Battlefront Bespin Sabotage

Daven shook roughly as the salvaged Imperial assault shuttle was rocked side to side by the winds of the Bespin atmosphere. As he swayed side to side, the young human clutched the EE-3 rifle to his chest. He never really noticed how heavy the burst energy rifle was until this moment as he bounced with the winds. It took a moment before he realized the turbulence had passed, though his shaking didn’t stop. Now he just suspected that the weight of his weapon was merely multiplied by his anxieties.
A Duros that sat across from him noticed his nerve-rattled shivers and spoke up.
“You gonna do alright kid?” he asked in his native tongue.
Biting his inner cheek, Daven nodded. Another human male, sitting next to the Duros snorted contemptuously. Glancing at the other man, Daven could clearly see he was a man of experience. His skin was pocket marked from old blasts and burns, countless visible scars crisscrossed his skin. This was obviously a man who knew combat more than Daven probably ever would. In his hands was a battered looking DLT-19, which the man was idly wiping down.
“Whatcha got to be nervous about? We’ve had those Imp bastards on the run for months. Ever since WE did all the heavy lifting and blew the second Death Star to oblivion, they’ve been just living off the skin of their teeth. Not to mention we were doing just fine until all you greens joined up after we did all the hard work!”
Sheepishly the young man felt his cheeks flush with heat.
It was true, he hadn’t joined the Rebellion until after the victory on Endor. Honestly, he had felt hopeless, that the tyranny would never end. Though when heard of the death of Emperor Palpatine, he felt a spark flare up in his soul and he enlisted the newly transforming Rebellion the next day.
“Shut up Sanclar, you weren’t even at the Battle of Endor,” the Duros said, nudging the man roughly in the arm.
“There or not, at least I’ve been fighting from the beginning, not waiting until the threat was over!”
“Enough!” a new voice called.
From the cockpit, the commanding officer, Mareline had stepped out. She was a dark skinned, worn down looking human. The weight of the galaxy appeared to be on her shoulders.
Mareline looked sternly about the cramped shuttle, looking at each of the twenty soldiers huddled together. Her gaze lingered coldly a fraction longer for emphasis on Sanclar, who matched the intensity right back.
“Alright boys and girls, you know the drill,” their CO began, “The Empire is dug deep into Cloud City, and the troops down on the ground have done their part and have them almost wiped out. The only problem is that our boys are stuck down there. Behind enemy lines are three Tibanna generators powering their tractor beams. We will split into three squads and take the fight directly to the Imps, understand?”
“Yes sir!” they called out in unison. Daven was grateful, though embarrassed by the shakiness of his voice that was overpowered by the resolve of his comrades.
“ETA is in three minutes!” Mareline continued, “You know your squads, you know your objective. Give them hell!”
Cheers filled the shuttle bay, the hoarse cries of men and women of a half dozen different species. Daven didn't join in.
The next three minutes felt like the longest of Daven’s life. This was his first combat mission, and his stomach was making him well aware of that. It seemed as if they were touching down almost immediately after the CO’s speech. As the ship jostled into the landing, the bay doors opened to reveal a beautiful city surrounded by the orange skies. Daven had little time to appreciate the split second of splendor before he and his comrades were jumping to their feet.
“Move out!”
As one they rushed out onto the field of battle. His feet hitting the gleaming slabs below the boy tried not to think of the countless miles below the floating city.
With a clear look at Cloud City, the young man could see that it was not as gorgeous as it was at first glance. Windows in all the tall towers had been shattered, smoke even spilling out of a few. Burning wreckage of TIEs and X Wings alike dotted the walk ways and court yards, and blast burns from blasters scorched the creme colored panels that lined the once beautiful city.
Without hesitation the soldiers split into their respective squads and fanned out in hunt for their targets. Following his squad, Daven looked over the other six members of his newly appointed squad. To his dismay, Sanclar was with him. Although the Duros that stood up for him had been assigned to the group as well. Two humans, both females, sporting A280C’s each lead the squad. Behind them were a rough looking Weequay male and a green skinned Twi’lek female, wielding a RT-97C and scavenged E-11 respectively.
Taking up the rear, Daven soaked in the sight of his team as he sprinted along with them. He realized he didn’t know most of their names, only having seen them briefly on a datapad informing him of his assignment the night before. A strange emotion clutched at his chest, one he couldn’t place a name on. All he knew was that he wished that he had taken the time to learn who was who.
In the distance, blaster shots and faint explosions could be heard. Shouts and cries echoed through the eerily empty city, host only to soldiers and the dead. Daven feared for his comrades in the other squads, yet feared for himself and his own squad even more. Dread filled his chest as they drew up the stairs of a domed building, which they had arrived at before he had really realized it.
Time, as it would have it, was insisting on rushing Daven toward certain death. He wished more than anything he wouldn’t let them down.
“Heads up!” one of the women leading their squad called out.
The moment they reached the top of the stairs, the heavy door before them slid open. Two stormtroopers stood at the ready within the threshold, blasters raised and ready. Red plasma erupted from their barrels, forcing the team back down halfway the stairs. A brief pause in the blaster fire left the Weequay grinning wickedly as he pulled something from his belt.
Daven’s eyes widened at the thermal imploder clutched in the alien’s hand.
Chucking it in a wide arc, the devastating explosive flew through the air, dooming the pair of white clad troopers.
Above them he could hear the air siphon to a point and the rocking detonation. He had no doubts the two victims cried out, though their last moments were blocked out by the blast. Overhead, an armored corpse soared by, landing in a heap behind them.
“Push forward!”
Seizing their chance the squad rushed onward. Daven stumbled slightly, almost tripping over the second body that had been torn to pieces in the blast. Passing into the light blue room they split, taking cover behind white benches and administration desks. Falling into place next to the Duros he looked in shock as the space he had just occupied was littered with blaster fire.
“We got about fourteen Imps!” came a female voice.
The young human felt his heart sink. The odds were two to one.
“Ha! They don’t stand a chance!” he heard Sanclar yell.
With that the man popped up and sprayed his laser fire before him. Across the room he heard Imperials cry out. Quickly his fellows followed suit and opened fire from their vantage point, some even advancing. Swallowing a gulp and steeling his resolve, Daven threw himself up and brought his EE-3 to bear.
It didn’t take him long to line up a shot. Pulling the trigger a burst round of three bolts shot out. His shot hit home, a bolt slamming into a chest plate as the next blew the helmet of the stormtroopers head, followed by the final round which erased the skin from the man’s face. It was just like shooting targets down in the forest back home.
Pulling the trigger again he grazed another enemy trooper, though didn’t land a kill. The trooper instead fell into cover behind the generator. As he was about to take another shot, the area around the stormtroopers flashed, and a bubble of plasma enveloped them.
“They got shields!” he called out, though he realized it was an unnecessary declaration.
“Well spotted!” Sanclar sneered, spraying the protective shield with volleys from his DLT-19.
The field rippled and pulsed as the Rebels assaulted the shield. Even through the laser fire, Daven could see that the trooper were bracing for round two. Caught up in his observations behind the force field, he barely noticed a stormtrooper rushing forward to toss something outside the perimeter of the shield.
“Grenade!” he screamed.
This time Sanclar had no snide remarks.
Diving to the side Daven slid across the ground, waiting for the inevitable explosion. But it never came. Through his curled form he peaked through his arms, and saw something much worse than an explosion. One of the females, the Twi’lek, and the Duros stood rigid, electricity crackling about their bodies. In the blink of an eye each was shot dead, unable to save themselves from the shock grenades grasp.
Bile threatened to rise from Daven’s mouth. This was different than seeing faceless people in helmets die.
Pulling himself into a crouch he grappled with his belt and pulled away a thermal detonator. Not nearly as powerful as the imploder the Weequay had used, but strong enough. As he armed the explosive, he heard the war cries of his comrades and returning fire of the remaining squad.
Not more than a handful of seconds later, Daven heard a triumphant call.
“Shield’s down, knock them down!”
Without looking, he lobbed the grenade past his head. A satisfying explosion resounded followed by the screams and thud of bodies slamming into the walls and ground.
Leaping over his cover Daven opened fire once more, taking down another stormtrooper. Behind him he heard another cry of pain but dared not look back. Only three trooopers remained, resilient against the onslaught being thrown at them.
“Choke on this you bastards!” the remain female human jeered.
A oblong object flew inches past Devan’s face, and landed at the next to the enemy troops. A green cloud erupted out, sending a thick smog of poisonous gas through the air. The stormtroopers tripped over themselves escaping the cloud, coughing loudly through their helmets as they rushed from the unforgiving gas.
Sanclar cut two down easily with a spray of laser fire. Crawling on the ground, the remaining stormtrooper was flipped onto his back by the Weequay. Mercilessly, the alien smashed the helpless troopers face in with the butt of his gun, helmet and all. Not wasting a moment, the female squad leader set the charges on the Tibanna generator as the survivors of the firefight took defensive positions.
Strained seconds or hours passed, Daven couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he didn't dare look directly at the carnage he had just helped create. Especially not at those of those who had fought with him.
A hand slapped him on the shoulder, giving him a start.
“Maybe I was wrong about you. You held your own,” Sanclar said, though rather gruffly.
Daven was about to reply as one of the four doors leading to the outside slid open. A rush of white poured in.
With his back turned, Sanclar didn’t last even a second. Catching the his limp form, Daven dropped the dead man in shock before snatching up his own rifle. He didn’t even bother taking careful aim, instead he just fired into the crowd stepping in. One, two, three, four, trooper after trooper fell dead against the remaining three Rebels.
He didn’t know how many of his own shots were kill shots, all Daven knew is he held the trigger until his rifle overheated, the tip of the barrel glowing an angry orange. When it cooled, he fired again, until they stopped coming.
In his numb daze it took him a moment to realize he had advanced on the enemy along with the woman and Weequay, and behind them, the charges began chiming their swan song. Throwing his arms up to protect his face, the explosives detonated, sending small chunks of the now ruined generator in every direction.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his squad leader and the alien didn’t bother protecting themselves, simply staring as the small blast completed its purpose. Feeling foolish at his unnecessary precaution he dropped his arms to his sides. They felt like lead weights now.
Looking around the room, the human woman sighed heavily and spoke into a comlink.
“Generator destroyed. Proceeding to extraction.”
A few seconds of static filled silence passed before a response came.
“Acknowledged. Dust off is in 10. We have the zone secured. Time to go home.”
“Roger that,” she said, switching her comlink off.
To her squad she said simply, “Good work, boys.”
Sadly, she looked to her dead comrades, whom they all knew would have to be left behind.
“Good work, boys.”