CT-5555 (
5ame_heart) wrote2020-12-29 04:32 pm
Entry tags:
The Battle of Ryloth
The role of the 501st in the liberation of Ryloth has been mostly one of orbital support, but Captain Rex has his eye on the boys from Domino Squad. He's assigned Echo and Fives to the 91st Mobile Reconnaissance Corps for the operation.
According to Rex, his reasoning is that as neither Fives or Echo can pilot worth a damn, they'd better make themselves useful in the ground assault. Echo is optimistically convinced this attachment to an elite Recon Unit is serving as field training for eventual promotion to ARC-Troopers. As Rex has been friendly with them since Rishi and has continually expressed his respect for them as soldiers, Fives doesn't have a reason to disagree.
A major difference between the 91st and the 501st is that the men of the 91st like and respect their Jedi General with the sort of fondness and respect that comes with reliable, understandable and well thought out plans - General Windu seems to like and respect them back, to the extent of their lives as equal to his own, and as highly as they value each other. Skywalker is the same, of course, but the 501st are generally of the opinion that a healthy culture of talking back is a key part of letting your General exactly what you think of showy recklessness.
But one way they match, of course, is that all plans are lucky if they last five minutes' contact with the enemy.
The 91st are engaged with the droid army in the approach to the capital city of Lessu. Ryloth is all mesas and gorges around here; it's hot, much drier than the jungles where they staged earlier engagements, and the ground has a bad habit of crumbling under one's feet - especially when hit by stray blaster bolts.
Fives is right by Echo's side one second, and the next he finds himself slipping perilously down a near vertical face into a gorge, sandy rocks racing past him to the sound of his name being yelled by his brother above. He shouts in annoyance and in shock, and then when his foot makes contact with a rock a few feet down, with pain.
The rocky nature of this planet acts to his advantage, Fives realises. He's sliding rather than falling, and is able to holster his blaster in time to grab another rock, which jerks his shoulder violently but stops his descent before his fingers slip and he falls again. The Force obviously has plans for him because he's able to combine what purchase he can get with what obstructions there are to turn a death fall into a painful tumble into shadow.
Eventually Fives lands hard on his feet at the bottom of a crevasse deep enough that the fighting above is only distant flashes of light, and next to the less fortunate body of a trooper who turns out to be CT-89-2874 - Fives doesn't know him and so doesn't know what his name was.
He stands up slowly, his legs screaming from the landing, his headache informing him that he may have hit that part of him on the way down. His armor is more than scratched - some of his plates have broken in clear shards, and he's entirely lost one of his He keys his wrist comm.
"Echo? Sarge? Anyone?"
But there's no signal. And there's no reason to come look for him either, so as far as Echo and the others is concerned, CT-27-5555 is one more casualty of the Battle for Ryloth.
He leans against the rocky wall, and considers his options.
And that's when he hears something.
According to Rex, his reasoning is that as neither Fives or Echo can pilot worth a damn, they'd better make themselves useful in the ground assault. Echo is optimistically convinced this attachment to an elite Recon Unit is serving as field training for eventual promotion to ARC-Troopers. As Rex has been friendly with them since Rishi and has continually expressed his respect for them as soldiers, Fives doesn't have a reason to disagree.
A major difference between the 91st and the 501st is that the men of the 91st like and respect their Jedi General with the sort of fondness and respect that comes with reliable, understandable and well thought out plans - General Windu seems to like and respect them back, to the extent of their lives as equal to his own, and as highly as they value each other. Skywalker is the same, of course, but the 501st are generally of the opinion that a healthy culture of talking back is a key part of letting your General exactly what you think of showy recklessness.
But one way they match, of course, is that all plans are lucky if they last five minutes' contact with the enemy.
The 91st are engaged with the droid army in the approach to the capital city of Lessu. Ryloth is all mesas and gorges around here; it's hot, much drier than the jungles where they staged earlier engagements, and the ground has a bad habit of crumbling under one's feet - especially when hit by stray blaster bolts.
Fives is right by Echo's side one second, and the next he finds himself slipping perilously down a near vertical face into a gorge, sandy rocks racing past him to the sound of his name being yelled by his brother above. He shouts in annoyance and in shock, and then when his foot makes contact with a rock a few feet down, with pain.
The rocky nature of this planet acts to his advantage, Fives realises. He's sliding rather than falling, and is able to holster his blaster in time to grab another rock, which jerks his shoulder violently but stops his descent before his fingers slip and he falls again. The Force obviously has plans for him because he's able to combine what purchase he can get with what obstructions there are to turn a death fall into a painful tumble into shadow.
Eventually Fives lands hard on his feet at the bottom of a crevasse deep enough that the fighting above is only distant flashes of light, and next to the less fortunate body of a trooper who turns out to be CT-89-2874 - Fives doesn't know him and so doesn't know what his name was.
He stands up slowly, his legs screaming from the landing, his headache informing him that he may have hit that part of him on the way down. His armor is more than scratched - some of his plates have broken in clear shards, and he's entirely lost one of his He keys his wrist comm.
"Echo? Sarge? Anyone?"
But there's no signal. And there's no reason to come look for him either, so as far as Echo and the others is concerned, CT-27-5555 is one more casualty of the Battle for Ryloth.
He leans against the rocky wall, and considers his options.
And that's when he hears something.

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But her eyes follow the curve of the canyon walls to a dark spot, a small indent about three meters away that looks as though it were scooped from the red-brown rock. It's not especially deep, but it is shadowed enough that she might slip from view at first glance.
Again, without speaking, she scurries over to it.
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Switching to his pistol, he creeps forward as quietly as he can, to a place where the walls curve sharply, and crouches in readiness.
Four droids make up a standard patrol, and he can hear them talking to each other inanely now, wondering how the battle's going and if any of their officers will think to take patrol droids with them if they retreat.
He'd feel for them if they were actually people.
Fives listens for their steps drawing closer, echoing with their voices against the walls of the canyon, and counts down to himself.
Then he looks over to where Hera is hiding, nods at the shadowed darkness, and disappears behind the curve, firing his blaster in quick succession.
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So she waits again, listening to the blasterfire, and watching for shadows along the curve in the canyon wall.
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He's got a new scorch mark on his shoulder - Hevy's going to need to be retouched - and his limp from earlier is back as he jogs back around the corner to fetch his rifle.
"Hera?"
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She figures all the droids must be destroyed if he's walking back, so she asks, "Are you okay?"
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This is a lie, but a mild one. Fighting isn't the problem so much as the general battering from the fall. But he doesn't take his helmet off as he gathers the rifle up and wishes that it had a decent strap he could carry it with.
"Listen, you know this area. Are patrols normal?"
Because frankly he's suspicious of why they'd send droids out on patrol if they're busy defending the city.
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"If they came here a lot, I wouldn't come this way."
Not least because she knows not to lead a droid back to camp.
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He hesitates, looking back where the droids came from, and then back at Hera.
On the one hand - he's got to get her home safe.
On the other hand - there was no damn reason for that patrol, and while droids are stupid as hell, they're not random.
"Right," he says finally making a decision. "Come on. You might be able to get much better parts from this lot."
He jerks his head to indicate she should follow him, and heads back the way he came.
When they get there, he lets her survey the bodies, and himself crouches down by each one, searching for a commlink of some sort.
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(It's still pretty big and heavy for her.)
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He looks to see what Hera's doing, and grunts a negative.
"We don't need two," he says. "And don't take anything you can't drop in a hurry. We could use an extra powerpack, though."
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Though as she sets down the rifle, she says, a little haltingly, "You might need help."
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"Yeah," he says, as reluctant as he is to admit it. Whether he needs help or not it irrelevent against the fact he can't leave her.
"But I need you to carry this," he says, picking up the rifle he already has and handing it over to her. "How confident are you with it?"
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Hera rolls the weapon over between her hands, dutifully counting off the relevant components she recognizes. "Trigger, cooling vent, stun switch, no safety."
She looks back up to Fives and nods. "I think I understand."
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"Plan Aurek is still you give it to me," he says bluntly.
"But I need your help now as well. I need to find out where this patrol came from, and I need to get there. You know the area and I'm figuring you've hunted around here? Think you can help me trace them back to the source?"
He holds up the commlink stole from the droids. "I'm going to try and get into this, see if we can tap into what they're saying to each other."
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It's just that Hera usually tries to do the opposite.
"They leave a lot behind."
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He finds it remarkably easy to fall into a tone appropriate for a briefing, following her with his head turned down and his vambrace open, as he attempts to get the Sep commlink to interface with his own comms. It's an embarrasing shame that he'd be more comfortable with technology from a whole different galaxy at this point.
"Do you understand what we're doing?" he asks, semi-conversationally. "These droids are up to something, and if it's more important than defending the city, it's got to be big."
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Tracking where this patrol had come from first means looking for the tracks they leave in the sand and soil, as the droids weren't the kind of predator that bother to hide. They also often found cracked bits of plastoid or even whole antennas ripped off by a tumbling rock or animal or even a particularly strong wind.
She keeps her eyes down when Fives speaks this time, scouring the canyon floor for what they'd left behind, but she answers, a little nervous, "There's only two of us."
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"We're going to find out what's going on, and then you're going to run back to your people as fast as you can, tell them what we find, and get help. The rifle's only for emergencies."
Using a miniature hydrospanner from his vambrace, he digs out a wire and, as well as he can one-handed, twists it into a connector, forces the whole device into his commlink and pushes the plastoid shut, so he can operate it from outside.
It seems quiet, but he wishes Echo were here to tell him what he was doing wrong.
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She steps around around scuff in the dirt, trying to stay within reach of him as she does, and then halts.
"Do you smell that?"
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But before Fives can start, she stops. He can't smell much through the air filter on his helmet, but lifts his head to sniff anyway.
"Smells like... bodies?"
He's encountered a few old battlefields before, that no one survided to clear up. He remembers the smell.
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"There -"
She points to a turn up ahead, where just visible from this distance, a thin black line strings out of the ground and around the corner. Once they draw closer, they should see that the line is made up of small black beetles.
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Fives pulls a face under his helmet. He's definitely seen enough battlefields to know what insects mean, even if it's different actual bugs on each planet.
He puts a hand on Hera's shoulder.
"Wait here a second," he says gently. There's no urgency - they're not in danger right now, but if there are Twi'lek bodies at the other end of this thin black line, he wants to see it first.
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She rounds the corner, where the line of beetles continues, onward toward a slope ahead of them. There aren't any organic bodies yet, but there are dark brown streaks in the dust, many of these crawling with tiny, light brown ants. And ignored by all of these insects is the upper half of a battle droid, that looks as though it were ripped off just below the torso, one of its arms lying a meter from it.
Hera closes her eyes and shakes her head again, as though trying to shake off the smell.
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"Okay, this wasn't one of us."
In case that wasn't obvious.
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But the smell, even as it gets stronger, doesn't stop her from moving forward. More than anything, it's all strange enough that she mostly feel curious. She knows the smell of something dead, though Twi'leks were so quick to burn their own dead that even at the worst times, it wasn't like this. But she hadn't heard anything new about nearby villages being attacked, and the fighters were the battle going on above them -
Hera does stop when she's close enough to the slope to see what's at the base, though she only says, softly, "Oh."
She's never seen this many gutkurrs before, and the droid pieces strewn among their bodies only makes it all look stranger.
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