' And here we are, once again re-establishing that school boy friendship half a decade later on a cold morning on the Coruscant airfield. Nothing really mattered and everything else just slipped away.

[William Neir]

"Holy Krasst, I almost forgot what this is like."

Slinging my pack down beside Blake, I sat, leaning against it as I focused on the matter at hand. On my mess tin, instead of the usual rations a la corrugated cardboard, were Naboo waffles, bacon, eggs...in short, a full, real breakfast. Accustomed to eating 'the Army way', I began to quickly disassemble the meal, shoveling it in as fast as I could.

"Don't tell me you got suckered in on shingles, scabs & private juice*, Sol?" I laughed, carving up the thick waffle on my mess tin. "Company Mess broke out the good stuff. Now that they're giving us real food, I guess they can't call this one off, huh?"

I'd fallen asleep on my dark mood, and awaken today completely neutral. I neither knew whether life or death awaited me, nor did I want to dwell on it. It wouldn't do anyone around me any good for me to have that on my mind, and before I'd fallen asleep, I'd had to tell myself that. So now, instead of pondering the metaphysics of a war that I would very soon fight, I was digging into the first actual breakfast I'd had in months. The small things are always ironic.

"I swear, I don't even know why I'm doing this. This crap's gonna hit the deck once we bottom out of orbit, anyway." I flashed a smile at Sol, and glanced at the other man, obviously OI.

"Want some eggs? Should look good on the inside of your helmet, on freefall?"

As expected, the OI trooper declined. I shrugged, and continued to eat. OI or DI, everybody...and I mean everybody, at some point in time, threw up on orbital entry. Training was the way to slowly keep that from happening, but nobody's track record was ever 100 percent.

"You know, the Cizerack don't really cook much? Most of their food is raw meat. What a drag. We won't even be able to get a good bite to eat over there. And from where I'm sitting, this waffle's better than sex."

I winced as the sunlight slowly started to work its way through the haze of early day, scattering the low, thin clouds. I finished my waffle, and spent the next few minutes tracing a fingertip along my mess tin, getting residual traces of syrup before sticking my finger in my mouth.





* = Army-speak, for toast, cornflakes, and powdered milk breakfast ration.

[Captain Tyle]

I looked to my IO, stepping away from Private Jaalens.

"Could use some coffee."

Raising my ration cup, which was running low on the dark stuff, I gestured with a head nod to a nearby tent, with bold stenciled letters that said '1ST BATTALION' on it. We quickly filed through the line, as we weren't stopping for chow, and got our coffee. Stepping out of the tent, I reached inside a utility pocket, procuring a flask of gin, from which I poured a small amount into my ration cup to top off the coffee. Noting Lt. Harten's expression, I shrugged a bit, putting the flask away.

"Old habits die hard."

We strolled along the tarmac, allowing the assembled troopers time to police up their gear, or finish morning chow.

"Make sure that you link up with Sergeant O'Neil. I want TOC* set up quickly when we hit the DZ, so go over your procedures with her, and let her know what you need. We hit the ground running, so we need our eyes and ears sharp when the boots hit the ground. Once Battalion Admin is online, we can go from there. The first hour down is important, so make sure we're in-the-know, clear?"


* = Tactical Operations Center (mobile command post for a unit)

[Kam Juren]

Kam stood away from the group, his eyes a bit forlorn. He was quiet, his fingers running across the entire length of his repeater. He had checked it what. . .seven or eight times now? He didn't remember. Lots, though. He had lots on his mind, not the least of which was Kira. He missed her most now--he had seen her for what seemed like a milisecond before he left. Her loved her, and she knew it. She had returned the sentiment verbally and physically.

He turned himself--struggling in his suit--to face the rest of K Company. Part of him felt bad--he had just entired the company and didn't know anyone very well. He hadn't made much of an attempt to do so, and he only blamed himself. He knew a couple of names, but that was about it. Only one person he had spent any substantial ammount of time with--that was Will Neir.

Standing up slowly, Kam shouldered his E-Web Reapeter across his neck and shouler blades, bracing it with his arm. He was one of the Heavy Weapons Specialist for his group, and the bulky rifle was what he relied on second only to his companions in a firefight. His job was simple--the way Kam liked things: lay down a stream of fire when needed. His task was to shower the enemy with fire, and he was good at it. That's how he graduated so quickly from basic and made his way up to NRSF.

He'd only seen one real fight--in defense of a post he was at on Yavin from a small syndicate force. The force had been small but well trained, but he had cut through several with his repeater. That got him a promotion, and he ended up here. He was under the command of a Captain Tyle. The man was pretty solid and very in-control, which he liked. He was a follower--he readily admitted it. He was no kind of tactical genious, and he wanted to be the one relied upon for the dirty work, not decision making.

Making his way closer to the pack, he nodded to a few people as he passed. Finally, he found Will and plopped down beside him. He pulled out his gear and the tripod he mounted his E-Web on. Shielding his eyes from the light that peeked through the clouds, he turned to face his friend.

"Hey man," he spoke, his words soft. He was a man of few, and he was never the best conversationalist. "Wouldja mind checkin over my gear?" He had already checked it about 3 times, but it was always good to get a second opinion. He wondered how ready he was to do this. He hadn't had a lot of jump training. He was confident that he had a good handle on how to do it, he was mostly worried that he wouldn't be able to keep his lunch down.

[Sophia Harten]

Sophia watched the Captain put a little liquer into his caffiene, wondering if one wouldn't just cancle out the other. Her lip bent upwards into a half smile at his comment.

Nothing wrong with old habits, sir.

She sipped her own coffee, trying to keep it from burning her tongue, but eager to get the caffiene pumped into her system. She listened carefully to the Captains instructions, finishing off her coffee as he finished speaking. She tossed the spent cup into a trash bin set up outside the tent, acknowledging what Tyle had said.

I'll see if I can't find the Sergeant and fill her in on what I know.

She saluted sharply and then left to find O'Neill in the milling crowd of military personel.

[Sol Blake]

"Will, you lucky son of a Bith!" Watching Neir plunging desperately for the remains of his syrup I laughed, I had to because you either laugh it off or can end up hell-bent on resentment and jealousy. A good breakfast can have that affect on you unless you're careful, especially when yours is a clammy slice of cold toast and soggy breakfast serial which is about as appealing as gnawing on paper. "To be fair though, I did have a cup of fresh orange earlier. Nothing like it first thing in the morning!"

Although it wasn't first thing in the morning, well at least not by NRSF standards - for the mere mortals the average day wouldn't start at least for another hour - and you would think that after an early start we'd be on our way by now. I didn't like this sitting around, it plays on your mind and makes you wonder if something is wrong; who's to say that the higher-ups aren't having second thoughts about the mission? After all, us grunts could be nothing more than gerbils being used to test the water. I'm probably thinking too much.

"Looks like it's gonna be a nice day." Turning to Neir with one eye narrowed in the sunlight, I couldn't help but frown. Despite it's golden glory; penetrating the miserable, thick layers of grey and white, it's brilliant rays reaching out like the fingers of some heavenly spirit, there was definately something bittersweet about first light on a day like this. I cracked a smile. "Think we have enough time to catch a tan?"

"That's not a bad idea!" Zak suddenly chimed in to the left of me. "I need to get rid of my white bits."

"Hey, you can keep your white bits to yourself, Nero-Zero!" I laughed, Zak's look of suprise quickly morphed into one of protest. Back at school, I remember deciding I had suffered enough abuse from Zak who accused me of being a teachers pet and a brown-noser, all in good banter of course. It took me three years to come up with a retaliation to his ruthless mockery and the inspiration came from his end of term score in maths.

"That was below the belt, at least I was never a lousy apple-polisher." He fought back, red flushing his olive cheeks and I couldn't help but use it to my advantages.

"Hey Will, this here's Zak Nero. Handy man to have on a place like Fey'Dann; I mean, with a face that colour who needs a homing beacon?" My boisterous laughter was quickly silenced by a dig in the shoulder, for his size, Zak had quite an arm on him. He took it all in good humour though and introduced himself to Neir with a handshake. Then came another new face. He was a big guy and by the way he carried that repeater rifle, not one to arm-wrestle, at least not with any hope of victory.

"Lemme help you with that before sticky-fingers gets his paws on your stuff, unless you don't mind shooting syrup in place of blaster fire." Slipping out of the straps of my own gear I climbed to my feet with relative ease and started looking over the gear of the latest arrival. "Jeez, you wanted this checkin' over? I reckon you could teach the drill instructors in basic a thing or two about equiptment. All's in order, man." I gave hiom a pat on the shoulder then after introducing myself, extended a hand. "Sol Blake."

[Marc Tycho]

Tycho was nothing short of professional in his line of work. Marc had been a hospital doctor in training for 3 years in Coruscant before being convinced to join the army by his friend because "It payed to be trained by the best." Sadly his friend died in combat 2 weeks later. Tycho was of course enlisted and quickly qualified to be a field surgeon and continued to progress until he was asked to join the NRSF.

Marc would have given anything to have stayed in the Hospital and not see the bloodied sights he had in battle and not seen the amount of death and destruction. War was simply horrible and Tycho would sooner be 2 or 3 planets away rather than sitting on his knees cutting a wounded soldiers chest open but of course he had chosen his position and was darn determined to save as many lifes as possible to let the soldiers continue and protect life itself. Tycho was the guy that saw the blunt end of war and knew how the whole ball game worked.

Tycho was in actual fact scarred to hell and back even though he tried to put up a brave smile. Would it be him that got hit in mid jump?, would it be him that the after burners failed on entry?, would he ever see him family again?. These thoughts swam around his brain over and over again it was a vicious circle. He decided that other men and women on the ground were thinking the same thing and he was not alone in his fears and for some reason that was a comforting thought.

Tycho viewed Tyle from far off. The guy was hardly miscible, he stood out among the rest as most if not all the soldiers relied on him the set the nerves to a slim level and get things strait. Tycho thought it was best he joined the guys now. Setting his fears to the back of his head the Medic waddled carefully over to were Tyle was, gave a heavy salute and smiled as best as possible.

' Alright sir?, mind checking my pack?...' Tycho was not only needing a check over but a little confidence boost also.

[Kam Juren]

Kam took to the other rather easily, which was sometimes rather rare for him. Will gave him a grin and Kam found his nerves calmed. He reached out, gripping Sol's hand firmly. Kam was a pretty ripped guy--lugging his E-Web around--and he spent plenty of time at the gym. In the bulky suits, it was harder to notice physique.

"Name's Kam Juren," he said politely. "Nice to meet ya." He took his gear back from Blake who had checked it quickly. It was true--Kam packed very well. He was neat and organized and preferred to keep his gear secured. Meeting Blake was a breath of fresh air--he would need friends here. Hopefully he could make up for his lack of social activity by introducing himself. "You ready for this?"

[Sol Blake]

"Ready for what?" I somehow managed to keep a straight face with my reply, Kam shot me a look of confusion then I smiled bringing the joke to light. Nevertheless deep down inside, I wish my answer could be kept at that and despite feeling fairly confident around these people my legs beneath me were starting to feel weak. I'd like to think I was ready were it not for the shadow of doubt hindering my self-assurance but what was most unnerving and genuinly scary was that my actual reply was the most accurate. What are we preparing for here today? What have we been training for all this time? I have no idea what lies ahead of me.

"Yeah, I'm ready." The tone of my voice didn't reinfoce that but it would have to do. "You?"

[Kam Juren]

Taking a deep breath, Kam looked away from a minute and then looked back.

"I hope so," he replied. "I mean, this is what we train for. I've only been in one firefight, and lemme tell ya, it had nuthin to do with dropping miles down to the ground and starting an advance dizzy from it!" He chuckled at the comment, though it was partly a nervous laugh to calm himself. He squeezed his rifle--reassurance it was still there.

"You ever done this before?" His eyes scanned the ranks of troops, many just as nervous as he. He felt good about that. He wasn't alone, and as green as he was, others were in the same boat as he was. "I mean, jumped into a hot DZ?"

[Captain Tyle]

"Sure thing, Doc."

I spun him around, and began the textbook process of looking at harness, fastenings, webbing, and the myriad of other bits and pieces that made up an OI jump rig.

"How are you situated? Got all the gear you need? If not, double-time it to Battalion quartermaster. They got a replenish from the depot, so if you're not fixed how you want, you give them hell, got it? Captain's orders."

I pulled on a draw cord, and attached the fastener to a durasteel ring on the hardened "jump harness".

"Make sure you're fixed exactly how you need to be. If our stick gets spread out, we may not be able to link up with Battalion aid station, so no telling how long we'll be in the thick of it. If you need to, police up a musette bag and pack it in."

I patted him hard on the shoulder, and spun him around again.

"All green. You're good to jump, Doc.

Make sure you're up on inventory, and get off your feet. After the briefing, we'll load the stick, so sit tight until you have to move. Oh, and see if the quartermaster has any of those motion-sickness pills on hand. Probably a good idea to pass those around."

[Sam Riley]

Jordan brought her hand to her mouth and shook in some loose dried granola. It basically was glorified sawdust, but if the army nutritionists wanted to call it "granola" who was she to argue.
It gave her something to do with her hands, that was good enough for her.

--"Sergeant!"

A fresh-faced farmboy of a soldier interupted her thoughts.

"Yes private?"

Jordan was slowly getting used to being called Sergeant. Having just been promoted upon arrival in Krayt Company, it still sounded odd to her. But she was getting better at not looking so dopey when someone addressed her as such and took a second to realise they were talking to her.

--"Lt. Harten wants a word with you, Sir. She's over with the Puke Troopers - er, excuse me, Sir...by the Dropship Infantry setup."

Jordan turned to look in the direction where the Puke Troopers were assembled and easily picked out the tall slender frame of Lt. Sophia Harten.

"Thankyou, Private."

Dusting the remaining sawdust from her hand, Jordan made her way through the multitude of soldiers and presented herself to Lt. Harten.

Standing just to the right of her superior, O'Neil saluted.

[i]"Sergeant O'Neil as requested, Lt. Harten."[i]

[Sophia Harten]

Sophia in turn saluted sharply, then relaxed.

At ease, Sergeant.

Once O'Neil had taken an easy stance, she commenced with what she need to inform the Sergeant about.

Captain Tyle feels it important that I inform you of our plan once we hit the ground. We need our eyes and ears alert... and that means your troop, Sergeant.

She gestured towards an opening in the milling crowd.

Let's take a walk as I fill you in.

As they began walking, Sophia went into the explaination.

As you know, we'll be doing a mixed orbital drop onto the outlying region of a small town called Ai'karree. The town itself is full of friendlies, and it's a sure bet they'll help to shelter and even warn us if they see any trouble. But we can't relly soley on that. Our perimeter units will be set up before we can even say the name of the town three times to aid us to assess enemy movements.

But in order to have working order with our troops, we'll need to have our base of operations set up quickly.

127th will be on the far western flank of the perimeter line, with 128th in the center, and 126th west of them. 136th and 124th will drop behind our perimeter, and set up a base of operations.

The Captain has ordered the TOC be set up the minute we hit the ground.

She stopped and looked at the Sergeant.

I don't need to tell you that time is critical in this, and we need to have operations set up within the hour. So lets impress the Captain and have the TOC set up within 30 minutes of landing.

[William Neir]

"Sol's a regular Blood & Guts. He pulled some stints on Wayland, before transferring here."

I cleaned my mess tin as I talked, swatting a fly away. Once that was done, I packed the tin away, and fished out a smoke, lighting it up.

"So its fair to say his combat cherry's popped. Figure he's seen all kinds of crap, with all the Bucketheads out there."

With nothing but time on my hands, I fished out a flimsy from my rucksack, and a stylus, and thought about writing another letter home, while I had the chance. Cynthia would appreciate that. In addition to fishing out the flimsy, I found a small holocube, and pulled it out as well. Tapping it on, I played a small holo-clip, from back home, before I shipped out. Mom & Dad were there, so was Cynthia. Mom panned the holo over to show the cake she made, with caramel frosting...my favorite. I smiled sheepishly at the holocam, eating some cake, as Cynthia came into view. I took my piece of cake, and half-crammed it in her mouth. She laughed, as cake smooshed against her face, and my mom could be heard, moaning that I was making a mess. I took a napkin, and carefully cleaned the icing from her face, as we kissed. The holocam zoomed in, and I glanced to it.

"Hey...a little room here, dad!"

He zoomed out, as I held Cynthia close.

And that...was my last day at home. Two months ago.

[Sol Blake]

Whilst Kam was speaking, none too reassuringly, I decided to retreat back to my pile of gear, it had been converted into a makeshift cushion which wasn't too taxing on the back. Soon enough we'll have to bear our loads respectively so it's best to give the old spine as much rest as possible. With a great, heaving sigh all the tension in my legs was released.

"A hot landing zone." I repeated to myself in quiet reflection, after pondering on it for a moment all I could bring myself to do was shrug nonchalantly. "Well, I've had the usual training drills and remember them well enough." The image of Sergeant "Mohawk" Mills pushing me out of a dropship prior to landing immediatly came to mind. Of course Private Blake had been completely unprepared for this and suffered a fractured shoulder because of it. The lesson: if under heavy fire you should be prepared to leave the dropship in the event that it cannot land or is destroyed before it lands. "But apart from that, nothing."

My boots suddenly became more interesting than any craft of metal and leather could ever be when Neir went about telling Juren all about my heroics on Wayland. Why hadn't I simply said: "No, I've hardly seen any combat"? When we had first met, you could say I had been a little dishonest about how much experience I had in the field of battle or you could say that I lied through my teeth because I didn't want to be thought of as a wide-eyed newbie. Too late to rectify that now so for the time being, I think I'll just smile politely and nod, that should work. They seemed to believe it.

"That your girl there, Will?" My eyes raised now thankful for the chance to change the topic of conversation. There was something about homely images of family and friends that pulled you in, as much as I wouldn't consider myself the type to be nosy and pry on other people's personal things, Neir had given me a golden opportunity and I took it; hook, line and sinker. I could feel Jak desperately peering over my shoulder. I smiled and nodded at the recording. "Cynthia's quite a looker. How long have you two been together?"

[William Neir]

"Yeah"

With a half smile, I tossed the holocube over to Sol, flicking the ash from my cigarette.

"We've been together for 5 years, back in advanced level school. She's at the University, on Chandrila. I took time off to sign up."

The smile diminished from my face a bit, as I looked off to the scores of other soldiers assembling on the tarmac.

"We had a big spat about it...the night after that. Guess some unspoken tension came to a head. She didn't understand why I was going. You...you ever travel much, guys? Like, star-hopping and all that?"

Exhaling in a cloud of smoke, I looked back to Kam and Sol.

"Y'know, you get stuck on one rock for half your life, and you'll do almost anything to get away. It isn't the only reason, but...I think there's something waiting for me out there. Something I need to find."

[Nathan West]

"FORM UP!" As well as West could make his voice carry, it needed the help of a megaphone to be heard over the scrape and jumble of hundreds of troops.

Four Quasar Fury ships, so heavily modified from the orginal Quasar Fire's they were based on that they were re-classified, sounded landing warning sirens.

Each of the ships set down with little more noise than the groan of the landing struts. There were some fighter pilots that couldn't put their ships down this softly. They were the best, because they had to be.

In the distance, another pair of Fury's took to the sky, the Reaver's Wind and Argenti's Leap, housing the mechanized infantry squads and their support equipment.

"Load those birds! Move your butts!"

[Sam Riley]

Originally posted by Sophia Harten
The Captain has ordered the TOC be set up the minute we hit the ground.

She stopped and looked at the Sergeant.

I don't need to tell you that time is critical in this, and we need to have operations set up within the hour. So lets impress the Captain and have the TOC set up within 30 minutes of landing.


Jordan listened, mentally slotting the details into fixed points within her mind.

Meeting Harten's measured stare, O'Neil matched it candidly.

"You can count on me, Lt."

Exchanging salutes, the two officers parted, and O'Neil had a little extra spring to her step as she headed back to her company.

Time to put this show on the road..

[Sophia Harten]

Sophia watched O'Neil head back to her squad, letting a small smile grace her features. She saw the spring in Jordan's step and knew that the orders would give her something to do while they waited to be shipped out... she looked at her chrono... which should be any time now.

Making her way back through the organized throng of soldiers, Sophia found the Captain speaking to another officer and waited patiently to report O'Neil had received her orders.

[Marc Tycho]

The doc had done what the captain had advised, he and a few other Meds had spread around about 2000 motion sickness pills before the big guy at the top had ordered them to board the ships. Okay here goes. Tycho was actually quite petrified about the jump and even what was about to happen when he hit the ground. However saying that he was glad to be underway. The fact you could cut the tension up with a butter knife was so un nerving it was scary.

Looking around at the mass movement of soldiers and the loading of a few armored Buggies Tycho had a moment of excitement in the pit of his stomach. He would be working with these guys in the war. He would make friends, make close partners and be within a family. He would save lives and be able to say he had helped that man or women see home again and that on its own was a encouraging thought.

Tycho patted his medical pack and lined up for one of the ships with his unit, nodding to Nier as a greeting he mouthed a "good luck" and smiled. He liked Nier and wanted to see him safe. After there discussion the night before he'd better be alive on the floor. He'd better.

[Captain Tyle]

I watched Tycho haul off to the quartermaster, just as Lt. Harten approached.

"Sophia, you speak to Sgt. O'Neal?"

She nodded. I drained the dregs from my coffee tin, tucking it into the crevaces of my rucksack.

"Alright. Lets do this."

With as much poise as I could, with 120 pounds in my rucksack, walked toward an assembly point. To my left, the troop transports were being prepped on the tarmac. To the right, the quartermaster coordinated the supply and maintenance units, disgorging massive amounts of equipment. In front, a group of pallates were arranged in a tiered stack, making a makeshift elevated position, above the assembly point on the tarmac, where the 127th were prepping their gear. With effort, I stepped up the podium, followed by Lieutenant Harten.

"KRAYT COMPANY! LISTEN UP! HALF CIRCLE, UP ON ME!"

My voice rose over the busy noises of the spaceport, to the troops in the general vicinity. K company men and women began to move up toward the pallates, assembling in a loose semicircle around me and Harten. The OI's were naturally a bit slower to move than the DI's, and I quickly put them at ease, allowing them to take a seat.

"K Company, this is Lieutenant Sophia Harten. She's assigned to us from 125th, Battalion Intelligence. Listen up, she'll be briefing you on this little show."

I stepped back from the forefront, allowing the Lieutenant some room to move.

"...Lieutenant, all yours."

[Kam Juren]

Kam felt his stomach drop as he heard the commands issued. Instantly, the area around him became a jumbled mass of bodies and armor moving. All those around him scurried to make it to their respective locations as he slowly came to his feet. With a little help leaning together with Will and Sol, he managed to drag the reapeater up as well. He followed Captain Tyle's voice and made his way to the semicircle, finding another resting spot as the captain spoke.

He felt a strange taste in his mouth--it was similar to the one he had felt in his first firefight. It had been in defense, and thus felt easier than dropping into the action. He wasn't thrilled about what was coming next, but he was trained for it. Extensively trained, and that was a major fact that put him at ease. This was his job, and he was prepared to treat it as such.

As he glanced around, he saw his colleagues. Co-workers, one could say. Only, in this job, you had to trust your co-workers with your life. He would--He would do his best. Each one had a life and a story of his or her own. Kam thought to himself that as long as he was able, he wouldn't let any one of those stories go untold.

His attention perked as Captain Tyle spoke, and he patiently awaited the coming briefing.

[Sophia Harten]

Sophia nodded in the Captains direction and took a step forward. She activated a portable holoprojector to reveal a map for all to see.

http://panic.hopto.org/swf/charley/pennant.jpg

Though her average height may have made it difficult for all to see her, her voice was strong and carried out over the entire area for all the troops to hear.

Krayt Company has been ordered to drop onto Fey'Dann, a fringe planet in the system held by the Cizerack Pride. The operation has been dubbed Pennant.

This operation will consist of two full regiments in active duty, with another two in reserve. 127th is in the 2nd regiment, within the 1st battalion. The 1st battalion will consist of 124th batalion HQ company, 136th mechanized support, and 126th, 127th, and 128th infantry companies.

She took a breath from her loud speaking before continuing.

Our assignment is to do a mixed orbital drop onto the outlying region of a town called Ai'karree. The twon itself is full of friendlies, and will no doubt try to aid us in any way they can. Never the less, it is imperative that we set up a perimeter and assess enemy movements.

1st platoon will drop in orbital entry suits.

Her eyes wandered to where the soldiers with their heavy entry suits half stood, half sat, trying to take the weight of the heavy equiptment off their backs as much as possible. Her eyes continued wandering to look at those soldiers with much lighter equiptment.

2nd platoon will drop in support of 1st platton in an F-7 dropship.

Her eyes continued moving over the expanse of troops.

127th will be on the far western flank of the perimeter line, with 128th in the center, and 126th west of them. 136th and 124th will drop behind our perimeter, and set up a base of operations.

She spotted Sergeant O'Neill, but kept on speaking.

As for the enemy, we expect resistance, though intelligence in that area does not reveal how much or how hard of a resistance. Their troops will most likely be made of Cizerack Regulars, or infantry. Their weapons strength is unknown, but it is believed to only be lightly suppirted by heavy weapons. If there is any armor present, expect relic hardware. Juggernaught tanks, AT-PT's and ST's may be their supporting war vehicles, but its unlikely.

Their army is ill equipped to provide for all their numbers, so maybe 1 out of 5 actually has a firearm. The others can be expected to be armed with bladed melee weapons. They fight with attrition tactics, and we are expected to be outnumbered by a large margin.

The outlying region around the town is for the most part flat, with low vegitation and the occassional rolling hill. Hiding our numbers will be easy enough as we'll be within the town, which consists of one to two story buildings and plenty of farms. Spotting the enemy over the near-flat expanse will be relatively easy.

She took another breath, letting all the information sink and file itself away into he troops minds. Even though it sounded like she was finished, she added one more detail.

Remember... this is their territory and they know it well. Be prepared for surprises in the event they have any in store.

Having finished giving the troops all the information they would need, she stepped back and yeilded the floor once more to Captain Tyle.

[Sol Blake]

"I guess this means the show is about to hit the road." We stood along with the theatrics that go hand-in-hand with the bulky equipment on our backs that does little to re-enforce the outward appearance of lean, mean fighting machines. In fact the Orbital Infantry resembled clumsy, overweight, donut-cramming law-enforcers, and gingerly, by comparison at least, second platoon troops arrived at the innermost perimeter of the casual semi-circle of men and women. Regardless of age, height, weight, colour and sex, all contribute to the silent chorus of anticipation, doubt, excitement, fear and all other such ingredients rolled out upon that grim, bland baking tray of a landing platform. On the subject of cooking, I feel like I am slowly simmering away beneath the course, unforgiving layers of my combat scrubs; peace-protestors ruthlessly label them our funeral garments and the Bars refer to it as Battle Dress Uniform. The way I see it, it’s either a dress or a uniform, not both and as much as it would throw into question which changing room I should use, I have to imagine a skirt would prove relievingly breezy compared to this testicle-boiling wrapping.

“Hey buddy, you mind if I take a sip of that?” Giving his plastic cup of water a curt nod I identified the source of my interest, not to say that the person wasn’t interesting but it would be his best interests to allow me a drop of agua to throw back one of the medic’s motion-sickness pills. He obliged. I thanked and swallowed, keeping fixed in my head the sight of my breakfast from this morning in the hope that it would be the only way I would see it today. But now that the lambs were rounded up, we stood and listened intently and whilst Lieutenant Harten delivered her briefing my gutter-wading imagination couldn’t help but ponder on providing her with a delivery of my own. She was a fine woman. She was also my superior and that I didn’t forget amidst my wandering thoughts and it also struck me that I should be paying the officer femme-fatale more attention if I wish to disprove the words of the peace-protestors.

The briefing went on and as it did so my face screwed up into a visage of contorted worry, that was until I realised that if I had a mirror then I’d hit myself with it for looking so ridiculous. Nevertheless, as the details of our operation-to-be were systematically revealed with all the sharp, dissecting brutality of Harten’s steeled voice, the images of war holomovies both obscure and famous flooded my mind reiterating the over-used message that regardless of skill and preparation, there is always something that goes wrong throwing a monkey wrench into the works of us fighting machines. A massacre results but that is the last time I want to think of that word, the closest I will get is “mascara”, a relative of which is being passed around as the lieutenant speaks and one-by-one we don our war paint wondering how much of a difference it will really make on the rolling hills and grassy plains of Fey’Dann.

As Harten brought her briefing, bursting with battalion intelligence, to an end and informing us of what we are to “expect”, what, precisely, is “unknown”, what is likely to be “unlikely” and that which is “believed” to be true, I couldn’t help but think that “maybe” we didn’t know what or who or how many we would be up against at all. This is not a good start and not a good frame of mind in which a heartless, fearless lion of a killer, like me, should get himself into. Thus Private Blake flicked his doubts aside like miserable, used-up cigarette ash and fixed his crotch, because frankly, it had to be done, he went about his – or the New Republic’s – way and filed alongside his brother’s and sister’s in arms. The sun, now wide awake glares down upon the galaxies latest and greatest new recruits, blasting our shadows in it’s stirring brilliance; is this the waking of a day to be remembered or the day before a wake of remembrance? I am a man who believes in making his own destiny, I don’t intend to die today or tomorrow or the next day and I very much intend to see many more such sunrises, even in the distant future. But I’m not stupid enough to not relish them while they last.

“I don’t know about you, Kam, but as long as I’m next to the lieutenant in the middle of a fire fight, it will be all good. Can’t promise I won’t be a little distracted. Did you see the peaks on sweet cheeks? Phwoar!” It’s one of those things you have to share. You know. Well, I mean she is hot. I spoke with Kam a little more as we fell into ranks once the Captain had added to the Lieutenants briefing with his own personal touch, whether he knew he had a personal touch or not, we talked strategy in a manner which would turn the stomach of battle-hardened war connoisseurs like Tyle. “If Felix ever rears his ugly head in Ai’karee, I can race down the dren alleys blowing holes in their furry faces while you find a nice spot on one of those buildings and tear the kitty-cats to smelly, little pieces with this mother!” I patted the repeating blaster mounted on his hulking shoulders like he were a human tripod. We laughed and found our places respectively, I found myself next to a petite woman, Private Jeri, we smiled at each other being friends and before the Bars arrived I fought the temptation to pinch a nipple. So I went for the backside instead.

[Sam Riley]

"Soldier..."


Jordan had seen Sol's action and was not impressed.

"I expect you are going to pinch Kams rear as well. That would only be right as one soldier deserves the same respect as another, wouldnt you agree?"

Of course he agreed. O'Neil outranked him.

Private Jeri was looking worried, she didnt want to get him in trouble. She hadnt minded the pinch at all - in fact, it did much to remind her of her female attributes which boosted her ego. These camoflage fatigues made her feel like a non-sex being - shapeless and ugly, and she appreciated Sol's cheeky gesture.

Which was exactly the problem.

They were going into war - where there was no male, no female. Only a body with a gun or a grenade waiting to get you before you got them. Their minds had better be focused on such a fact, instead of flirty games like they make in their civilian lives.

"You got hands free do you?" O'Neil didnt wait for a reply.

"Pick up that secondary transmitter pack and follow me."

[Captain Tyle]

I let the troops small-talk for a few minutes. No doubt they felt anxious over the mission we were about to undertake. That was normal. You weren't alive if you didn't. I'd been in the situation more than anyone should be asked to...and now, I was in it again, only this time as a company commander. I'd worked my way up the hard way, and had been in enough hard fights to earn my bars. I am no warmonger, but I know there are times for peace, and times for conflict, if only to bring the peace once more. No man was expected to like it. They were expected to endure it, and to persevere. That is all you can ask a soldier.

"Alright men, listen up."

I stepped forward on the makeshift stage, looking to the soldiers assembled around me.

"We're being outfitted to full combat strength. A third platoon from elements of first regement has been assigned to us. They'll be under Lieutenant Sprager. I expect you to treat them with the same respect as any other soldier of this company. We're all going to hell on the same boat, so there are no favorites here."

I paused, thinking about what to say next.

"It is not an easy thing, going to war. To those that have followed me before, I ask you to follow me again with the same exemplary bravery and dedication you've shown on the Balmorran frontier. To those who will be seeing battle for the first time, I can only ask of the best from you. You've trained harder than any other men in the New Republic Army. You are more talented, better prepared, and tougher than any other soldier in this regiment. Stick with your training. Keep yourselves wired tight at all times. Stick together. We win together, and we lose together...and by making it this far, you have the stuff of winners.

I cannot guarantee your safety, as you well know. Peace is won through bloodshed. There are no bloodless victories. We ride into battle, knowing that it may indeed be our last ride into the valley of the shadow of death. No one knows what lies ahead of them, but we must all be ready for what faces us.

Soldiers, what faces us is a fight against a determined, desperate enemy. We will fight them on their home soil, and they will give us no quarter. An animal is most dangerous when it is backed up against a wall. We must fight them with no less determination, because we believe in the fight. Freedom is a worthy cause, and by wearing the uniform of this regiment, you have made it your life's mission."

The background noise began to pick up from the transports warming up on the tarmac, and I raised my voice to speak over it.

"Remember, when our boots hit the ground, all we have is each other. Thus, we are more than soldiers. We are a family, a cadre of kinsmen...brothers and sisters. I hold a unique respect for whomever makes the sacrifice to wear the uniform you all now wear. You are my family. Though I cannot promise that we will all see the end of the fight, I promise you this. By my word, I will bring you all home. No one gets left behind. For better or worse, the family will stay together. May the Force be with us, forever and ever...Uzzah!"

I finished speaking, and looked down to my boots. After a few seconds...I stared wistfully at the sky, until my eyes drifted back down to my company.

"Saddle up!"

[William Neir]

"SECOND PLATOON, UP ON LINE! FORM UP!"

Lieutenant Churman rallied us up on the spot, as the other platoons broke rank and file and raced for their positions. The guys in first platoon waddled toward their transport, which was a good deal larger than the F-7's we were gonna be crammed in. Private Baliz passed the grease-stick back in the line.

"Neir, don't make yourself too pretty. Felix might take a liking to ya."

He grinned through a jungle of smears, looking less like a man and more like an extension of some cruel jungle. As we awaited our turn to load up in the F-7's, I smeared the grease-stick over my face in random patterns, branching it out by smearing my fingertips over the raw patches of color. As an afterthought, I took off my cover, and held the helmet in front of me. Taking the grease stick, I scrawled across the camoflaged canvas on the helmet.

"There comes a time to be fearless."

Looking at my handiwork for a moment, I half-smiled, and put the helmet back on, passing the grease-stick to the back of the line.

"Ammo check, ammo check. Keep your gear wired tight, and make sure you carry 12 clips to a man. We aren't getting resupplied for at least a day, so remember that. C'mon, hustle up!"

Sergeant Lynis rallied our squad, and I looked to Kam and Sol, as we all ran to our awaiting dropship. The nose on the craft opened up, revealing a large compartment on the inside, with rows of seats on either side.

C'mon second squad, haul it! Buttholes and elbows, in the tin, on the double! The birds ain't gonna wait on you."

The sound all around was of boots striking pavement in unison. A hurried, frenzied activity, all done unconciously to cadence. It motivated you, if only by fear. Nobody wanted to be the cog out of sync with the machine, and you pressed headlong into battle this way. My heart was beating high in my chest, ready to throb in my adams apple. We all ran up the corrugated metal ramp, tromping onto the F-7 with hurried intent, and slammed our backsides into the seats, with our packs and rifles to either side. A pneumatic harness came down from above with a hiss of air, and secured snugly around our shoulders, keeping us from being thrown around the tin can when things got dicey. I could only look around like a deer in the headlights as everyone else filed in. Kam sat to my right, and Sol across from me. We were all sealed in our seats, and the only way out of them...was Fey'Dann. I fished out a smoke, but was having a hard time with my lighter.

"Anybody...got a light?"

A smoke right now would be the best act of mercy I could find. Everyone in that transport was looking for such a blessing in their own way.

"Juren! Up & out! You're on the bubble, move your butt!"

Sergeant Lynis jerked a thumb upward, at the ladder coming down from the ceiling, that led to the dorsal quad cannon.

"Hustle up! We're blastin off in two minutes! Gotta clear the tarmac for first regiment."

[Kam Juren]

Kam smiled as Sol passed on his own personal 'intel.' But, the smile faded as Blake was confronted. He remained serious and kept his mind on his gear until he heard the command. He came up close and listened to Tyle speak. He had a way of motivating the men, and Kam was no exception. He felt the twinge of emotion in him and the sense of commradery overtake him as he finally stood.

It was time to move.

"Juren! Up & out! You're on the bubble, move your butt!"

"I'm in, I'm in," he said as he made his way up the ladder. He took his place in the bird and rested himself. Sooner or later, things were gonna get real ugly, and he was glad to see the others around him were well prepared for what was next.

He hoped that he was. Force, he hoped he was.

He scanned the room, finding the faces of those around him then turning his attention down to his gear. His stomach plummeted as he waited, and the tension in the air was working its way right down after it. He let out a strong sigh as he felt the engines of the bird gear up.

"Here we go, huh," he said to no one in particular.

[Sol Blake]

And like that sneaky, haunting detective hiding around the corner – you know the type; raincoat, hat and bushy moustache – who swoops in for the arrest just at the right minute, Sergeant Riley made her presence, and what a presence it was, well known. My body stiffened and I straightened up rigid like my brain had automatically flicked the “How to react when you’ve been caught red-handed” switch as the bald-headed officer stepped around in front of me. Her demeanour was one as cold as ice and her voice cut through the tension like a brand new vibro-blade and as it did I mentally scolded myself for being so stupid as to allow a woman’s backside become a distraction.

“Huzzah ma’am!”

Falling out of line from the rest of my brothers and sisters in arms I seized the relatively lightweight transmitter pack and slung it over my shoulder making use of its tough canvas straps right away. The sergeant had a brisk and systematic element to her stride as she cut a thin bee-line for the F-7 drop ships, lined up ominously larger than one would expect. They were tough little birdies but it only took a moment to sink in that these ships were carried by larger ships which could also be transported by even larger ships. You can’t help but feel small; we were a family of ants all working together, strong and supple and here is me, falling out of line for deviating from the God-like precise pattern we follow day in, day out.

“Strap this onto your drenny carcass, private.” Ordered Sergeant Riley with all the formality and distance her position allowed, without a word or hint of hesitation I followed the officer’s commands and then was told to follow her inside. We took our places, hers next to mine and the moment my rear touched down it all seemed too similar to preparing yourself for a theme park ride. It was uncomfortably dark in the belly of the drop ship, outside the rest of the troops had faces screwed up from the golden sunlight illuminating the entire landing platform. The entire ship was trembling; its engines hummed in anticipation all around and made me feel somewhat nauseous. My stomach was turning and my guts trembled deep inside in unison with the ship’s engines, a shot of excitement, like electricity, sent the scrawny hairs on my neck standing endwise and I shivered, the rush becoming somewhat overwhelming.

“You know when you just want to shout…brr!” I just had to say it, just to let Sergeant Riley next to me know that I wasn’t about to go into a fit or something. She’d probably seen this kind of thing before, I daresay she feels something like it too. There was a shared energy of excitement, dread and anticipation amongst us all as we were packed in tight to the bowels of the F-7.

“Okay Lucy, be gentle.” With dread I looked up to the harnesses above, like a snake it hissed and slowly it’s jaws clamped against my shoulders. A sigh escaped my lungs and I laughed. “That wasn’t so bad. Must be losing weight.”

[Sophia Harten]

Sophia fell back off the makeshift platform and followed the Captain at a brisk pace, coming up beside him. She mused outloud, her voice loud enough for only the Captain to hear as they walked past filing troops, looking forward as the walked briskly to their transport.

You never get used to it.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the Captain give her a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. She explained while continuing to face forward, still walking.

The eager faces hiding the frightened man or woman within. You never get used to sending those faces off to war, knowing full well that not all will come back the way they left.

She shook her head.

I've been through several of these, always giving the intel briefing before hand... seeing their faces... watching as they soaked in the information.

But through all the missions I've been on, all the experience I may carry under my belt, I still don't get used to hearing those words that send them off to war.

It wasn't often that she opened up like this. In fact, she kept herself bottled up pretty damn tight, never showing any ounce of emotion or worry. The only time she opened up was just before taking off for a mission... and the window for that time was brief.

As it was, as soon as she had finished speaking, her face took on the serious, all-business expression it always wore, as though she'd never said anything.

[Marc Tycho]

Tycho was one of the last that boarded the drop ship as a rush of soldiers jolted by ether to nervous to not stop or to excited to stop ether way it was a heart wrenching moment to see the soldiers trying to make light of the situation by frankly were scared to death. Tapping his field knife to see if it hung at his side still because over the suit it was impossible to bend down and see, the Doc waddled his way towards the F-7 which Tyle had boarded and jogged steadily up the ramp towards the seats in the bowls of the craft.

Tyle was shouting some orders and then some motivational words but to be honest the sound floated through one ear and out the other to Tycho. It had all swirled into a waking dream surely...the sounds were muffled, feeling had subsided and turned his legs to jelly and his vision was blurred. Turning to see the others around him his stomerch wreched and he vomited lightly on the floor of the F-7 for a few moments after the liquid escaped he heaved several times but nothing appeared, trying to suck in air and calm himself he went down onto all fours and waited for a few moments.

He suddenly rearlised he was scared to death aswell.

[Sam Riley]

Riley twisted her neck to look over at the soldier smiling good-spiritedly beside her. Looks like Tyle's ra-ra speech had been taken to heart.

He was attempting to make good humor of the ordeal of the drop-ships. And ordeal they were. They were noisy and shuddered and vibrated until your insides were liquid. And that was the good part.

Come drop time, they descended with such speed that if you already weren't breaking into a nauseas sweat, you soon would be. Samantha Riley was used to it. For her, the flight was a picnic. It was the first leap from the safe confines of the craft that was the worst for her.

Leaping into known hostile quadrants, weapons at the ready, made your knees weak, and if you hesitated even just a moment, it could cost a life - your life, someone elses, one or maybe both. And if you faltered just a step your courage could fail you and your feet would feel like lead. The will to jump gone. It had happened to her once - on her first drop - and she had been shoved out of the craft by her commanding officer. She wont ever forget the terror of being "cut loose" from safety so abruptly that way. That was what she remembered as she sat with a deliberate effort to smile confidently at Sol. As a sargeant the others would look to her for direction, instruction, clarity. Many would take their que from her demeanor and they needed to see she was steadfast.

“That wasn’t so bad. Must be losing weight.” Sol said.

Riley leaned forward, and yelled over the clatter and flight noise of the F-7.

"What's your name, soldier?"

"Blake, Ma'am. Sol Blake."

Riley nodded that she heard him.

"Blake - snug that transmitter strap tight around your waist" she pointed to the clasp, "It will slow you down if its not secure."
She grinned sardonically. "Makes it harder to out run laser fire that way"

[Captain Tyle]

Originally posted by Sophia Harten
I've been through several of these, always giving the intel briefing before hand... seeing their faces... watching as they soaked in the information.

But through all the missions I've been on, all the experience I may carry under my belt, I still don't get used to hearing those words that send them off to war.

"I do a lot of reading."

I spoke several moments later, as Sergeant Riley and others began to file onto the dropship. Already, it was getting cramped. The OI's were loaded the gills with jump harnesses and rucksacks, and soon, there would be as little space as could be managed, so that every fighting man was aboard.

I looked to Harten, as we wedged ourselves into passenger seats, looking uncomfortable.

"Whenever I can. I've read stories, anecdotes, and historical accounts. I've read old Jedi proverbs, and anything I could find, to find an inner meaning or a secret in all of this."

The dropship's engines began to whine, and the reverberations were vibrating the metal floor paneling and the hull around us, as the ship siphoned its power into warming up its thrusters.

"Its naive, I guess. To think there's some underlying answer behind it all. It is what it is, and all we are is what we bring with us. In all my years of service, I've never found anything resembling an answer. All I have are questions."

I looked away from Harten, and out the starboard hatch as the gangplank began to draw up.

"We're here to do what we're here to do, so I guess we'd better just get on with it, right Lieutenant?"

I didn't consider my words to be lacking in morale. I was as confident in myself and those under my command as any officer could ever be. But I was not blinded by jingoistic patriotism. I was not drumming a song by repetition. I knew the price that I was willing to pay, and I knew that what I would purchase with my sacrifice was greater still. But, there are words that have yet to be invented to describe the crucible of logic and reason that is war. Everything that is solid and true in a man's life is burned away to vapor and ash in that fire. Death is only the most obvious sacrifice. Most wouldn't even understand the real price...what their freedom really cost to those who fought for it.

Perhaps that made me sad, but then I was beyond the razor's edge, or so I thought. Or was I simply too arrogant now, and the thought had trickled into my mind that I could analyze a thing, and that thing no longer could affect me. Could no longer hurt me.

I realized that I'd long since stopped talking to Harten, and I just shrugged my shoulders, which was a pitiful gesture underneath my jump harness. Maybe she understood something in my rambling. Maybe I told her something she didn't know, or what I didn't say simply underlined that which was best left unsaid anyway.

"Just stick to your training, and we'll all come out of this together, Uzza."

The gangplank had finished drawing flush against the hull, and with a "whoosh", it sealed the chamber airtight. Looking back to the rest of first platoon, there was little chatter. Most were tucked in for the trip, and had little else on their mind. The vibrations changed in the floor plating, and we were off. There were no windows in the crew compartment, so one had to find situational awareness with their feet. All my men had long-since learned to do it. OI's have to know.

As the dropships and F-7's lifted off, to link up with their carriers, each man prepared himself in his or her own way. Those who had been there before may have tried to put it out of their minds. Those who hadn't...it was likely the only thing on their minds, and would deprive them of any sleep on the flight.

We were all on the same journey, but each of us walked it just a little bit differently. Where that road led, even the most experienced of us could only guess.