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TC-873 groaned as he stretched out in the back of the transport. Trees and stone crumbled beneath the vehicle's weight, the trooper driving obviously not caring about putting in the effort to dodge them. The rest of his squad sat around him, fidgeting with their blasters and armor.
“So, what is it this time?” He sighed. “Natives getting uppity again?”
The sergeant glanced up at him from across the transport’s holding bay. “Rebels, son. In the bunker.”
“Rebels?” Another trooper piped up. “Shouldn't the bunker's defenses have handled them?”
“You really expect the bunker boys to do anything right?” Sarge scoffed, a sneer obvious even beneath his helmet. “High expectations there, Raptor.”
Raptor shrugged, rotating her helmet in her hands. “Not my fault they fail to meet them.” She nodded to TC-873, a smirk on her face. “What about you, kid? Ready for your first taste of combat?”
“You’re like a month older than me.” He protested. “And yes, I am. Terrorists won't even know what hit ‘em.”
“Easy now, Rookie.” Sarge chuckled. “There probably won't even be any shooting. The entirety of Tempest Force is moving in on them. If they're smart, there won’t be a fight.”
“And if they don't surrender…” Raptor grinned, pounding her fists together. “I'll make them regret it.”
“Sure, Raptor.” Sarge chuckled again, though this time seemed more mean-spirited. “They’ll be so terrified watching you book it for the nearest tree.”
The rest of the squad burst into laughter, with the exceptions of Raptor, who looked like she had just been sucker-punched, and TC-873, who was really thankful that his helmet was masking his confusion.
Another trooper pointed at him. “Yeah, Rookie! No matter how bad you do, it won't be as bad as Raptor's first taste of ‘combat’.”
“What happened?”
The trooper splayed his hands out in front of him. “So there we were, raiding a village on some backwater planet called Valia. Some old kriff had been hiding Rebels there, and we were sent to drag him out. The entire ride there, Raptor here is bragging about how hot shit she is, how she's gonna stomp any terrorist who gets in her way. We leave her on sentry duty outside while we go in to grab the target. Rough him up a bit, make some threats…” he smirked. “And that's when Raptor gets on the comms and begins screaming for help. She's sobbing, whimpering, praying, the works. So we all sprint out there and find her stuck up a tree.” He broke down into laughter, clutching his knees. “There’s…there's this little lizard thing called the Valiaran Raptor.” He brought his hand about a foot above the ground. “Yay high, very skittish.” He pointed at Raptor again, shaking with laughter. The younger soldier was now looking away, pointedly focusing on the wall next to her. “The suspect got away while we went out to check on her. Sarge was so pissed, he had her run around the village twenty times straight.”
“It…it was dark.” Raptor muttered. “I could only see their eyes and there was like seventy of them. You'd do the same.”
“Troopers like you give the Corps a bad name.” Sarge snarled. Raptor turned her eyes down to the floor. The transport rumbled to a stop. “Now put your helmet on. We've got work to do.”
TC-873 shuffled as he watched the Rebel leaders surrender, each of them slowly stepping out of the bunker.
The main insurgent force had given up immediately when the soldiers of Tempest Force had emerged from the treeline, and their commanders had done the same shortly after.
“That’s Leia Organa.” Raptor breathed out beside him. “We got her.”
“Shut it, Raptor.” Sarge snapped.
“Sorry, sir.”
“See, Rookie? We barely had to do anything.”
TC-873 turned to look at him when a sudden movement in the woods caught his attention. Standing at the top of a hill, between a set of trees, was a small furry figure. A spear was clutched in its paws, and its face was obscured by a raggedy hood. “Hey, Sarge?” He pointed towards the figure.
“An Ewok, son. Natives. They've been trouble in the past, but they won't attack when we outnumber them.”
“Aw. He's kinda cute.” Raptor cooed before tilting her head. “Why are we worried about them again?”
“That little bastard would tear you to shreds if he got the chance. His teeth can rip flesh off of an animal five times his size, he's nimble enough to ambush you without making a noise, and you better believe he's strong enough to jam that dinky little spear down through your collar.”
“But he won't attack, right?”
“Course not. Unless the Rebels somehow struck a deal with them.”
The stormtroopers snickered lightly at the thought.
Suddenly, a deafening series of horns blasted through the clearing.
“What the hell?!” An arrow whipped out from a nearby bush, lodging itself into TC-873's breastplate. All around him, other troopers fell, arrows sticking out of their throats and joints.
“Ewoks!” Sarge screamed, firing wildly at the foliage. Sure enough, a horde of the natives leapt from the bushes, dragging down and butchering any Imperials they could get their hands on. “Rookie, give me support–”
*pew*
Sarge slumped down to his knees before falling forward into the mud. The freed Rebels began blasting away, picking off any troopers trying to line up a shot on the alien attackers.
TC-873 broke into a dead sprint towards a nearby hill, firing in a blind panic at anything that got too close. In the chaos, he had lost sight of his unit. The only sign of their location was a voice he recognized occasionally screaming out in pain before being abruptly silenced.
He ducked behind a tree, pressing up against the bark. Another trooper ran past before collapsing, letting out a gargled scream as a blaster bolt pierced through his spine. TC-873 peaked out from behind his cover, his hands tightening around his blaster. The Rebels and Ewoks had indeed teamed up (because of course they had), and actually seemed to be winning.
Then, he saw her. The Rebel General Organa was falling back to the bunker, her allies providing covering fire. Carefully, he lined up a shot and–
A rock slammed into his head, knocking him backwards and down the slope.
TC-873, real name Arlo Jito, groaned weakly as he came to on the forest floor. He seemed to be lying in a ditch of some kind. The battle’s noise still carried through the air, a cacophony of screaming and blasterfire. Weakly, he sat up.
“AGGGGGH!” He winced, then looked down at the source of his pain. His leg was twisted unnaturally, probably hit against a rock during the fall.
He tore off his helmet, setting it to the ground next to him. The unfiltered air was like a slap to the face, snapping him out of his stupor. The battle was still going on, and last he checked, things weren’t going in the Empire’s favor. Here he was, lying disabled at the bottom of a ditch. If the Rebels won, he could surely expect to be executed.
He barely had time to process this before a soft crunching drew his attention. Another soldier was rolling down the hill towards him, bouncing off branches and rocks as they did. Eventually, they rolled to a stop in front of him, moaning. A blaster mark had seared through the left shoulder of their pure white armor, and the eyeholes of their helmet had been shattered, revealing two wide chestnut colored eyes. “...Rookie…?” They mumbled, turning their head towards him.
“Raptor.” He gently grabbed her by the back of her uniform, trying to ignore the burning pain in his leg as he did. He pulled her closer, then took off her helmet.
Her short auburn hair clung to her forehead, and blood was dribbling down her lips and onto the front of her armor.
She was silent for a second, then let out a choking laugh. “Sarge was right. They aren’t cute. Very not cute. Saw one rip off a guy’s arm. Shit’s crazy, man.” She laughed for a couple more seconds before looking around at their surroundings. “Huh. Are we in…a hole, or something?”
“You’re delirious, Raptor. Just stay calm, don’t aggravate the wound.”
“Whatever you say, champ!” She chuckled again before coughing, blood speckling out of her mouth.
Carefully, he laid her down on the floor, then unhooked her shoulder guard. The blaster wound was pretty deep, but she would live.
“Whatchu doing, man?”
“Checking out the wound. You don’t want to die in a ditch, do you?”
“No. Suppose I don’t.”
Taking a deep breath, Arlo looked up to the sky. There, floating above them, was the Second Death Star. A wonderful machine, he had been told. Capable of restoring peace to a sector within hours of its arrival. Virtually indestructible.
But then again, that’s what they said about the first one, and that hadn’t gone so well.
Still, as long as it remained, so too did the Empire. As long as it was on their side, they couldn’t lose.
“Mela.”
He looked back down at his squadmate, who was staring up at him. “What?”
“You called me Raptor. My name’s Mela. Mela Sen.” She drawled.
“Oh. Well, I'm Arlo Jito.”
“Huh. You ever been to Gatalenta?”
“No, can’t say I have.”
“Shame. It’s a nice place. Very peaceful. Lots of tea. Warm in the summers, cool in the winters.” She went silent for a second. “I shouldn’t have left.”
He opened his mouth, then thought through their situation. “No. You really shouldn’t have.”
“I think…” she coughed again “...when this is over, I’m gonna go home. Settle down. Never hold a blaster again. That’d be nice.”
“That does sound nice.” He conceded.
“You should visit sometime. I could show you around, give you a tour.”
“I’d like that very much.”
As minutes turned into hours, the troopers stayed mostly quietly, save for the occasional mumbling by Mela. Several times, she had stopped responding to a statement or had slurred off mid-sentence, leading him to assume the worst. It took a few minutes of shaking to get her back to consciousness each time, and each time she seemed more and more incoherent.
The shooting had stopped a long time back, but he was much too afraid to call out for help from his fellow soldiers. If the Empire had lost, all he would be doing would be calling a pack of Ewoks down on him and Mela. But the day was quickly darkening. Soon, he would be forced to make the call; cry out for help and hope that the Empire persevered, or take his chances in the dark with Ewoks on the prowl.
“Hey. The Death Star’s gone.” Mela muttered, snapping him out of his train of thought. “Weird.”
He looked up. Indeed it was.
And that confirmed it. The Empire had lost.
The sound of leaves crunching down the hill they had tumbled down drew in from the distance, and his heart sank. A trio of men wearing camouflage stepped down into the ditch, all of them armed. Arlo briefly considered drawing his blaster, but the idea died quickly. He was outnumbered, outgunned and completely incapable of all of the most basic of movements. As he had explained to Mela before, dying in a ditch was less than optimal.
A grim faced old man, seemingly the leader of this group, smirked at the sight of them. “Well, well. A couple of Imps hiding at the bottom of a ditch. Suits them.”
His two friends chuckled, hands resting on their blasters. They stepped closer, grinning.
He expected to feel fear, or even just apprehension. Instead, he only felt determination. Even if he couldn't get out of this, Mela could.
“Listen.” He began. “If you're going to kill me, do it.” He looked down at Mela, who was now staring blankly up at the sky. Hours in a ditch with an untreated blaster wound had not done her any favors, and she had slowly become more and more delirious as time passed. “But she hasn't done anything. Just don't hurt her. Please.”
The men stared silently at him. Then the leader shot a gesture towards one of his comrades. “Angel? You know what to do.”
The second Rebel stepped forward, his hands wrapped around a slugthrower. His face was obscured by the baggy hood he wore over his body, leaving only his scarred jaw visible. He lurched forward, then crouched down next to the two troopers. Carefully, he removed the rest of Mela's armor, leaving her in her body glove.
He rummaged through his coat’s pockets and procured a medkit. Slowly and methodically, he began to tend to her.
She squinted at him, mouth gaping. “What kind of stormtroopers are you guys? I don’t recognize your uniforms.”
“We’re not stormtroopers, kid. Rebels.” Angel procured a clear syringe, rolled up one of her sleeves and carefully injected it into her arm.
“Oh.” She nodded, nonplussed. “You guys see those Ewoks out there?”
“Yep.” Angel grinned. “Impressive little buggers, ain’t they?”
“Crazy stuff.” She giggled once more. Then, her eyes fluttered shut before her head lolled to the ground. She began softly snoring.
Angel tilted his head towards Arlo. “Do you need some painkillers too?”
“No, I’m…” He grit his teeth as the pain in his leg kicked up again. “I’m fine.”
The Rebel nodded, then, with the help of one of his compatriots, lifted Mela off the forest floor and began walking back up the slope.
The older man propped Arlo up, looping one arm around his shoulder. Together, the two of them began making their way back up the hill.
“So.” The old man snickered. “The Empire’s best and brightest, huh? Laid low by a bunch of poorly armed fools like me and some three foot teddies.”
“Gave you a good fight though, didn’t we?” They finally emerged back at the top of the hill, and his jaw dropped. Dozens of stormtroopers lay dead on the floor, the crumpled remains of several AT-STs slumped among them.
Many of the Ewoks lay there too, but nowhere nearly as many as the Imperials had lost. He saw only a single Rebel.
It hadn’t even been an even fight. It had been a massacre.
He laughed. He laughed because he probably knew at least half of the bodies surrounding him. He laughed because there was no other way to process the absurd, frankly ridiculous, situation in front of him. The old man stared at him in confusion. Up ahead, Mela mumbled something else.
“Sarge.” He forced out, tears welling in his eyes. “You were wrong. This was so much worse than Mela’s first time.”
The old man gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon, son. Let’s get you out of here.” They stumbled forward and away from the grisly scene, leaving the Battle of Endor behind them.