Acrid

[Trill Scout Squadron]

The modified U-wing, a Rebellion held ship since back when the Empire and Rebellion went toe to toe, now held what could have been an unfathomable cargo. A squad of four of the Imperium’s more eclectic scout troopers, cowboys as noted in several official reports. A new galaxy, new alliances, the same fight; for the cause of good. The ship was old, well maintained, but her age showed. It was apparent in the wear on the rounded edges of railing, faded leather straps, scratches from a myriad of equipment and soldiers loaded and offloaded more times than one could count. She had it where it counted though and right now, in addition to the four speeder bikes that were mag-locked to the decking, she was packing a highly specialized frequency jamming system. Electronic warfare in it’s compact finest.  Ten thousand plus frequencies, overwhelmed to the point of ineffectiveness. In a word, radio silence, scrambled by an ever changing onslaught of electrical feedback and pinged super-charged empty communications. The entire system was nestled deep within the hull of the ship, wired directly into the comm relays of the U-wing. It would make use of the ship itself to broadcast a sweeping net of silence across what would be a relatively primitive world. 
 

Unfortunately, such a specialized system necessitated the removal of the ship’s laser cannons; lest they overwhelm the energy core. Not wanting to be completely unarmed, even with the fabled Templar Squadron at their back, the men of Trill Scout Squadron, under the command of Gunnery Sergeant Benjamin Wood, were excited to tote out a pair of Imperial Heavy Repeaters and cases of metallic bolts and concussion grenades. All three of the men were smiling. It had been a while since they had done a tactical insertion; even linger since any of them got to hang out a gun port and pepper away from the upper atmosphere. Even Steve’s serious emotionless mouth struggled to maintain the smile pulling at the edges of his mouth.
 

Sure the nature of this mission was serious. Yes, this op was going to be risky. Disabling an entire base of operations with close air support. Right now though, the anticipation of the unfolding mission brought on some pre-op jitters. It was going to be trying. It was going to be a challenge. “The fun kind. Fast and fiery” Christoph had described it when they first received their new orders after leaving  Nar Shaddaa. 
 

Dropping out of hyperspace with the X-Wings, the ship’s pilot, a veteran TIE pilot and survivor of the Siege of Nar Shaddaa, Flight Leader Jason Q. Riggs ‘Queens’ ‘s voice drolled over the speakers and comms, “S-foils locked back.” The servos within the ships hull whined and those aboard could feel the gentle lock of the wings locking backwards. The ship was shaped like an arrow, narrow and pointy. Looking back over his shoulder, he nodded his helmeted head at the scouts, “Better buckle up boys,” he commed as he looked at them. “Intel wasn’t kidding. Asteroids around the whole planet.” Nobody had to ask. They knew what that meant. It was going to get rough. Scans of the field were severely limited at best. They were going to be flying in all but blind. As soon as they fired up the comms jammer, if they didn’t see it with their own eyes, it didn’t register. It’d be like flying a podracer in, well, an asteroid field.

 

 

“Trill Five,” Queens called out over his radio, “Templar One. On your lead.” 
 

The U-wing would stay in formation with the X-wings as deep into the field as possible. Eventually they would have to break apart to navigate the field without being blown to smithereens. If contact was made, Rags and Christoph knew to fire up the jammer as soon as humanely possible. Given the reports from

the missionaries, there was little worry beyond the asteroids. If they had made it in unmolested, surely trained military pilots could do it easily. Unless, of course, it was by blessing or pure luck. The Nest had small teams of droid interceptors stationed on the dark sides of several of the larger asteroids. Who knew if there were mines or anything else. 
 

Pulling his harness down over his torso, Rags smiled before plopping his bucketed helmet onto his head and digging an elbow at Steve’s side. “Keep your helmet in your lap kid. I threw up on my first hot asteroid run.”

 

The Chiss’ eyes narrowed. “Har har. I’ve been on hot intakes before corporal.” He droned back dryly  as he thunked his own helmet on his head before clicking his own harness into place and pulling it down snug.

[Trill Scout Squadron]

“So far so good.” Lance Corporal Christoph Sokol whispered. His soft voice seemed to shatter the silence that filled the ship as it wove a path through the asteroid field. He was met with several disapproving looks from behind a trio of helmeted faces. Still the creak of his comrades’ armor as they leaned against their harness and their body weight adjusted spoke clearly. What was he thinking?

 

”Heh.” Queens chuckled softly. He wasn’t one to believe in superstitions, but he had appreciated the dead silence the scouts had unsolicitedly offered him as he wove the Alliance craft through the rapidly tumbling ever-changing maze of destructive stonework that was the asteroid field about Acrid. He was right, Christoph, after all, so far, things seemed to be going along swimmingly. Given the chance of encountering Imperial tech in the hands of what amounted to little more than slavers or pirates, the pilot had honestly expected more. When one had the toys of oppression, one usually

liked to show them off. Although . . . 
 

the twirling wreckage of some sort of hacked up freighter that passed uncomfortably close overhead as the U-wing pitched downward at a sharp incline was probably testament enough. 
 

“Approaching the inside rim of the asteroid field,” Queens droned almost robotically. So far so good indeed, if there was going to be any sort of engagement, the TIE pilot preferred more open space to a gravitationally strewn field.

 

In the hold, the excitement was almost palpable. The silence having been broken moments before, the commander of their little group, Gunnery Sergeant Benjamin Wood nodded as he checked the blaster connections of the heavy repeater nestled in his lap. “No going back now boys. Only way home is once we secure our objective and make sure this filth’s bio-labs are blown back to Xim’s final stand.” 
 

As if on cue, a single red beacon flashed in the hold. In the cockpit, it was accompanied by a telltale mechanized whoop. “Whoever it is, good guess them birds know we’re at the front door.” Queens radio’d as his scanners picked up the planetary scans of their ship. Somebody had spotted them. “Trill Five is going dark.”

 

”That’s our signal, lets light this Life Day cake,” Riggs laughed, excited for what came next, “Just don’t get us shot down, this coffin is packing multiple

friendlies.” He chided the pilot as he slapped the activator to the frequency jammer. 
 

A bulbous gelatinous sound seemed to emanate outward from device itself as the entire ship was engulfed in a rapidly expanding field of millions of frequency overriding signals. “Yeah, yeah.” Queens waived off the comment, but even his helmet comms were jammed, bathing  the entire ship in an eerie silence sage for the dull throbbing of the engines that one could almost feel more than hear.

 

About the same time swarms of interceptor droids detached from the backsides of the spinning asteroids, launching themselves with a fury towards the planetary bound squadron of craft.  Triggered either by the sensor ping or the sudden frequency jamming, the droids did what they knew best. Their little computerized minds focused on whatever was not a known friendly and they attacked, launching themselves with reckless abandon at the X-Wings and U-Wing. True, they were less coordinated than they may have been, several even crashed into one another in their fury to attack, exploding in plumes of silent electrified debris; still, it was like a horde of goblins giving chase. Goblins armed with Clone War era buzz droids that is. They could not lock on, that would have made them even deadlier. No winder so few ever made it. By sheer number and continued computerized sef-adjustments, the swarm closed in.
 

The flash of two buzz droid-laden interceptors colliding caught Queens’ attention. The fact that they had gotten so close was a concerning testament to the pilot’s general dependence in the technology he so expertly commanded. No sensors had alerted him to the asteroid-birthed defensive measure that cut them off from the outside world and sought to cut them to pieces. “Evasive maneuvers.” He called into his dead comm unit. Not like anyone could hear him. It was more force of habit than anything. Verbalize you actions, slow yourself down just enough to think, act on thought and instinct.

 

Remaining in formation, the U-wing accelerated with the others, clear from the field. Perhaps speed was to be their friend already.

 

 

[Trill Scout Squadron]

Following tightly behind Templar One, the explosions of fiery fuel and warheads enveloped a majority of the swarm. As they approached the outer edges of the planet’s atmosphere, Queens hoped reentry would burn the remainder of the devil-droids.

 

The ship shook slightly as it entered the atmosphere. The shields of the craft buffered a majority of the heat as the atmosphere peeled past. The armored exterior easily took the rest. Below them the sweeping deserts and steppes of the world unfolded before the fleet. Small nomadic villages sparsely dotted the landscape, darker splotches against the bright sands; all a significant distance to the south, far from the castle of the Nusp-Ashla Nest. The castle stood darkly overlooking the sprawling slums beneath it. For the moment, it was still out of sight beyond the horizon, beyond the curvature of the globe the team descended towards.

 

But still, an explosion in the asteroid fields would garner attention from the authorities that commanded the nest; had they known about it. For the moment, those inside the nest were simply scratching their heads and tapping at their consoles. Something was amiss. Was it possible an entire sector of satellites could go down at the same time? Or, was it an equipment malfunction? Sending lackeys into the bowels of the castle, hopefully they could figure it out and before their next client arrived. If it was a satellite issue, they would need repaired. That would cost credits. They would need to increase their prices. The idea of an attack, well, that was purely laughable. Nobody could get past the asteroids.

 

And then, one by one, sensor suites began to blink back into existence. Meanwhile, others began to malfunction as if they ceased to exist.

 

And they kept getting closer. The birds may have not been the smartest in the galaxy, but they knew a thing or two about a thing or two. Something was inbound. “Scramble the fighters!” The cry went out as an obnoxious squawking alerted the castle to assume their battle positions. It was something that had not happened in a long time, not for an emergency at least. A show of force for the highest levels of

clientele, sure, that happened from time to time, so every Nediji made sure to slip into a cleanly tailored uniform before half-scurrying towards the VERY large guns atop the walls and towers. Two squadrons of TIE Interceptors launched from within the courtyard. Their engines spun loudly as they swooped low over the ghetto of experiments that lived to serve their mad machinations. Tools of fear.

 

Following along with the Templars, the U-wing began to drop lower than the others. When they got closer, the ship would land and offload the speeders and Trill Scout Squadron.

 

On the horizon, the black splotch of the castle atop the steps began to formulate, a black blob against the skyline. The slums and ghettos sprawled outwards like a greasy stain.

 

Even if they felt invincible, the Nest was paranoid, highly. Maybe that was why they stayed alive for so long away from their initial homeworld. So when the communicators, from handheld walkie talkies to interplanetary relays, went dark; scrambled as if they were being overloaded and unable to respond or transmit, the paranoia went into overdrive. In addition to being paranoid, the Nest was highly wealthy. Not a good combination, because that wealth only served to be utilized in pursuance of overpowering any perceived threats from revolts to discovery by their own coming to punish them. In the chaos of the galaxy, that wealth bought lots of stolen goods. A half dozen Clone War era SPHA-Ts, two dozen Riot Control Walkers, and a squad of All-Terrain Defense Pods made up one of those purchases; money spent to keep suppressing the people, to display their power; and occasionally, keep nomadic barbarians at bay. Crews scurried towards the walkers. They would move through the crowded streets, parting the masses, and destroying anyone or anything that might stand in their way. Whatever was coming, a show of force might be enough to dissuade them. Surely someone had managed to arm up the nomads. They would pay for that, but first, the usurpers would need put down, publicly.

 

The U-Wing began to slow. “Whatcha doin Queens? We got a hot drop to make. Can’t even see the enemy yet.” Rags snarled playfully.

 

Queens shook his head, he could barely hear what was being said. He knew enough to know it surely wasn’t words of encouragement. He did not need to respond. The massive turbolaser blast from the self-propelled heavy artillery ripped through the air. It would have struck the U-Wing head on had Queens not jerked the yoke hard downwards and to the left. “That wasn’t very nice.” Queens muttered as he pointed the nose towards the ground, pulling up with a squeal of metal as it protested the gravitational forces that pulled at it. They skimmed along, mere feet above the ground.

 

”Guess thats our signal,” Benjamin shouted, hefting his heavy weapon to Steve as he unstrapped himself and knelt to plug the weapon into the external power source. On the opposite side, Christoph gage an excited and altogether primitive war whoop as he grabbed his own heavy weapon and threw open the hatch. 
 

“Strap in first there skippy!” Rags grunted as he slapped a restraint strap to the Scout’s belt line as he leaned out the opening and sent a volley of cannon fire at a forward angle towards the wall of armor that seemed to be forming up at the edge of the ghetto.

[Trill Scout Squadron]

The rat-tat-tat of the heavy cannons rattled about the ship as the wind screamed pst the open doors. It was like an old war holovid in real life. Not that that occurred to most of the crew; although Rags chuckled to himsef at the realization.

 

The Scouts’ comma crackled to

life. It was a shock in and of itself. A string of unprintable curse words flowed from Queens mouth as he jabbed at several buttons and switches on his console. Apparently the old boat was showing her age. Where the velocity of decent and the forces gravity had not been enough to dislodge whatever wire had inevitably rattled loose the sheer momentous power of the near direct artillery hit was enough to shut down the jamming system. “Did one of you sit on the switch?” Queens snarled angrily.

 

Steve stared down the barrel of his weapon. Blasts of molten hot laser tore through enemy targets with accuracy and ease. The young Scout did not say anything. If anything, the Chiss member of the squad had entered a near state of meditation as he put everything else from his mind but hitting his targets. Even if he was a tactical operator, he had absolute trust in his fellow soldiers to do their job, so there was no sense worrying about it. Such desiccation allowed Benjamin the chance to spin about to the intricate hamming system.

 

The leader of the squad flicked several switches. He even kicked the contraption for good measure causing it to fizzle for a moment. “Nothing on this end.” He growled into his comms with a hint of frustration knowing full well how much more difficult things had become.

 

The resulting wall of explosive fire rattled off by the X-wings consumed the wall of Imperial armor from view, at least for a moment. Some of the aged equipment was unable to stand up to the barrage, succumbing to the concussive blasts that flattened nearby shanties and  bursting into flames. Other armored pieces showed their Imperial craftsmanship and weathered the assault with no obvious ill effect. 
 

With the sudden opening up of comms, the front line defenses were able to relay the sudden assault on their livelihoods. In the castle, a new sense of urgency overtook the place. It was all hands on deck. This was no drill. Quickly the roof mounted anti-aircraft batteries roared to life. Another purchase of near top tier defensive power.

 

The U-wing pulled back, hard as Queens’ white knuckles gripped the yoke of the rattling craft. “We’re gonna have to put down a little further back.” He snarled as he arced upwards and around in a wide loop, a single blast from an anti-air cannon rattling the teeth of everyone aboard. Thankfully the shields held, but nee klaxons began to blare.

 

Rags and Benjamin yanked Steve and Christoph back into the hold, the doors slamming shut against the onslaught. They all fell in a heap at the back of the hold, liked against the magnetized speeder bikes. “Hey!” Christoph chortled. “The rest of us aren’t wearing seatbelts back here!”

 

”Sounds like a you problem,” Queens retorted as a smile creeped across the edges of his helmeted face. This was where the fun started.

 

”Ugh.” Rags groaned as he shoved Stege off his lap. “Hey. Just cause you got a death wish don’t mean we do!” He shouted toward the cockpit. The comms worked fine and everyone winced as he whispered “Stupid coffin jockey.”

 

”Hey Rags,” Benjamin waved as he tapped his helmet where his ear and comm speaker were

 

Oh. Oooooooh Rags realized. “Well don’t kill us.”

 

”Better buckle up cowboys. Its gonna get bumpy.” The pilot drolled in an almost sing-song monotone as he pulled the u-wing up at the last possible moment with a protest of struts.
 

Leveling out the ship tore away from the direct assault, slowing a short distance from the ghetto of shadows beneath the castle. Eventually the ship came to a stop and Queens spun in his seat. “Front row seats to the balcony fellas. Pop flares when you’re ready for pickup and I’ll show you what us coffin jockeys can really do.” He smiled. That was fun.

 

The four scouts grabbed their gear and hurried to release the maglocks on their bikes, guiding them down the descending ramp.

 

”Alright boys. You know the drill,” Ben smiled tiredly. “In and out. Ten fingers, ten toes. Steve, you got the stuff?”

 

Steve patted the satchel slung about his shoulder and gave a thumbs up.

 

”Lets blow this popsicle stand!” Rags whooped as his speeder bike roared to life and he tore towards the zig-zagging walkways of the shantytown.

 

The other three Scouts quickly followed suit and soon the group was in their element, white-knuckled and relaxed as they tore at breakneck speeds through the slums. The chaos of the assault seemed to unfold around them. Stormtrooper armor wearing goons ran through the streets blasting at anyone that got in their way, local, experiment, or foe alike. It did not matter. Even more armor rolled into sight, the masters within their fortress fearful of even more attackers materializing for an all out assault.

 

TIE fighters launched from their hangars. Their signature twin ion engines breaking the usual still skies as they invoked mass panic in the streets below. Of course, none of that was helped by the random strafing the TIEs subjected the defenseless people below too.

 

 

Steve snarled instinctively he veered hard to the left. An entire city block was vaporized. Beneath his armor, he felt the heat as his comm crackled ineffectively in his ear. Separated from the others for a moment, the Chiss focused on his task at hand. They had to get into the castle. They had to detonate the main power core.

 

”Sarge!” Christoph cried into his comm. “We mighta lost Trill Four!” He exclaimed as a fireball erupted behind them driving the bikes forward even faster.

 

”Stay on target.” Benjamin reassured them, his heart growing cold at the thought he might have lost another brother. “He’s too tough for a little fire to cook.”

Edited October 23, 2022 by Trill Scout Squadron

[Trill Scout Squadron]

The tension was escalating for Christoph, Benjamin, and Ragnar. The thought that perhaps Steve had gone down was a growing knot in each of their chests even as Benjamin grumbled into his comm. “Trust his training.”

 

The fortress loomed before the trio as they quickly approached it. With a stroke of luck, the gates were open, the ancient-styled drawbridge over cesspool-quality waters that served as a definitive mine between the haves and the have nots. Benjamin waved the others to follow him through. The roar of three engines echoed down the thundering tunnel-way lf the yawning entry into the courtyard and it was only then that they saw why the door was open. A thundering AT-AT stood in the gap, her pilots preferring to not be blown to smithereens like the final dying screams of their comrades.

 

The three scouts did not have time to think. At those speeds, all they could do was react on instinct. Christoph leaned on his yoke hard, ripping the bike from the ground and skimming along the wall a good fifteen feet off the ground. Meanwhile, Christoph veered the opposite direction squeezing between a large metal foot and the wall in a spray of sparks and the whine of metal as the exterior plating was shorn from the ever friendly cowboy’s speeder bike, his boot heating as it’s plastoid makeup was torn up and pressed between the same two objects. The Scout howled in pain before he shot through the tight squeeze and weaving more easily between the back pair of legs. Meanwhile, Benjamin reacted with a more direct approach pulling back hard on the yoke and jumping his Imperial Scout Bike between the front two legs and over the massive feet arcing through the air crashing down behind the walker in a shower of sparks as the bottom of his bike  slid along the stoney ground.

 

Benjamin slid into the courtyard, his bike sliding sideways as the engine sputtered and lost power. He struggled to keep the bike upright and get it restarted. Finally, he failed. The speeder toppled sideways and began to roll. Benjamin shoved himself from the bike, clean from the incoming tumble. The Gunnery Sergeant clattered to the ground, rolling and tumbling hard as his speeder bike did the same.

 

Rags zipped forward leveling out as he shot out beside Christoph. The two traded a brief albeit knowing look behind their helms before focusing on the courtyard quickly running out in front of them. They rapidly slowed as Rags cursed, “Steve had the charges!”

 

Tumbling to a stop flat on his back spread-eagle, Benjamin groaned. “Then we improvise,” he spat, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. He was pretty sure those were teeth as he pulled his bucket from his head and spat a bloody mess of phlegm, saliva, blood and bits of bone.

 

”Gunny you alright?” Christoph called across his comm.

 

”Mostly.” The team leader slowly sat up. His body ached all over, but nothing felt terribly broken. Slowly he picked himself up. The sound of the large anti-aircraft guns thundered overhead; although, that was not the most pressing issue at the moment. Two dozen avian mercenaries bedecked in haphazardly adorned Imperial Stormtrooper gear were fanning out of several different doors into the courtyard; each one wanted to make sure they were not the first into the fray with these unknown attackers, but driven by a chance to elevate one’s position by saving the Nest was too much to pass up. Haphazard gunfire worthy of the stories of Imperial shocktroopers Stormtroopers erupted driving the trio of scouts to action. Rags and Christoph doge behind their bikes alongside the keep’s inner wall, blasters drawn as they kept their heads down, popping out to provide covering fire for their leader who was out in the open.

 

Picking himself up, Benjamin broke into an attempted run, his aching legs refusing to hold him under the sudden strain and he toppled forward to the ground again. Pulling his pistol free, Benjamin squeezed several blasts off towards some of the birds before he began to pick himself up. Limping and at a hobbling gait, he ducked and tried to hurry toward his comrades. His only saving grace was his brothers’ return fire. Everyone wanted to be a hero, but none of them wanted to die. They quickly pulled back to cover, tentatively looking out to return odd and wide blasts.

 

————————————————-

 

Outside, Steve cursed as he batted at his helmet several times. The comms had been fried. Undoubtedly his brothers-in-arms were concerned, maybe even presumed him dead. Weaving through the mazed slums, Steve looked over his shoulder at the fortress. He did not see a ready way in and as he zipped forward a pair of TIE fighters seemed to have taken a shine to him. Weaving above them, the cannons strafed green superheated beams of destruction toward the Chiss. Pulling hard to the right, Steve ripped a 90 degree turn under the whine of his bike’s engine angling deeper into the slums.

 

————————————————-

 

“We got to get inside.” Rags growled as he aimed his carbine at a doorway, blasting as soon as a helmeted head came into view. “Feels wrong shooting what looks like our own.”

 

Pulling himself towards the others, Benjamin flopped to cover alongside Christoph with a grunt. ”Glad you could drop in Gunny.”  The Scout chortled as he popped off several rounds.

 

”The reactor core is in the lower levels. Lets find a way to blow it.” Rags growled standing to lay down a continuous stream of fire as he moved to shield Benjamin and Christoph. Christoph meanwhile helped Benjamin back to his feet, slinging the Gunny’s arm about his shoulders to lean on him. Slowly they advanced towards the nearest door, all three laying down fore any time a bucketed Stormtrooper head popped into view.