Smuggler Archive

This is the longest yet, I hope it will fit in one post. You'll have to forgive any glaring errors at the end; it was either sit on it another day to proof the last few pages, or get it out tonight. This one has been held back long enough. Let me know what you think.

Dallet 2.9
The Battle of Buzzard

The Hutts had virtual dominion over the planet of Tatooine. It was nominally an Imperial member-planet, but as with many of the less cultured and cultivated worlds, it was largely left to its own devices. For the relentlessly arid world of Tatooine, all devices of governance included a thick layer of Hutt control. It was a great spot to improve one's stature as an overseer of less-than-legal business, if that was your thing. For the Hutts themselves, it was a bit of a backwater kind of frontier-world (inasmuch as criminal organization went) but it served as a great field for competition between up-and-coming candidates for a life of syndicated crime. It was a place where new methods could be tested without the scrutiny of official Imperial interference. It was cheaper to run crooked businesses there; there were fewer failsafes and whistleblowers, so the cost of graft and bribery were consequently lower. The Hutts did however pay a premium in other ways, to keep the status quo.
It was never good business to anger the Empire. Certainly, an organized wave of animosity from the Hutts could complicate things for Palpatine and his henchmen, but a direct conflict could not help but be fatal to the business of organized crime. If it came to direct conflict, the Empire would have had a much easier time simply eliminating all Hutts from their adopted planets, neutralizing their homeworld, and dealing with whatever new organizations might spring up to take their place. For this reason, the Hutts knew that they couldn't effectively take sides in the growing Civil War, and that to survive they must hedge their bets and maintain a sort of 'involved neutrality'. Tatooine was a sticking point in this philosophy, because it seemed to be a hotbed of illegal commerce, and the site of several pivotal happenings in the twisted lineage of the War itself. The Hutts maintained a fairly apologetic and open rapport with both sides, and quietly worked to make sure that neither of them would find the planet very hospitable. The sooner the players left, the sooner profiteering could return to normal. Hence, the planetary no-fly zone for parties actively engaged in the prosecution of a war. The organization had enough tentacles in enough places, that a direct violation of their wishes could at least result in some hard times for the aggressor; pirate hits on supply convoys, the assassination of Governors while partaking of less-than-legal vices, the disruption of communications in bottleneck regions, and general guerilla warfare on numerous small scales. The Empire was loathe to ward off what they saw as a cloud of stinging insects when they were fighting a pack of slicehounds. Any distraction could prove disasterous, and the Hutts were nothing if not inventive in their pursuit of distraction.

"They must be blind, as well as deaf, " Tarq said do Debs. "They must be unable to record any of the events, if we have any hope of keeping this little event even moderately covert."
"Yes Sir, we've arranged everything as ordered. They appear to have little or no droid support, and probably no shielded transmission units." Debs was at his formal best, eyes straight ahead, firmly at attention. He looked much better, Tarq thought, after the medical bay had seen to his burns. Tarq hoped there wouldn't be anything close to a repeat performance of VK-441's shaky behavior under fire. He'd been a profoundly good soldier in the past, and Tarq liked to think of the minutes after the raid as the exception that proved the rule of Debs' stolid service. As a soldier, he'd been outstanding in the formal, mechanical performance of his duties. As a non-commissioned officer, he had proved that he was fully able to comprehend the subtleties of command, the nuances and compromises that often had to be made in the field, the turning of a blind eye to a trangression today that might presage a heroic act tomorrow. Debs' company was solid and impregnable, even by new commissioned staff. After the recent 'accident' with Lieutenant Fitch, Debs place in the unit's legend was secure. Fitch had been a bumbling idiot, and Tarq hadn't even bothered to submit the request to replace him. One patrol was all Debs had needed; a light engagement and Fitch was the only casualty.
"Your source in the unit then, he's given you some more accurate information?" Tarq already knew the answer, but there were some formalities to be observed.
Debs' ramrod-straight posture didn't waver at all, even when admitting some bad news. "I have not been in contact with him since the facility raid, Sir, but older reports indicate that they were undersupplied in some key elements."
"That's too bad, four-four-one. We could use accurate intelligence this morning."
"I have spotters with line-of-sight and fully shielded equipment ready to move in to place sir. They will make the air strike most effective."
"Yes, " Tarq mused, "I'm sure they will. Debs, I know that I asked you to pacify this village before, but I don't believe that the treacherous populace has fully understood your intent."
"Sir, my men and I did exactly as -" Debs began, eyes cutting almost imperceptibly over to his commander.
"Yes, of course, of course you did. Your men did an excellent job, as I have come to expect." Tarq paused thoughtfully. "What I mean to say, four-four-one, is that I don't believe these people are really trainable. If you catch my meaning that is, mister Debs. I don't believe they take a hint. I also don't like the idea of eyewitnesses surviving."
"Sir?"
"Your mission is no longer to pacify the populace and contain the terrorists. You are to kill everything that walks or crawls."
"Sir. Yes Sir. The bombing run will be limited though... "
"Of course, Debs. Your team will take its time, after the air strike. You are free, in fact you are ordered, to kill everyone. The fewer that escape to tell the story about our breach of airspace, the better."
"I understand sir."
"Of course you do, Debs. That's why you're leading the assault."

I set the 'Knob down almost in the shadow of the carbonite buzzard. Someone had been busy using repulsor sleds and brute force to plow rubble and debris into sidestreets and between buildings, so there was little flat, passable terrain to land on in the city. When all was said and done, we probably could have run back to town almost as quickly as having flown; between my low, slow approach and the hyperactive way NC had set up the controls, it took me a long time to feel comfortable putting it to rest on the ground.
"What in the bloody hell is the problem here, droid?" Pesh was obviously angry about something. He was grumbling at the droid back in the shaft section of the ship. He sounded just a bit nervous. "Just let me use your commo, mine's not working."
"I will not allow you to interfere with my communications board, " NC was saying, almost hysterically, "it is a vital ship component and you will not have access to it!"
"Whoah, whoah, " I said, opting for the fabled diplomacy of the old, dead Jedi. "What's going on?"
"To hell with this, just let me out! I've got to comm Pemwik and tell her we're back, and my commo's fuzzed." Pesh grumbled, tucking a bottle discreetly into his knapsack. He palmed a panel in the bulkhead, and the side door rolled up out of the way for him. He hopped out and hustled away.
"NC, why didn't you let him send out?"
"All communications are being disrupted. I did not think it would be advisable to reveal our transmitting capacity."
"No, jamming here? They shouldn't even know where we are exactly. I don't even know where it is, exactly."
"There were reports of meterological anomalies in this sector. My clearance was denied because of it. Perhaps that is the reason." The droid's tone was returning to what passed as normal.
"What kind of anomalies?"
"Thunderstorms, captain. Precipitation and damaging hail are predicted." Droids are generally pretty smart, many times smarter than humans. That's why I'd let a droid measure my medicine, and hedge my taxes, cut my drugs, and maybe help repair a faulty control circuit. But sometimes, I thought, droids are just so monumentally oblivious that it hurts. This was one of those times.
"NC, look outside. We're in a desert. No clouds. Two suns. No rain, and certainly not any blasted hail!"
"Thunderstorms would seem improbable, sir."
I took a few seconds to let his new-found skill at understatement sink in.
"What did you mean about our transmitting capacity? Could you punch through the jamming field?"
"I told you earlier sir, that I would not again be seperated from my vessel. I would be capable of transacting with the holonet from anywhere on this planet. Or from a significant distance within it."
"I doubt it, those new fields modulate their amplitude and do multiple-sideband disruption."
"No jamming technology will bend light sir. I have altered the ion cannon on this vessel to permit pulsed transmission of a carrier beam in the near-infrared-"
"What? The gun? That was the only gun that worked, how could you do that?"
"It still works, sir."
"As a radio? We're about to get hit with a raid En-See, we don't need a flipping radio, we need a gun." Not that it'd ever been the hottest fighter, I thought glumly, but at least it wasn't a souped-up holonet transceiver. Oh, the indignity.
"It is still effective as a gun. Nominally."
"Nominally? What's that supposed to mean?"
"The pulsing circuitry is quite delicate and susceptible to ionizing interference. Any overage in the capacitors will affect the controls."
"So what, if we take a hit to the gun it'll blow? That's pretty normal."
"No sir, if we shoot the ion cannon at full discharge ratio, we stand a nintey-one percent chance of burning out the pulse circuits."
"So it works great as long as we don't use it."
"Correct sir."
"So how will rain affect the gun? Nevermind, it was a joke. Punch out to the holonet and find out what the hell is going on out there. They told me there was going to be a raid."
"Acknowledged sir."
"And keep her heated up. If you see me go down, wait a few seconds and come drag me in. We're getting off of this planet."
"Sir. And Kah Sir?"
"Same thing for him. They drafted us, but the commander doesn't really want us. We're just going to play along long enough to get clear of this dustball."
"Acknowledged sir, preparing transmission circuits." He clanked back into his harness and locked in.
I hopped out and the door closed behind me. As I walked away, I noticed several snipers rising up out of concealed positions between rubble piles and inside buildings. They were quietly melting back into whatever jobs they'd had before I landed. Nice of them to trust me so much, I thought sarcastically.
The Angry Knob rose on its repulsors, and tilted its nose skyward. I could hear the ion cannon charging and discharging, but couldn't see anything coming out. Pemwik rushed over, and didn't seem happy to see me.
"Private, what is that ship doing? Tell the droid he's to get under cover immediately, and stop whatever he's doing."
"He's connecting to the holonet. He'll be done in a second."
"We're being jammed, he can't get out to local networks, let alone the holonet."
"He's got a thing about communications. Besides - " I never did finish the sentence, because I was distracted.
A blindingly bright light appeared directly overhead, and seemed for a moment like another sun in the morning sky. This planet already has enough suns, I thought to myself. The new, doomed sun seemed to explode, and I felt a tingling wave of energy pass over me, and through me. As I collapsed, dazed, I heard the thunderclap of an approaching storm. Maybe droids weren't as oblivious as I'd thought.

I didn't really lose consciousness, I guess. I must have greyed out for a moment though, because when I came too I could feel someone tugging on my shoulders. Something strong was dragging me backwards. I could see Lieutenant Pemwik rolling around on the ground, as if trying to figure out how to make her arms and legs function in concert.
I tilted my head back to see what had a hold on me, and to my relief it was NC. To my chagrin, his chest arsenal was in full display.
"Not yet, droid."
"Roger that sir. Ga-Cha."
"What?" My droid was speaking Bocci or something. Just what I needed.
"Roger that sir. Gotcha. Human vernacular. Common to spacefarers. I have been practicing my communication skills."
"Can we hold off until later on that maybe?"
"Gotcha Captain Dallet."
I righted myself and stumbled over to Fiti. She was getting her balance, and made the mistake of yelling into her commo twice before she remembered that someone was fuzzing everything out. NC disappeared back into the Angry Knob.
"They pulsed us! I can't believe it. They pulsed a populated area! Not only did they break the no-fly, but they used a rad-burner inside the atmosphere."
"Well, maybe we really ticked them off."
"The Hutts will be furious when they find out about it, they'll probably roll over and help the Rebellion now. How stupid does the Empire get?"
Pulsing was a slang term to describe a kind of energy pulse that is sometimes used in space combat to knock out poorly shielded equipment. In an atmosphere it was seldom used primarily because of the insulative quality of air, but secondarily because it was almost always the result of a special type of radioactive bomb. Radiation bombs were a big no-no as far as the Empire (and myself) were concerned, in that they tended to destroy the very object of your desire. I'm no fan of radiation, but I could see the general shape of their plan; imply some kind of abnormal weather, pulse our region so that we were nailed down by unshielded equipment, and make sure we couldn't radio for backup. As long as no witnesses reported the incident, they might even be able to pass the whole attack off as some kind of atmospheric event, and it was certain that planetary observation points like ground-based radar and low orbit satellites were at least temporarily blinded. The whole idea revolved around a dangerous premise though, dangerous for us at least. There could be no survivors.

We started towards the building and tent complex that had been serving as the unit Headquarters. A 3PO droid scuttled out, and boarded a repulsorsled. The sled sped away at speeds a human would have found nauseatingly fast. Stark ducked through the doorway and squinted at the brightness of the day. He looked as if he hadn't gotten much sleep lately. He was dressed in combat-fatigues, unusual given his recent propensity towards full dress uniforms and formality. He was also armed to the teeth. He appeared to have run out of places on his person from which to hang weapons. Ah, I mused, at least I finally know why they have so many bloody clips and buttons and hooks on these unifoms. As much as I'd like to say I had to think about it, I snapped to attention almost unconsciously and snapped off a salute as quickly as Pemwik did. Pesh and Rotter came running up as the Captain returned our salute.
"Lieutenant, we have bombers inbound. Disperse and seek cover. Communications will be line-of-sight only, and you're all on your shielded backups."
"Yes sir. Rotter, you're with Squaros and the new guys. Get to the old Depot and lay down, they won't bomb rubble. Pesh, you're with me. Dallet, get Kah, meet me at the infirmary."

When I returned to the Knob, Kah was waiting for me. He was wearing the standard blast armor, modified for his size and bulk. He'd done away with the sleeves, because his shoulders and upper arm were too restricted in the 'one size fits none' cut armies seemed to love so much. He handed me my set of armor, and we stepped aboard the Knob so I could slide in to it.
"Hi there Kah, " chimed En-See from his command harness, "it is good to see you again."
"Thank you, NC. I trust you are well."
"I am well. I will be more comfortable out of the line of fire."
"Good idea, move us out of the square. Put us over by the infirmary." I said, slithering my suit on over my clothes, and strapping my belt on to hold it in place. It was about as comfortable as wearing a burning Ronto around, but the overarmor would soak up an indirect blaster bolt, whereas my clothes would only soak up blood. And maybe rain, if my insane droid had his meteorology right.
"Roger that Dallet, " chirped NC.

We were hunkered down next to Pemwik and Captain Stark when the first run struck. I had guessed that they'd hit the HQ first, hoping to cripple our communications. Since they knew we were being jammed already though, they didn't bother with the HQ. In fact, they didn't bother with any military targets on the first run, not even the repulsor sleds loaded with gear waiting for a caravan or an airlift that was about as likely as a monsoon. A pair of TIE fighters came in low and slow, one on either side of the 'main' (almost the only) street in Buzzard. They didn't need to fly fast, or dodge, which was good for them, and bad for us. Good for them because TIE's aren't the king of intra-atmospheric flight, so nice low straight lines were the order of the day. Bad for us because we had nothing made for shooting back that would bother them; no anti-craft artillery, no air support. In short, we were screwed.
They dusted several buildings towards the leading edge of the street, because approach angle favored their early profile. The latter buildings (especially the one were behind) only warranted a few parting shots, but a few was enough. In my life, I'd smelled some interesting smells, and some disgusting ones. The smell of burnt people, and vaporized prefab was a new one to me though, and one I'll never forget. The TIE's doubled back, approaching from the other end of town. After about the third pass, I knew we weren't going to be moving much.
"How long do you figure they'll screw around? They've got to be worried about the Hutts finding out." I asked.
"Oh, I'm not sure. Less than an hour, I'd guess," Stark said gamely. He was just full of good news. I estimated their elapsed time per strafing run at about fifteen seconds, so that only left them enough time to kill every man, woman, and trandoshan about a dozen times.
"Maybe we could dig some kind of shelter?" Not that I wanted to be digging when the next run came over, but it beat dying in an alley.
"I wouldn't worry about it, private. When they get bored, they'll send in the real attack force."
"The real one? Like a Star Destroyer?"
"No, the infantry. Latest intel puts them at company strength, and their commander is a pretty good organizer."
"Lovely."
"Remember what we talked about, private. Plenty of nice places to fall down around here." His voice brightened, and I got the distinct impression that there was a joke to be had here that I wasn't privy to. Or, I didn't get it because I was the joke. Either way, it wasn't all that much fun.

The infantry hit shortly thereafter. I could tell because the TIE's started pouring fire into the far end of town, and leaving the other end alone, and in the lulls between the passes, there was small arms fire. Stormtroopers had a habit of shooting randomly but frequently during their sweeps. It was a psychological ploy as much as a tactical one; they weren't trying to sneak up on you, so they weren't hiding. They were letting everyone know where they were, so they could use their reputation as a weapon. The fire was a waste of ammunition, but it flaunted their capacity to resupply quickly and richly. They rarely hit anything, but it was unnerving to try to time your peek when your head might be the next target. Even their random fire had a feel of regularity and a kind of rigid discipline to it. Crouched down low in my uncomfortable armor, I closed my eyes and soaked in the sound of the oncoming troops. They were still out of sight, pushing from the far end of town.
Be the sand, and the wind, I thought, and dropped into myself. I pressed outward again, as if trying to mentally expand my field of view beyond what my eyes could see. It was as if I spread myself out and over the town like a thin layer of carbosyrup, and every time something moved, I felt the liquid pull of its passing. It happened in the space of a few heartbeats, faster and cleaner than I'd ever done before.
They pressed forward in a wedge, slowly and cautiously slipping past the wide alleys that would have been sidestreets in a bigger town. To my mind's eye they burned like red torches, and every few seconds a lick of flame would extend out from one of them, sometimes touching dead stone or prefab, sometimes touching nothing. I could almost smell it when it hit things, scorching stone and metal alike. I could feel the wavery blue spheres that were the others; the few remaining townsfolk, some animals, and even our small units. I could see that shortly the two squads that Squaros and Rotter had split off into would be making a deadly crossfire.
As they stopped hiding and started shooting, the blue spheres flared from weak small round balls to bright blue torches, with the same kind of electric flame whipping out to quench itself in the red torches. The image grew fuzzy and complicated as the forces rushed each other, but it was not hard to predict how it was going to end.
"Squaros and Rotter hit them from the side," I opened my eyes and pointed, hearing the tempo of the blasterfire picking up, "and they're outnumbered."
"Do you have communications Private?" Stark frowned at me, guessing I was speculating.
"No sir, but you can tell from the sound."
"You should be listening for orders instead of blasterfire." He gave me an appraising look, and I got the feeling my value wasn't rising. "Pemwik, get your squad ready to hit from the third side. B squad, with me." He rose from his crouch, and a handful of men rose with him. I got this queasy feeling in my gut, and for a second I could swear I saw the blue flame image superimpose itself upon him. It burned brightly just then, and then went out. It felt vaguely like using Zypolene droid lubricant to make a party more interesting, but the upshot from zypo' was that you knew why you were hallucinating. I promised myself I'd settle for nothing weaker than a brandy if I got out of this alive.
"Give us 3 minutes and then hit them hard. Keep up your fire for at least five minutes. If they don't fall back, fade back to the rally point and await EVAC."
"Yes sir," Pemwik said, and saluted. Stark returned it, then trotted away, his unit hurrying behind him. Pemwik glanced at her chrono, and said something to Pesh I didn't catch. I missed his response too.
"We're getting evacuated?" I was incredulous. Pemwik shot me another one of her famous looks.
"Stark says he was in contact with Command before the jamming started. If the Imps broke the no-fly, we probably will too." Her response was met with nods and grunts of approval from the remainder of the Rebellion in Buzzard. They're not idiots, I thought to myself. They know EVAC is as likely as hail. I looked at each man, slowly moving from face to face, and landing right back on Fiti's red-framed features. They put on a brave show for me, because I'm the new guy, and they figure I'm the most likely to break. I nodded back slowly, and the Lieutenant turned back to her chrono, counting down our last peaceful seconds.
I'm going to roll over as soon as the shooting starts, I told myself. I'm going to play dead long enough to make sure I get out of this alive and intact. I've served my time in the hands of the Empire, I've been beaten and broken, and now it's time to move on with the bigger plan, the one where I swoop in on a gleaming speeder and rescue Petra from the darkness that she'd fallen victim to. Only when I said it to myself it kept turning 'traitor, coward, fool'. I saw Kah moving from man to man, saying a few words and putting a clawed hand to a shoulder here, a friendly cuff to the head there, a pat on the back. For weeks we'd lived with these men, voluntary or not. I knew Rotter had terrible teeth and worse breath, and he was out there trying not to get blasted to pieces. I knew the new kid Bliz was so young he'd never slept with a woman. I knew Fiti was allergic to bacta, and Pesh was handy with a hydrospanner and handier with a carbine. I also knew that they odds of a roaring hailstorm were about double the odds of any of us surviving the battle for Buzzard.
I'd have to say that if I missed only one thing about being Zillik, it wasn't the women, the booze, the drugs, the crime, or even the money. It was the lack of a conscience. It was a hell of a lot easier pretending you didn't have a heart than knowing it was a black one.

Debs shorted out the charging circuit of the rifle and dropped it at his feet. He kicked it back into the street, to recover later. The fighting was house-to-house now, and lugging it around was a waste of energy. He re-slung his carbine to bring it over to his right side, and tightened the sling to keep it at-hand. After the initial raid on Buzzard his unit had acquired a few new troopers, and he had the green troopers with him, crouching in the shadow of a carbonite buzzard.
In past years, promotion to the rank of Stormtrooper required certain battlefield commendations and actual combat experience. In recent months however the Empire had lost an alarming number of troopers to the craven guerilla tactics the Rebellion used, and they'd had to ease the entrance requirements a bit, or risk reorganizing entire divisions. The Emperor had deemed it wise to not upset the present allocation of men and materiel, so the units had taken newer recruits from the top two percent of their indoctrination class. Statistically, two percent of inductees would become troopers anyway, but Debs knew anecdotally that it was not necessarily the 'top' two percent of a class that would be fit to wear the white. The best Stormtroopers were made of a mix of intellect and determination, but not an overwhelming amount of either quality. Too determined, and they wouldn't take orders well. Too smart, and they'd be a threat to their commanders, and possibly question orders when discipline was called for. Too disciplined, and they'd be too inflexible to meet the changing needs of a battle, too flexible and they'd not stay the course of a campaign. The Stormtrooper was a mix of experience and passion, and VK441 intended that this mission would be a training and evaluation exercise for several of the unit's newest members. He had his faceplate's commo turned off, and the speaker turned down low. His voice penetrated the flat white mask like a low, raspy whisper punctuated by bursts of white noise.
"When caught in an ambushing crossfire like this, what's the best course of action, seven-ninety?"
"Ah, secure cover and call in a strike sir."
"Ninety-three?"
"Ambuscade should be met with concentrated force, sir. The more immediate the response the better."
"Correct. Seven-seventy, which front would you hit first, and with how many men?"
"Sir. I'd hit these guys on our right flank. They seem to be the weakest." Another white helm spoke without moving, but hadn't turned down his output.
Ninety-three turned back to Debs, and interrupted. "Sir, we should hit the strongest front with everything, to be most certain that we are not being baited by an easy target."
Debs turned to look at him, and nodded quickly. If ninety-three lived, he showed promise. Debs made a mental note to check into his service record after the battle. The thought of not surviving himself never entered his mind.
He switched his commo back on.
"All fire teams, push ahead into the forward resistance. Advance by pairs, rolling fire. There are to be no prisoners taken, engage and destroy all targets." He selected his voice speaker again, for the new recruits.
"Ninety-three, you're my firing partner. You other two, you're together. Your job is to keep an eye out uprange, make sure nothing comes in behind us." He didn't wait to see if they understood. He checked the power setting on his carbine and moved out.

Even though they hadn't bothered telling me, our plans never were to win the battle for Buzzard. Our plans were to tie the Stormies up in ambushes and small fights long enough to wrangle some kind of evacuation convoy together. Stark hadn't been counting on the air strike and the pulse though, so he could neither coordinate nor evacuate because the few vehicles that had been functional before the pulse no longer were, and the air support made any kind of massed exodus a suicide run. I guess he didn't have time to rethink the multi-pronged ambush either, because it didn't take long to see what a stupid idea it became when you considered TIE fighters.
We had them pinned down for a few glorious moments. We had good positions, good cover, and plenty of targets. The problem was that from above and behind, we were sitting ducks. I didn't really blame Stark or Pemwik for it either, because it surprised me too when they hit.
Rotter's squad was pouring in the heaviest fire, from the left of the Stormtrooper column. The troopers hunkered down for a few minutes, as if considering. It was then that Stark got into position, and Pemwik moved us up to support and harry the town 'square'. We were giving it to them pretty hot and heavy, and I thought that even though the odds were terrible, we might actually hurt them enough to make them reconsider. They reconsidered, alright.
They swung around and rushed Rotter's boys, trying to break the trap at the strong point. It neutralized Fiti's position because it pulled them out of range of our good hiding places, and limited the number of guns Squaros could bring to bear on them. Squaros figured it out quick enough, and ordered his gang up and at them. We could hear them shouting commands; the comms were still down. Two stormtroopers reared up from the shadow of the Buzzard, and shot Squaros as he cleared the rubble pile that marked the leading edge of the ambush area. Both troopers were annihilated by the rest of the unit, but that didn't help Squaros one bit. His men hesitated around the pile while they pulled what was left of Squaros back out of range to reconsider their advance. I felt Squaros dying, down there surrounded by his disheartened men, desperation beginning to engulf them. It didn't last long though.
A TIE flew lazily overhead, and a shining point of departed its underbelly. The glowing beacon traced a perfect parabolic arc down to the rubble pile where Squaros' push had stalled, and impacted. I made the mistake of watching it all the way down, marveling at the beauty of the curve it drew in its descent. I was blinded for a split second before the shock wave hit, and knocked me on my rear. When I got my balance and my eyesight back, the rubble pile, Squaros' corpse, and all his men were gone.
"COVER!" Fiti screamed, and our advance stalled too, as every dove for whatever nook or cranny they thought might hide them.
Stark, seeing that Rotter's group would be hard pressed, and Pemwik's group was unable to support, ordered an immediate charge. In a way, it was the smartest thing he could do, because the TIE would be evening the odds if it dropped bombs down into its own men. Lucky for them, we provided them with some other unanticipated targets.

I was almost deaf just seconds after we joined the battle in earnest. We'd taken a few more bomb runs, but once we spread out a bit the bombs were a waste of ammunition; why drop heavy ordinance on one man when you could use laser fire so much more cheaply? I became instantly proficient at learning when to get back out of sight. The TIE at least made a distinctive scream as it passed overhead, and that scream was the only sound loud enough to tickle my battered eardrums. The battle turned into discrete little segments. No longer was it waves or movements, blue torches and red torches, it became: Run, shoot, duck, shoot, duck, dive. I lost track of Kah, I lost track of Fiti. I tried to keep Pesh on one side of me, but eventually I lost him too. After a few minutes I realized that the TIE had stopped strafing us, and I looked skyward. It seemed like they had other things to worry about. Sometimes I hit a Stormtrooper, usually I couldn't tell.
I caught a glimpse of Fiti in a crouched conversation with someone, and scuttled over to her.
The whole thing would have been comical if it wasn't so pathetic; Sifer and Fiti were screaming at each other trying to be both simultaneously quiet but loud enough to be sensible to their bomb-blasted hearing. I couldn't make out every word yet, but as the ringing settled out of my ears, I got the gist of it.
"No, I said WHERE did you get the money for it?" Fiti yelled at Sifer, who had a damned fool grin on his face.
"I stole it from the Hutts," he yelled back excitedly. "I sliced their bank branch and transferred three-hundred grand."
Well, I thought, seems the kid might actually know a few tricks. Too bad he wouldn't survive as anything but a memory. He wasn't my caliber of scoundrel yet, but hey, who is?
Slicing happened to be a bit of a hobby to me, so I knew it wasn't that hard to do what he'd done. The real difficulty wasn't in actually slicing a bank, but getting away with it. The network wasn't so hard to hack, but it had a few failsafes built in, and one of them was pretty insurmountable. They used a biosignature authentication that was virtually unhackable, or at the very least required a huge amount of social engineering - what the layman would call bribery and graft. Obviously, the Hutts were experts in that field, so it would have been so expensive to fake a biosignature that you couldn't really break even unless you scammed millions of credits. Bribery and extortion on that scale were an entire other kind of business investment that the Hutts paid careful attention to, so in the practical application of theft, faking an account and stealing credits never happened. You could also just brute-force the system with a legitimate biosignature, but you'd be easy to track afterwards, and the Hutts would not only get their money back, but they'd get to take their sweet time killing you. That kind of heist appealed to the desperate crimimal once in a great while, and the Hutts made sure that holo-vid of his torture and termination accidentally leaked out to the 'net eventually; just to keep up appearances. There are cheaper and easier ways to kill yourself.
I knew he hadn't had the time or the equipment to scam a biosignature or qualifying agency... so it had to have been the brute force technique.
"Where'd you get a biosig? You know they'll kill you, right?" I shout-whispered.
He turned to me, a sickly grin stealing over his face, then disappearing. He was fidgeting (I guess being bombed and shot at does that to you) and seemed nervous.
"I got it from one of our dead." He replied.
"Wow. One of you guys had a Hutt account? I'm shocked." I added the last mockingly, I thought only a lowlife scoundrel like me would have an account with such a disreputable establishment. I couldn't imagine Fiti or Stark soiling their hands with that kind of money. Credit is credit, I admitted to myself. Things get difficult, and maybe this 'Alliance' starts talking to more investors than I would have thought. "Well, whoever it was, it's a good thing he's dead. Let's hope the Hutts don't try to revive him just so they can kill him again." I laughed, trying to picture the situation.
A small but sleek ship whisked quietly (or comparatively quietly) over our heads, spraying fire in the general direction of the TIE's last run. Another followed it, so low to the ground that it had to roll and rise to miss the carbonite buzzard on its first pass. It drew some small arms fire, but nothing that would bother a starship.
Fiti still didn't seem to understand, so Sifer was explaining the process to her again.
"No, no!" He yelled, "I didn't buy ships with it. I stole it from one branch and used it to bribe a Hutt into sending two fighters our way."
"Why didn't you get more then? If we had ten, we'd be winning!" Lieutenant Pemwik was getting a handle on it, but apparently Sifer had made up the last part of the plan on the fly. Good kid, I thought, good head on his shoulders.
"I could only afford two. Transfers any bigger required a personal appearance at the bank, and that Hutt Raxalla wanted to charge me two hundred large for each ship!" He grinned again, looking up to see the two Dunelizard fighters forming up for another run. "I got him down to a hundred grand a piece, but they're going to bug out if they take any heavy fire."
"Well, that's good at least. They'll keep the TIE busy. Now we're even."
Her bravado seemed to be for our benefit, but I couldn't agree with that little bit of wisdom.
"_Even_ how?" I asked. "So they're down 'air support', now all we need is better ammo, triple the men, and communication equipment that works... I don't figure we're all that even." She glared at me. "Lieutenant." I added, but it didn't stop the glare. Sifer turned to look at me, he must have been getting some hearing back. That quick fake-grin look came back, but vanished again. He's sitting on more credits than he's letting on, I thought to myself sagely. That's why he's so nervous. I thought about calling him about it in front of Fiti, but I figured it'd be best to wait until we were alone. If he died, I thought, nobody'd remember him badly. And, I thought innocently, not that I would - but if I get him alone - I stand a better chance of getting some of his hidden money.

yay more Dallet

*aaah sits back riding the Dallet high*

Nice one Frank, another gem of an installment. Reckon he should of shot Debs though, got a feeling that'll come back to bite him on the ass!

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FrankLee wrote:
In the first draft, he did.
I like Debs as a character though, and I thought he deserved better than that. Besides, there's plenty of room for retribution in the next episodes.

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yeah he has a nice mysterious, bad ass, terminator feel to him - somehow he'll always manage to get up.

Man I want to go into stasis now until next one, can't face the wait

So... when do you think we'll get more Dallet?

Actually, I'm in the 'research' part of the next installment. I know pretty much what I want to do with it, but I want to do it without inventing places or equipment.
As a bit of a teaser, I'm sure all my Smuggler audience will enjoy the return to a non-Jedi, amoral, dirty-dealing setting. Anyone want to guess where the next episode is set? Halusin8 isn't allowed to guess, because I told him where we were going.

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FrankLee wrote:
Actually, I'm in the 'research' part of the next installment. I know pretty much what I want to do with it, but I want to do it without inventing places or equipment.
As a bit of a teaser, I'm sure all my Smuggler audience will enjoy the return to a non-Jedi, amoral, dirty-dealing setting. Anyone want to guess where the next episode is set? Halusin8 isn't allowed to guess, because I told him where we were going.

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Hmmm, amoral, dirty, non-Jedi. Nar Shaddaa?

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Akiram_Glockem wrote:

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FrankLee wrote:
Actually, I'm in the 'research' part of the next installment. I know pretty much what I want to do with it, but I want to do it without inventing places or equipment.
As a bit of a teaser, I'm sure all my Smuggler audience will enjoy the return to a non-Jedi, amoral, dirty-dealing setting. Anyone want to guess where the next episode is set? Halusin8 isn't allowed to guess, because I told him where we were going.

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Hmmm, amoral, dirty, non-Jedi. Nar Shaddaa?

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*whistles innocently*

I've been working a swing shift, and will be doing so for another month or two. While it absolutely sucks for sleep, it did provide me with several extra hours to write over the weekend.
Changed my plans though, next episode will not actually take place in a dark, amoral place. A big chunk of backstory came out when I was writing dialog, and it seems to flow best as a standalone chapter. Which means... expect the next Dallet this week (providing I get another couple hours *knock on wood*). Fans of droid dialog will not be disappointed.