|  Author | Topic: Baptism of Fire - Kahlen Vaar's Origin (Read 285 times) |
Kahlen Vaar
Trooper
Mercenary
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Churhee's Law of Combat #32: One enemy soldier is never enough, but two is entirely too many.
Joined: Apr 2004
Gender: Male 
Posts: 76
Location: Kansas City
|  | Baptism of Fire - Kahlen Vaar's Origin
« Thread Started on Apr 28, 2006, 12:39am » | |
Chapter 1: Washout
It was the proudest moment in Kahlen Vaar’s life, and the most nerve-wracking.
After months of grueling training at the Imperial Naval Academy, the time for final cuts for the Imperial Starfighter Corps had come. Kahlen had survived the first several rounds of cuts, barely. The TIE Fighter was a finicky craft, requiring a gentle but firm hand on the controls to prevent over-maneuvering, but in the hands of a skilled pilot there was nothing like it in the skies. Kahlen had always had problems with the maneuvering portion of training. His gunnery was adequate, his basic piloting was well enough, but the finer points of combat maneuvering seemed to elude him. He would spend more time correcting an oversteer than actually flying, and he would constantly wrestle with the TIE’s touchy controls. His formation flying was abysmal. But he was certain he would be selected. He knew better than to think he was in the top of his class, but surely he could sneak in near the bottom. The Starfighter Corps only took the top ten percent of each class, and about half of the remainder either becoming gunners or shuttle pilots. The rest would do the “duffel bag drag” out the door, reclassified into one of the many other job descriptions the Navy had to fill. Most likely testing survival equipment on some remote moon. And experimental survival equipment wasn’t noted for its reliability. Kahlen was certain he had made the top ten percent, though. All he needed was a little refinement, a little more simulator time, a little more stick time, and he could be a great starfighter pilot.
Kahlen stood at rigid attention with the rest of his class, all in exacting formation on the parade ground as the Commandant made his final inspection. Resplendent in his black Navy uniform, the silver buttons and trim gleamed, his boots shone like they were made of glass. This was merely a formality; by this point the cadets knew what an inspector would look for, and prepared accordingly. The days of getting demerits for a uniform infraction were long gone.
After what seemed an eternity, the Commandant made his way to the podium at the far end of the parade ground. Kahlen’s heart began pounding in his chest, and his palms were slick with sweat. Kahlen didn’t remember a word of the Commandant’s speech, the same old “For the Glory of the Emperor” thing he’d heard a hundred times. He knew assignments would be handed out after the ceremony, during company formation. All he had to do was remain awake until the order “Pass In Review” came, and then he’d march past the podium and onto his career.
The order finally came; the cadets moved in perfect unison, the rhythmic tromp-tromp of thousands of boots in sync sounding like one giant footstep. The cadets were then broken down to their individual companies, where again they stood in formation and awaited their fate.
Kahlen’s company commander moved to the head of the formation, and after a moment of silently surveying his charges, produced a datapad from behind his back. Without preamble, he began reading names and assignments off of the datapad.
The cadets were much too disciplined to outwardly show emotion, but their reactions were easy enough to read, regardless. Kahlen could sense the barely contained glee from those few who were chosen to report to a fighter squadron for advanced training. He could sense the disappointment mixed with relief from those who had missed the cut for starfighter training, but still qualified for shuttle/dropship piloting or gunnery. And then there were those who were told to report to a processing station for reclassification. Discipline or no, those unfortunates could not help but sag their shoulders a little, their position of attention not quite as ramrod-straight. Kahlen could do nothing but sweat until he finally heard the Captain bark his name.
“Vaar!”
“Sir, yes sir!”
“0430 hours tomorrow, Tallhart Field. Utility Craft Operation.”
Kahlen could hardly croak out his reply through the lump of disappointment in his throat. “Sir, yes sir!”
So that was it, then. His goal of becoming a fighter pilot was well and truly over. It wasn’t a total loss; he tried to reason with himself. At least he could still fly. Piloting a dropship or a Gamma-class assault shuttle would be pretty exciting, shuttling troops from orbiting Star Destroyers to combat zones planetside. Besides, that’s what it all boiled down to, right? Assaulting and holding ground. Everything else in the military supported that simple objective. Wars were won and lost by boots on the ground, and Kahlen would be part of that. Yes sir, that was much better than prancing about in that deathtrap TIE Fighter, with all those other arrogant rocket jockeys. Kahlen would be where the action was. Whole engagements would hinge on his ability to get the troops where they needed to be, and on time. He’d much rather fly dropships any day.
At least, that’s what he tried to convince himself of.
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The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, and a lot of griping.
Kahlen Vaar's bio and stats
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Kahlen Vaar
Trooper
Mercenary
member is offline
Churhee's Law of Combat #32: One enemy soldier is never enough, but two is entirely too many.
Joined: Apr 2004
Gender: Male
Posts: 76
Location: Kansas City
| | Re: Baptism of Fire - Kahlen Vaar's Origin
« Reply #1 on Apr 28, 2006, 12:40am » | |
Chapter 2: Soldier
Many more months passed. The Empire has a large inventory of “utility craft,” a term used for starships that are normally non-combat related, but too small to be a capital ship and too big and unwieldy to be a fighter. Kahlen was checked out on everything from huge “Landing Brick” dropships to Lambda-class utility shuttles; combat utility vehicles to space tugs. He was particularly fond of the Gamma-class assault shuttle, a heavily armed shuttle normally used to deploy Spacetroopers. It was much more maneuverable than most of the other craft he flew, and he knew it was probably the closest he would get to flying a fighter. As he and his fellow cadets neared the end of their training, they were allowed to request the type of craft they would be assigned to. A request was just that; the Empire would assign you wherever they had needs, and if your request happened to coincide with their need, then good for you. If not, too bad. Kahlen put the Gamma-class at the top of his list, but didn’t bother listing any other craft. If he couldn’t fly a Gamma, then he really didn’t care what he flew.
Fortune smiled this time. Kahlen’s marks were good enough this time around, and there happened to be an opening for an assault shuttle pilot on board the Star Destroyer Thunderer. With his brand-new Flight Officer rank insignia gleaming on his chest, he felt ten feet tall and blaster-proof as he boarded the orbital shuttle that would take him to his assignment. His grandfather, The General, would be proud. Or so he hoped.
Kahlen came from a traditional military family on his homeworld of Ralltiir. His grandfather was a decorated General in the Old Republic Army, and some of his tactics were still being taught at the Imperial Land Warfare School on Carida. He was always called The General in Kahlen’s family. He was a kind and gentle man, with endless stories of battles on far-off planets that would keep Kahlen and his siblings spellbound for hours. But Kahlen’s father always demanded he show proper respect, and any time Kahlen or his siblings called him Grandfather, they were met with a thin smile and a disapproving stare. So, The General it was.
One of the driving forces in Kahlen’s life was to make The General proud of him. The easiest way to the man’s heart seemed to be military service, so when Kahlen announced he was putting a hitch into Ralltiir’s militia, his father, himself a veteran of the Clone Wars, and The General were delighted. Kahlen served two years in the militia’s infantry, seeing no more action than the occasional parade or natural disaster. By this time, Ralltiir was firmly in the grip of the Empire, and serving in the Imperial military was about the only chance to get offworld and see some real action. Besides, according to the local Imperial Morale Officer, this Rebellion was spreading Coreward, and it was only a matter of time before they threatened Ralltiir itself. Wouldn’t he rather protect his home and family and fight these terrorists on the Rim?
When Kahlen was discharged from the militia, he then announced to his family that he was joining the Imperial Navy. There were the usual murmurs and exclamations of assent from his family, but he noticed his father and The General exchanging a significant glance at the news.
Later that evening, as Kahlen expected would happen, his father and The General sat him down to talk about his decision. His father gave him what sounded like a rehearsed speech about how proud he was of him, about how the best opportunities for training, promotion, and travel were with the Imperial military. When he finished, he suddenly looked away and didn’t speak. Kahlen glanced quizzically at The General, who gently laid a withered and scarred hand on his shoulder.
“Soldier (he called everyone in the family “Soldier”),” he said, “the Imperial military is the finest fighting force ever created. You should be proud of this opportunity.” Kahlen’s father could barely contain a snort of derision at that. The General ignored him and drew a deep breath. “Just don’t forget who you are, or where you’ve come from.”
Kahlen’s brow furrowed. “Sir?”
The General smiled, almost sadly. “I’m afraid that’s all I can say, soldier. There are some things a man needs to discover for himself. All your father and I can offer you is the wisdom we’ve collected over a lifetime of service to the Republic. And that wisdom can be summed up in the words I just told you. Never forget who you are, or where you’ve come from.”
Kahlen had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but it was unseemly to argue with The General. He wasn’t a mouthy kid anymore; he was a grown man, a veteran, and he was supposed to nod sagely and with gratitude when his elders gave out advice. He nodded stiffly. “Thank you, sir. I will remember.” He looked over to his father, whose jaw was clenched shut and seemed to be swallowing rapidly. “Thank you for your advice, Father.” His father nodded rapidly, then stood and embraced his son. “Take care, boy,” he whispered in a strained voice. “Watch yourself and keep your head. Let us know how you’re doing.” With that, his father turned on his heel and left.
The General watched, sympathy in his ancient eyes. “I was much the same way when he joined the Grand Army of the Republic. He seemed to turn out well enough.” Those same eyes now twinkled. “Well, I expect your mother will want to say a few things to you, more than likely something about attending chapel every week and changing your undergarments every day. Once that’s over, I recommend you get a full night’s sleep. It may be some time before you get another.”
Kahlen shipped out for the Imperial Naval Academy the next week, and the General’s parting words were prophetic.
”Shuttle RG426 for Star Destroyer Thunderer, now boarding at Docking Bay 9.”
Kahlen was jerked back into the present by the announcement. He was sitting in the boarding lounge on the Academy’s orbiting space station. Hurriedly, he double-checked the announced shuttle number against the one listed on his orders. Confirming it was correct, he hoisted his duffle bag and hustled to the docking bay. A single Lambda-class shuttle was parked in the bay, with an irritated Chief Petty Officer waiting at the foot of the boarding ramp, checking his chronometer. Kahlen stepped smartly to the foot of the ramp and almost saluted out of habit, until he remembered that he outranked the Chief. That fact didn’t seem to cross the Chief’s mind as he looked at Kahlen like he was something the Chief found on the bottom of his shoe after walking across a dewback corral. He held out a hand. “Orders?”
Kahlen handed over his datapad, correctly surmising that he shouldn’t press the rank issue. The Chief gave his orders a cursory glance, and then, apparently satisfied, shoved the datapad back into Kahlen’s hand. “Get on board and take a seat, sir. We’re waiting on you.”
Kahlen looked up in surprise from stowing away his datapad in a pocket. “Isn’t there anybody else we have to wait on?”
The Chief sighed, apparently wondering which village was missing their idiot. “The manifest says we’re to pick up one bus driver named Vaar, and deliver him to the Thunderer. Your orders say you’re Vaar. Take a seat, sir.”
Properly rebuked, Kahlen ascended the ramp into the interior of the shuttle. At the top of the ramp, he could see into the cockpit where the flight crew was preparing for takeoff. He thought of going forward and seeing if he could find a seat in the cockpit and observe, maybe even convince them to give him some stick time, but one scowl from the Chief banished the thought from his mind. He stowed his duffel in a storage compartment and found a seat in the passenger section. At least he’d have the place to himself, and he could catch a few winks. One of the first things he’d learned in the military was to never stand when you can sit, never sit when you can lie down, and never stay awake when you can sleep. Kahlen put this bit of wisdom to work, settling himself in his seat as comfortably as possible. By the time the shuttle’s repulsorlifts engaged and the craft cleared the docking bay, Kahlen had dozed off.
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The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, and a lot of griping.
Kahlen Vaar's bio and stats
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Kahlen Vaar
Trooper
Mercenary
member is offline
Churhee's Law of Combat #32: One enemy soldier is never enough, but two is entirely too many.
Joined: Apr 2004
Gender: Male
Posts: 76
Location: Kansas City
| | Re: Baptism of Fire - Kahlen Vaar's Origin
« Reply #2 on Apr 28, 2006, 12:42am » | |
Chapter 3: Deserter
The next several years were all Kahlen hoped they could be. The Thunderer was assigned to patrol several Outer Rim systems, all of them infested with pirates, smugglers, and Rebels. More action than Kahlen could shake a stick at. Kahlen served with distinction as a copilot on his Gamma-class assault shuttle, earning high praise from his craft’s commander, several decorations for valor, and a promotion to Flight Lieutenant. This promotion bought him a pilot’s seat on another Gamma shuttle, and Kahlen finally thought his ship had come in. His only stumbling block was right in front of him, however. Or more accurately, right behind him on his shuttle’s flight deck.
Senior Lieutenant Jaboric was a rigid, cruel, and ambitious officer, bucking hard to boost himself up the command ladder. As commander of Kahlen’s shuttle, it was his job to oversee the flight crew, which consisted of Kahlen and his copilot, and the two gunners. Jaboric drove his crew hard, berating them and turning them in for reprimands no matter how well they performed. He would completely lose his cool in combat, often screaming contradicting orders that had absolutely no application to the current situation. It got to the point where Kahlen and his crew would ignore his orders in combat, instead sticking to their experience and training. They performed with stellar efficiency, but their insubordination infuriated Jaboric.
One day the orders came down: A Rebel stronghold had been discovered in the capital city of the Rim world Danos V. The Thunderer was dispatched to deal with the Rebels, and make an example of those who would give aid and comfort to the enemy.
As soon as the Thunderer arrived in-system, the Rebels were alerted. A few Neutron Star-class Bulk Cruisers and an Assault Frigate moved to intercept, but the ancient vessels were no match for the awesome firepower of an Imperial II-class Star Destroyer. Kahlen’s shuttle was packed full of Stormtroopers for this trip, as they would be the vanguard of the ground assault on the city. Kahlen’s orders were to deliver the troops, provide close-air support while they entrenched themselves, and return for more troops. Rinse and repeat.
Rebel starfighters had closed to within several kilometers of the Thunderer as Kahlen’s shuttle cleared the docking bay and headed for the surface. TIE Fighters were wheeling and dodging among them, and the space around them was streaked with red and green bolts of energy. Kahlen’s gunners had their hands full as they dove through the dogfight, and more than a few blasts bounced off their shields and shook their craft while Jaboric screamed curses, insults and nonsensical orders at them. Kahlen finally cleared the melee and hit atmosphere. Checking the coordinates with his copilot, Kahlen headed for the LZ.
As he approached, streaks of red anti-aircraft fire rose to meet them. Kahlen rolled and yawed with evasive maneuvers as his gunners returned fire. Screeching in at treetop level, the assault shuttle thundered into its LZ and settled to the ground. Kahlen dropped the troop doors as his copilot ducked back into the troop section to make sure everyone got off. The Stormtroopers charged off the shuttle, dispersing with machinelike precision and making short work of any immediate resistance.
“GO! GET OFF THE GROUND!! THE REBEL SCUM CAN HIT US BLINDFOLDED!!” Jaboric was shouting. For once, he was right, but Kahlen had done this before and didn’t need to be shouted at. Buttoning up the troop doors, he yanked the shuttle skyward and circled the LZ for several minutes as his gunners hosed down the immediate area with heavy blaster cannon fire. Kahlen then turned and headed back to the Thunderer.
The dogfight was considerably less fierce than it had been. Swarms of TIE Fighters still clouded the space around the Star Destroyer, herding the last few remaining Y-Wings into kill boxes and dispatching them with deadly efficiency. Utility tugs were already circulating among the wreckage, salvaging what they were able. The battle of Danos V was effectively over. Kahlen picked up one more load of troops and headed back to his drop zone.
Thanks to Kahlen and the other troopship pilots’ efforts, thousands of Imperial troops now held Danos V’s capital. Pockets of resistance still held throughout the city, but several hundred Rebel prisoners had already been taken, and victory was only a matter of time. Jaboric shouted at Kahlen to land the shuttle, as he wanted to personally take part in dealing with the Rebel scum. Kahlen and his copilot exchanged glances, but there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with landing right now. For once, Kahlen complied, and Jaboric was leaping off the shuttle before the repulsors were even shut off. Telling his copilot to see to the shutdown checklist, Kahlen followed, a pit of dread opening in his stomach.
The prisoners were under guard in a large park, with plenty of trees, and surrounded by a large, ornate stone wall. Kahlen’s worst fears were realized when he heard blaster fire on the other side of the wall, along with screams of horror and anguish.
They were shooting the prisoners. In front of their families.
He took off at a dead sprint towards the park gate, where he was brought up short by a pair of Stormtroopers barring his path. Kahlen drew himself up and got into Officer Mode.
“You men, stand aside. I have urgent business with the ground commander.”
The faceless armored warriors made no response. One of them jerked his head to the side in an unmistakable “get out of here” gesture.
Frustrated, Kahlen looked past the Stormtroopers into the park beyond. He could see Jaboric standing by a group of Army officers, gesturing wildly and continually reaching for the pistol on his belt. Finally one of the officers said something to Jaboric that he had apparently been waiting to hear. He saluted almost comically (which the Army officer didn’t return) and sprinted back towards where Kahlen was standing.
Jaboric looked like a child that had been told the Yule Festival had come early. “Get the ship in the air! We’re going to deal with the Rebel stronghold ourselves!”
Kahlen frowned as he fell into step with his commander. A Gamma shuttle was a decent enough ground support craft, but tackling a stronghold sounded like something a squadron of TIE Bombers should take care of. “Sir, are you sure this is wise?”
Jaboric stopped in his tracks, his hand straying to his pistol. “Get on that ship or I’ll shoot you for cowardice in the face of the enemy!”
The man’s face was close enough that Kahlen could feel spittle on his own. His face hardened. “Fine. Sir.”
The shuttle’s crew had just finished shutdown and was stepping out to stretch their legs when Jaboric herded them back in, shouting at them to get in the air or they would all be shot. After they restarted the engines, they took off and began circling the area. Kahlen looked down and was sickened to see piles of dead civilians in the park. He wondered how many of them were actually Rebels.
Jaboric began shouting and pointing in the direction they should go. Kahlen looked over his shoulder.
“Sir, shouldn’t we have some attack coordinates fed to our navicomputer? I think we should have some more precise navigation information than your…finger.”
His answer was Jaboric stepping forward and pistol-whipping him.
Kahlen reeled as stars seemed to explode in his head. Furious, he lurched out of his seat and was brought up by Jaboric pointing the pistol between his eyes.
Jaboric was shaking. Foam was collecting at the corners of his mouth, and an unholy gleam was in his eye.
“One more word from you, Lieutenant. Just one more, and I’ll scatter your grey matter all over this cockpit.”
Kahlen bit back a retort, and slowly returned to his seat under the shocked gazes of the flight crew. Jaboric stepped forward and pointed out the viewscreen.
“There. That section of the city is our target. Lieutenant, orbit that area at an altitude of one-half kilometer. Gunners, on my mark, level everything that’s in range. We’re not leaving until there’s not one Rebel brick lying on top of another.”
Kahlen squinted at the part of the city Jaboric indicated. It appeared to be nothing more than a suburban residential area, but Rebels were known to hide most anywhere. Besides, the populace would have been evacuated by now. A quick show of force, then they would land and Kahlen would be turning Jaboric over to the first provost he came across. He settled into his orbit pattern and began circling the area. A sudden movement on the ground caught his eye, and he thought he saw several human shaped objects fleeing down the street, leading several smaller ones by the hand…
“Great Skies…”
“FIRE!”
The roar of the shuttle’s heavy blaster cannons and concussion missile launchers drowned out Kahlen’s shout of protest. Everything seemed to go in slow motion. Jaboric had actually shoved one of the gunners aside and was personally adding to the destruction on the ground. Several minutes passed, and the area below them was nothing but flaming rubble. It was only when Kahlen’s copilot informed them that their fuel level was critical did Jaboric give the order to return.
Kahlen’s hands were shaking so much he turned control of the shuttle over to his copilot. They landed at a clearing near the city where the invading forces had set up a landing strip. Kahlen unbuckled and lurched out of his seat as soon as they touched down. Leaping out of the crew door, he dropped to his knees at the rear of the shuttle and promptly vomited. Retching and heaving for several minutes with the screech of the shuttle’s engines in his ear, he wanted nothing more than the earth to open up and swallow him whole.
A shadow fell across him, and he looked up.
Jaboric stood over him, hands clasped behind his back with a stony expression on his face. The glow of the burning city lit his face with a hellish light as he stared at his handiwork.
“This is what happens to enemies of the Empire. We truly did the Emperor’s justice today.”
Kahlen slowly got to his feet, spitting the last remnants of bile from his mouth. When Jaboric finally turned to face him, Kahlen drew his pistol and shot Jaboric between the eyes.
“Yes, we did,” he said, as Jaboric’s body dropped to the ground.
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The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, and a lot of griping.
Kahlen Vaar's bio and stats
|
|
Kahlen Vaar
Trooper
Mercenary
member is offline
Churhee's Law of Combat #32: One enemy soldier is never enough, but two is entirely too many.
Joined: Apr 2004
Gender: Male
Posts: 76
Location: Kansas City
| | Re: Baptism of Fire - Kahlen Vaar's Origin
« Reply #3 on Apr 28, 2006, 12:44am » | |
Chapter 4: Fugitive
The next several moments were a blur. He couldn’t quite believe what he had done; he had never shot a person face-to-face before. He felt sick again, but he had nothing left to bring up. His hands began shaking again, and the pistol dropped from his nerveless fingers. He looked at his hands, as if he expected them to be dripping with blood. It was then he heard a familiar voice in his head.
“Never forget who you are, or where you’ve come from.”
Kahlen looked around him, at the mighty war machine that he had been so proud to be a part of. He looked at the city that now burned. He remembered the bodies and cries in the park. The fleeing families in the “Rebel stronghold.” He saw the body of the man whose life he’d taken with his own hands. He had never felt so ashamed in his whole life. What would The General say now?
Suddenly, a thick durasteel door seemed to open in Kahlen’s mind. The events of the past few minutes were swept inside, and the door slammed closed. He could think with remarkable clarity, and the past few minutes seemed nothing more than a vaguely unpleasant memory. He knew he only had a couple of minutes if he was planning on getting away with this.
Retrieving his pistol, he quickly searched Jaboric’s body for anything of value. Shoving the man’s pistol into his belt, he removed Jaboric’s wallet, his code key cylinder, an expensive chronometer, and his Academy ring. Maybe he could get a few credits for them at a pawnshop. Looking about, he spied a cargo skiff parked near the edge of the landing strip. He sprinted for it and leaped aboard, quickly starting it and heading towards the capital’s spaceport.
Kahlen remembered from the mission brief that the spaceport was to be left intact, but all ships were to be impounded and inspected before being allowed to leave. Kahlen hoped he could barter passage offworld on a freighter before his crime was discovered.
As he approached the spaceport, he could see two regular Army troopers in grey field armor lounging near the gate, pulling some semblance of guard duty. Kahlen pulled over near a stand of trees and began ripping his uniform’s unit patches and rank insignia off. He rubbed dirt and mud all over his uniform, boots, hands and face. Checking in a cargo compartment on the skiff, he found an old tarp. After treating it to a mud bath, he wrapped it around himself and hooded his face like a cloak. Climbing back aboard the skiff, he drove at a leisurely pace towards the spaceport.
One of the guards noticed his approach, and nudged his partner, who came awake with a jolt. They both stood up, looking as imperious and intimidating as possible. One of them held up a hand and Kahlen coasted to a stop.
“Restricted area, citizen. Turn this crate around.”
Kahlen kept his head lowered and eyes averted, but there was little chance that these troopers even knew him. “Jus’ came from tha landin’ field yer friends got set up outside a’ town. One of yer officers hired me ta bring supplies from yer shuttles here, an’ bring ‘em back.” A weak lie, but Kahlen was making this up as he went. A supply shuttle could just as easily land at the grass strip, eliminating the need for hauling cargo back and forth. Kahlen hoped the troopers wouldn’t figure that out until too late.
One of them, clearly a senior trooper but not yet an NCO, wasn’t convinced. “I haven’t received any notification that civilians were allowed into the spaceport yet.” He began reaching for the comlink on his belt.
His partner was busy staring longingly at the starport, where a brightly lit sign advertising the latest frosty beverage shone brightly at them. He turned and regarded Kahlen’s skiff, and began putting two and two together.
“Hey,” he said. “This is the only guy we’ve had come along all day anyway. Why don’t we let him run his errand, and maybe he can bring us something in return.” He jerked his head towards the billboard.
The senior trooper’s comlink hand froze as he considered the possibility. “Yeah. Of course, though,” he continued in a more imperious tone, “it’s against regulations to drink on duty.”
His partner’s face fell. “Yeah, I suppose.”
Kahlen had to chip in. “It’s against regulations ta be caught drinkin’ on duty, boys.”
Both troopers’ faces brightened. It was a hot day, and they had been sitting at that gate for most of it. The senior trooper stepped aside and waved Kahlen through. “Complete your business quickly, citizen. I want to see you back here in an hour. With your, uh, paperwork.”
“Make sure they’re cold!” piped the other trooper.
Kahlen nodded as he drove the skiff through the gate. He only noticed just then how badly his knees were shaking. Parking the skiff in an alley, he began poking his head into docking bays, searching for a ship that was about ready to leave. He saw several likely prospects, mostly light freighters, but they were all in varying stages of inspection, their cargos strewn about the docking bay while their crews fretted and wrung their hands under guard.
Kahlen spied a Customs officer and several guards exiting a docking bay farther down the street. Apparently they had finished with their inspection for that particular vessel. Squatting down behind a trash receptacle until the officer and his guards passed, Kahlen darted down the street and into the docking bay.
Inside the docking bay was the most decrepit scoutship Kahlen had ever had the misfortune of seeing. He wasn’t even sure of the type; most likely it was cobbled together from several different craft. Streaked with rust and carbon scoring, it looked as if it was held together by tauntaun spit and a whispered appeal to the Force. Movement caught his eye, and he spied a lone Weequay disconnecting a fuel hose from the ship and handing it back to a dock attendant.
“Sorry for the delay,” the attendant was saying. “Some Rebs were in town apparently, good thing the Empire was around ta burn ‘em out. Serves ‘em right, I say. You can always put up with a little delay as long as it’s fer yer own protection, right?”
The Weequay regarded the attendant with a stony glare, who promptly decided his services were needed elsewhere. Kahlen waited until the attendant disappeared and the Weequay was starting towards the crew hatch before he ran towards the ship. Startled, the Weequay looked up suddenly to see a mud-splattered human racing towards him. His hand reached for a blaster at his belt.
“Wait!” Kahlen shouted, holding up his empty hands to show he was unarmed. “Please, I need to get offworld quickly.” He stopped at the base of the loading ramp, where the Weequay still hadn’t taken his hand off his blaster. “I can pay you,” Kahlen said, opening Jaboric’s wallet and thrusting several cred-notes at him. “I’ve got an extra pistol you can have, and this ring should fetch some credits. Solid gold!”
The Weequay regarded him silently, his deep-set black eyes glittering like obsidian in his leathery face. His eyes traveled over the tattered and muddy remnants of Kahlen’s uniform, and he then lifted his head and studied the smoke rising from the ruined city in the distance. Without a word, he turned into the ship, motioning Kahlen to follow. Sighing in relief, Kahlen leaped aboard, and the Weequay sealed the hatch behind them.
There wasn’t much room aboard the cramped spacecraft. Cargo pods were strapped down here and there, and several panels still had wires and cables hanging out of them from the Imperial “inspection.” The silent Weequay weaved his way into the cockpit, where he seated himself in the pilot’s seat. Kahlen cleared off the navigator’s seat and buckled himself in. “I really appreciate this. I don’t know how I can repay you.”
The Weequay swiveled around in his seat, and held out his hand with an expectant look. Kahlen suddenly felt extremely foolish. “Oh, yeah.”
He emptied the contents of the wallet into the Weequay’s outstretched hand. As the Weequay looked on warily, he drew Jaboric’s pistol and handed it over, along with his Academy ring. The Weequay inspected the ring briefly, and then dropped it into a pocket with the credits. Looking at the markings stamped on the pistol, he tucked it inside his jacket and turned back towards his controls.
“Imperial trouble?”
Kahlen started. “Uh, what makes you say that?”
The Weequay shook his head as he started the scoutship’s engines. A loud knocking and banging noise began coming from the engine compartment, and the Weequay began adjusting the throttle, letting the ancient engines warm up a bit.
“Just a hunch.” He turned towards Kahlen with what he assumed was a sly look. “Happens to the best of us.”
The clanging subsided ever so slightly, but apparently that was enough to satisfy the Weequay. Engaging the repulsors, the battered scoutship rose from the docking bay and climbed skyward.
The scoutship broke atmosphere and began heading for the hyperspace jump point. Kahlen stood back out of the way as the Weequay programmed the navicomputer. “Where you headed?”
Kahlen shrugged, he honestly had no idea. “I don’t care. Just away from here.”
The Weequay gazed at him again. “I know the feelin’.”
They got settled into their seats again as they approached the jump point. Suddenly, a light began flashing on the communications console, and a loud voice came over the speaker.
”Unidentified scoutship, this is ISD Thunderer. You are ordered to heave to and prepare to be b…”
The Weequay shut off the comm unit with a flick of a switch and another glance at Kahlen.
Kahlen smiled back in gratitude. “Thanks. By the way, my name’s Vaar. Kahlen Vaar. I didn’t catch your name.”
The Weequay reached for the hyperdrive levers. “Kono,” he said.
The stars blurred into lines, and the scoutship disappeared into hyperspace.
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The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, and a lot of griping.
Kahlen Vaar's bio and stats
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Kahlen Vaar
Trooper
Mercenary
member is offline
Churhee's Law of Combat #32: One enemy soldier is never enough, but two is entirely too many.
Joined: Apr 2004
Gender: Male
Posts: 76
Location: Kansas City
| | Re: Baptism of Fire - Kahlen Vaar's Origin
« Reply #4 on Apr 29, 2006, 12:33am » | |
Chapter 5: Transient
Kono dropped Kahlen off on a miserable mudball of a planet known as Junction. The Outer Rim’s version of Coruscant, Junction’s surface was almost entirely taken up by cities and starports, but not nearly as orderly or cosmopolitan as the capital of the Empire. Junction was a rough place that could only be lived in by rough people.
Kono seemed truly sympathetic as he dropped Kahlen off after refueling his ship. The two of them had gotten to know each other a bit over the trip, even if Kono didn’t say a great deal. It was Kono’s opinion that if you weren’t sure where you were going, Junction was a good place to start. You could usually find some kind of menial employment there, you could easily disappear if you so chose, and its location as a hub for several hyperspace routes ensured that once you figured out where you wanted to go, there was opportunity to get there. Kono handed back half the credits Kahlen had given him, wished him luck, and took off.
It was the first time Kahlen had ever been totally alone. Even when he shipped off to the Academy, he was with hundreds of other cadets in the same boat as he was. There was always food to eat and a place to sleep, and orders to tell you what you had to do next. Now, Kahlen was stranded on a world he had never set foot on before, with the clothes on his back, a highly illegal Imperial-issue blaster, and a pocketful of a dead man’s credits. He took a deep breath, and scanned his surroundings.
First things first. Shelter and a base of operations.
He had to find an apartment building or flophouse somewhere. The trick was to locate one while not looking like a tourist. That was a good way to get yourself mugged or killed in a place like this. Even now, several beings were watching him closely, trying to determine if he was predator or prey. Kahlen drew himself up to his full height as he marched purposefully down the street, opening his makeshift cloak slightly to display the blaster on his hip. That was enough for most of his observers, who decided to look for easier marks elsewhere. The rest still watched him intently, though at a respectful distance.
After walking what seemed like hours, he still had no luck. The city wasn’t laid out in districts like the orderly cities on Ralltiir. There seemed to be warehouses, restaurants, cantinas, shops, private residences, and everything else crammed together in the same areas. He still wasn’t comfortable asking for directions, so he kept walking. The sun was going down when he finally arrived at a doorstep with a garish red neon sign lighting the entire front of the building with a faint red glow. The sign was in a language he didn’t understand, with a crude picture of a bunk on it. He was leery at first, but Kahlen sensed that sleeping in the alley would be a bad idea. A female Twi’lek lounged against the doorway, clad in a tight-fitting, revealing outfit and smoking a foul-smelling cigarra. Her tattooed lekku draped over her shoulders seductively as she looked Kahlen up and down, blowing a cloud of smoke into the thick, polluted air. Kahlen looked back and managed an uncomfortable grin; he had the distinct feeling he was being appraised like a bantha steak in a butcher shop.
“Looking for something? Or someone?” she asked in a sultry voice.
“Uh, just a room for the night,” Kahlen mumbled. He cursed himself for his slip. He’d been acting the part of a hardened denizen of the city all day, and one question from an extremely well proportioned female was reducing him to a yokel that just fell off the turnip wagon.
Her ruby red lips split into a grin of dazzling pointed teeth. “Baby, you’re in luck. I just happen to have a room you can use. Won’t find a better deal in town, I promise.” She sidled over to him, one hip at a time, her impossibly high heels clicking on the pavement. Running a finger lightly over his collarbone, she purred, “What’s your pleasure?”
The same durasteel door that locked away the events of Kahlen’s desertion now swallowed the awkward, mumbling boy that had stood there a moment ago. In his place was a tired, bitter and cynical ex-soldier who was tired of being taken advantage of. He gently grasped her hand and pushed it away from him, dropping it to her side. He smiled wearily. “My pleasure is a hot bath, clean clothes, the biggest steak you can find, and uninterrupted sleep for the next ten hours.”
She looked at him like a mynock had just leaped from his forehead on a small spring. Then, she began to laugh. Hesitantly at first, as if it had been some time since she had last laughed, and couldn’t quite remember how. Then the hearty, piercing laughs of someone who has heard something genuinely funny. Kahlen didn’t know what the joke was, but was too tired to care. He joined in, and they both stood in the street laughing like complete idiots. Even some of the rougher-looking denizens of the street gave them a wide berth. She wiped away a tear of mirth, and snickered. “I like you, sweetheart. What’s your name?”
Kahlen sighed. Again, this was probably a bad idea, but he was getting to be too tired to care. “Kahlen.”
“Well, Kahlen. I’m Diara. C’mon, I think I have just what the doctor ordered.” She took Kahlen by the hand and led him inside.
The door opened up into a large lobby or lounge, but the room was so dark and smoky it was hard to tell who was in there, or how many. Diara led him upstairs and down a hallway. Kahlen passed several doors, and the sound effects coming from behind them made it plain what kind of establishment he was in. Arriving at a door near the center of the hallway, Diara knocked and shoved open the door amid the squeaking protest of the rusted hinges.
Kahlen found himself in a dingy refresher room, with a dirty floor and a commode he didn’t dare use. A large cast-iron tub stood at the far end. Kahlen had never seen one so big. It looked big enough for three people. He chuckled. More than likely, that’s exactly why it was here.
Diara whistled and a battered 3PO droid came tottering in, wearing a threadbare bow tie and sleeve garters. “Yes, Mistress Diara?”
Diara gestured to the tub. “A hot bath and laundry service for our new friend Kahlen, TeeCee.”
The droid bowed stiffly. “At once, Mistress. Will friend Kahlen have anyone else joining him?”
Diara grinned wickedly. “No, I don’t think he’ll be requiring those services tonight, TeeCee. Just see that he gets himself cleaned up and gets something to eat.”
Kahlen looked on in growing ecstasy as the tub was filled with scalding water. “I appreciate your help. How much do I owe you?”
“I think about this much should do it.”
Kahlen spun around and saw Diara leafing through a fistful of cred-notes. Kahlen’s hand dropped to his pocket, which was now full of nothing but lint. Diara peeled off a few notes and handed them back to Kahlen, stuffing the remainder down the ample space of the front of her shirt. “Since you’re not getting full service, we won’t charge you full price.” She gave him a bawdy wink. “That, and you make me laugh. Now skin out of those filthy rags and get cleaned up. I won’t have you tracking mud all over my place.”
Kahlen was about to mention that mud was the least of this place’s problems, but decided against it. He also balked at disrobing while Diara was standing there. She snorted in mock disgust and left, closing the door behind her.
The bath felt every bit as good as it looked. He was only briefly interrupted by the droid TeeCee, who came to collect his clothes. Kahlen had stashed his blaster and gunbelt in his boots, and kept them near the tub. While he soaked, he tried to think of his next move.
This place, although disreputable, would probably be good enough to at least spend the night in. Diara had taken most of his credits, though, so he would have to find some kind of gainful employment as soon as possible. Diara seemed like a good enough sort, but something told him to be careful around her. She hadn’t lasted as long as she had on a planet like Junction without looking out for number one. She would probably be a good source of information, though. Maybe she could point him in the direction of a job in the morning.
TeeCee reentered several minutes later, a bundle of freshly laundered and pressed clothes in his arms, along with a plate of food. Placing them on a nearby chair that was reasonably free of mildew, the droid retreated with a short bow. Kahlen frowned at the bundle as he wolfed down the reheated ship’s rations. The good news was, he no longer would look and smell like he just crawled out of a methane swamp. The bad news was, it looked like a pressed and laundered Imperial uniform again. He would have to do something about that. He toweled off and dressed as Diara entered without knocking and motioned for him to follow. She led him to the end of the hallway and presented a reasonably clean room, and even better, an actual bed. Kahlen felt like he could sleep the rest of the week. He turned to Diara with a grateful smile. “I really appreciate your help today, Diara.”
She grinned back. “And I really appreciate your credits. Get some sleep now, sweetheart. I imagine you’ve got some things you want to get done in the morning.”
She walked towards the door as Kahlen all but collapsed on the bed. “See you tomorrow, Kahlen Vaar,” she said as the door closed behind her.
It never occurred to Kahlen as he drifted off to sleep that he hadn’t told her his last name.
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The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, and a lot of griping.
Kahlen Vaar's bio and stats
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Kahlen Vaar
Trooper
Mercenary
member is offline
Churhee's Law of Combat #32: One enemy soldier is never enough, but two is entirely too many.
Joined: Apr 2004
Gender: Male
Posts: 76
Location: Kansas City
| | Re: Baptism of Fire - Kahlen Vaar's Origin
« Reply #5 on May 1, 2006, 8:05am » | |
Chapter 6: Bounty
Kahlen awoke to his nose itching. That usually only happened when his subconscious was aware of something the rest of him ought to be, and was trying to pass the information on to more vital parts of his body. He rolled over slowly and cracked open an eyelid, but he was already pretty certain what he’d see.
Diara sat on a chair across the room, seemingly ignoring him in favor of some information she was reading on a datapad in her hand. As Kahlen stirred, she glanced up briefly.
“Morning, sweetie. I gave you ten hours, just like you asked. Now, it’s time to get to work.”
Kahlen noticed she was dressed in a dark olive-green combat jumpsuit which still showed off her generous figure nicely, but not in a blatantly seductive way like her getup the night before. Her attitude had changed, as well. Gone was the silky, seductive and sashaying temptress, she was briskly businesslike and carried herself as if she feared no one.
Kahlen sat up slowly, making a big show of stretching while his hand slid under his pillow to where he had hidden his blaster the night before. “What kind of work are we talking about?”
The datapad in Diara’s hand suddenly moved, revealing Kahlen’s blaster clutched in her other hand, pointed at his head. She smiled another one of her dazzling smiles. “Well, you don’t have to do much. Just go along quietly so I can get your bounty from the local Imperial garrison. Now, as long as you promise to behave yourself, I won’t stun you and drag you over there. Either way, the result’s the same.”
She turned the datapad around so Kahlen could see it. There was a holo of him from his Imperial identification file, along with some writing that was too small for Kahlen to read at this distance. Diara read it off for him.
“Kahlen Vaar. Human male. Wanted for Desertion from the Imperial Navy and Murder. 5,000 credit reward.”
She looked back at him. “You’ve been a busy boy. Funny how they put the desertion charge before the murder charge, isn’t it? You must not have killed anyone too important. Oh well. 5,000 credits is usually small potatoes for me, but a girl’s gotta eat.”
She stood up, and motioned to the door with the blaster. “Make yourself presentable. We’ve got a date.”
Kahlen rolled out of bed, cursing himself for his stupidity. He hadn’t bothered to undress when he went to bed, so he slipped on his boots and got to his feet, racking his brain on what to do next.
He was as good as dead if the Empire got hold of him, that much was obvious. Diara had the drop on him, so it was no use running for it, and although he was much bigger and stronger than she was, she had the posture of someone who was just waiting for him to try and overpower her. Raising his hands to his shoulders, he marched out of the door and into the hall. Diara suddenly prodded him in the back with the blaster. “Drop your hands, punkin. We want to keep this under the table; I don’t want some of these other characters in the lounge downstairs trying to get a piece of my action.” Slipping a jacket over her shoulders, she pocketed the blaster, which was still obviously pointing at Kahlen’s back. “It’s too bad,” she said, as they continued down the hall and began descending the stairs. “Another time and place, we might’ve had some fun together.”
Kahlen knew it was now or never. “Not likely,” he said as he began down the stairs. As they neared the bottom, Kahlen could see the lounge area was still filled with smoke, with dozens of unidentifiable beings in various stages of inebriation scattered about it. A small bar stood near the stairs, with a robo-bartender idly wiping down the surface with a filthy rag. As Kahlen neared the bottom, he faked a stumble and pitched forward. Diara instinctively reached for his arm, and Kahlen took his chance. Spinning around in mid-fall, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her down with them. Diara cursed in surprise as she was yanked off her feet and down the stairs. A loud blast split the air as she triggered the pistol in her pocket, and the red bolt of energy struck a bottle of liquor sitting on a shelf behind the bar. The bottle exploded with shards of glass and flaming spirits as the lounging patrons lurched to their feet at the sudden outbreak of violence. Most began fleeing for the exits, but a few pulled weapons of their own and began firing indiscriminately across the room. The bartender droid was cut down in the barrage and pitched over in a shower of sparks, igniting still more spilled liquor. The fire traveled quickly across the bar and up the wall, where it began blazing in earnest.
Kahlen was still grappling with Diara on the floor. Her jacket had slipped down her arms, but she was still thrashing wildy, kicking with her powerful legs and shouting at him in a language he didn’t understand; it sounded Huttese. Blood streamed from her nose, which appeared to have been broken in the fall. Kahlen made a grab for the jacket, which still held the blaster, and wrestled it off her arm. In the same instant he yanked the pistol from the jacket’s pocket, a slim vibro-shiv appeared in Diara’s hand. As she slashed viciously upward, Kahlen had an instant to react, but a hair too late. He could hear the slight humming of the molecularly charged blade as it slashed his face, laying open the right side from jaw to behind his eye. Kahlen staggered backward, grasping his bleeding face with one hand and pointing the blaster at Diara with the other. She stood there panting heavily, blood streaming from her nose, blade in hand, and a hellish gleam in her eyes. Pieces of the ceiling were beginning to fall from the fire, which was raging all around them. She spat a gob of blood to the floor and grinned a toothy grin.
“Well now, sweetheart. Looks like I’ll have to postpone our date.”
Kahlen couldn’t think of anything clever to say at the moment, so he thumbed the selector switch on the blaster to Stun and shot her.
She collapsed against the burning bar. Kahlen debated on leaving her, but decided against it. As he moved towards her, he heard a faint cry.
“Over here!”
He looked across the burning lounge. A lone figure lay on the floor, an older Human male by the look of him. His legs were pinned by a fallen beam, and the flames were creeping nearer. Kahlen trotted over, dodging the flames that were creeping higher around him, and levered the beam off the man’s legs. The man cried out in pain and relief.
“Thanks, youngster. Help me outta here, my leg’s broke.”
Kahlen draped the man’s arm over his shoulder. He was dressed in what appeared to be military fatigues, but they weren’t Imperial-issue. He had an insignia patch on his shoulder that Kahlen wasn’t familiar with. His appearance also wasn’t really military standard; his face was covered in coarse grey stubble and he reeked of sweat and cheap liquor. Half-carrying, half-dragging him out the door, Kahlen made it across the street, where he lowered the old man to the ground. “Stay put, I’ll be right back.”
Dashing through the flames that now burst through the doorway, Kahlen draped Diara’s inert form over his shoulders and ran back out, just as the building began to collapse. Ignoring the crowd that was gathering, and the wailing sirens of the approaching fire apparatus, Kahlen made his way into an alley, where he dumped Diara unceremoniously into the nearest trash container. He then went looking for the old man he had rescued.
The old man was right where Kahlen had left him, taking a swig from a metal flask that featured the same insignia as his fatigue jacket. He motioned Kahlen over.
“I’d be obliged if ya’d help me to my ship, boy. Docs there’ll patch me up just fine; I’m not so old an’ foolish as ta trust my health to tha doctors here.”
Kahlen nodded, and with much difficulty they were able to hobble their way to a docking bay not too far off. When they arrived, Kahlen saw several other beings milling about the docking bay, all wearing the same style of fatigues with the same insignia as the old man. Several of them rushed over as they saw Kahlen staggering under the weight of the injured old man. Lifting him off of Kahlen, they gently sat him down on some shipping crates, gathering around and chattering excitedly. One of them, a clean-cut young man with shiny brass pips on his collar, seemed to be the spokesman of the group.
“Colonel! We were just forming a search party to look for you. Your orders stated to meet at the docking bay at 0700 local…”
The old man spat. “Two more minutes an’ there wouldn’t have been anything left fer ya ta find, Major. A fine bunch of soldiers you lot turned out ta be. Leavin’ yer commandin’ officer ta roast in his own juices at some house of ill repute.”
The young Major reddened. “Sir, you specifically stated last night that you wanted to spend the night in town alone. I strongly recommended an escort…”
The old man looked at Kahlen with a pained expression. “They cluck after me like a gang of old ladies. When a man wants his itch scratched, he doesn’t want an entourage followin’ him around. But, I’m forgettin’ my manners.” He reached out a hand to Kahlen. “Vladym Churhee.”
Kahlen took the proffered hand and shook it. The old man’s grip was like iron, the skin calloused and rough. “Kahlen Vaar.”
Churhee raised an eyebrow. “Vaar, is it? I seem ta remember servin’ with a Colonel Vaar back durin’ tha Clone Wars. Any relation?”
Kahlen nodded. “My father was a Colonel in the Grand Army of the Republic. I’m not sure if he’s the same one you’ve met, though.” Vaar was a common enough name on Ralltiir.
Churhee squinted back at him. “Was in tha Grand Army myself. Saw some rough action durin’ tha Wars, but was proud ta do my part, as was most others. Then comes tha Empire.” Churhee spat again. “Fightin’ was all I was ever good at, but I didn’t care ta lend my blaster ta Palpatine an’ his jackbooted thugs. Decided ta go freelance, an here I am.” He chuckled, and gestured ruefully around him. “This fine bunch here belongs ta my outfit, Churhee’s Riflemen. Soldiers of fortune, tha lot of us, but I suppose most’d just call us mercenaries. Used ta do strictly anti-Imperial jobs, but lately we don’t have tha luxury of bein’ picky. Ya can’t always stand on principle when yer belly’s rumblin’, yer ship’s outta fuel, an’ yer blaster’s outta ammo.”
Kahlen looked about him warily. Both his father and The General had low opinions of mercenaries. The General had always said that they were unreliable, even when they were paid well. It was easy enough to get a merc to fight for your cause, he’d said, but it was rare to get a merc to die for your cause. The mercs assembled around him were a motley bunch, to be sure, but they carried themselves differently from common thugs. Their general appearance was rough, but there was an underlying pride and an air of competence. These beings were dangerous, and they knew it, but their restraint and discipline were unusual for beings in their line of work.
The assembled mercs were eyeing him with equal suspicion. Kahlen was suddenly conscious of the fact that in spite of removing all insignia, he was still pretty obviously wearing an Imperial Navy uniform.
That fact hadn’t escaped Churhee, either, who was eyeing Kahlen thoughtfully. “So, Mr. Vaar. That’s tha sad tale of Vladym Churhee. What of yours? Come now, old soldiers always swap war stories.”
Kahlen averted his eyes and fidgeted where he stood. “I’d rather not, Colonel.”
Churhee nodded with a grim smile. “I’m sure ya wouldn’t.” He slapped his thighs with both hands, and grimaced as he was reminded of his injuries. Motioning for two of the mercs to assist him, Churhee got to his feet with a groan. “Well, son, clear skies to ya. I thank ya fer my life, an’ if I can do anything fer ya in return, you just look up ol’ Vladym Churhee. You handled yerself well back there; I can always use a good man who thinks on his feet.” The mercenaries began filing through the door of the docking bay. Churhee and the two mercs helping him limped to the doorway, where Churhee stopped and glanced over his shoulder expectantly.
Kahlen was mulling things over. The military was the only life he had really ever known. His first day as a civilian had gotten him robbed, almost turned in for a bounty, his face slashed open, and he had burned down a building. He didn’t care to think what tomorrow would bring.
Going back to the Empire to face trial was out. There would probably be no trial; Kahlen would most likely just be taken out and shot by whichever Imperial garrison commander he turned himself into. There was always the Rebel Alliance, but he had no idea how to contact someone in the Rebellion. If he had learned anything during his time in the Imperial military, it was that the Rebels took great pains to keep themselves hidden, and most of the time it worked.
But, an opportunity had just presented itself. He had saved the life of a leader of a mercenary unit. The man owed him one. His crimes had caught up with him quickly while he was alone, but with an entire regiment of mercenaries around him he would be comfortably anonymous.
He stepped forward. “Colonel?”
Churhee turned with feigned surprise.
“Do you have room for one more?”
Churhee grinned with a mouthful of crooked teeth. “Follow me.”
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The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, and a lot of griping.
Kahlen Vaar's bio and stats
|
|
Kahlen Vaar
Trooper
Mercenary
member is offline
Churhee's Law of Combat #32: One enemy soldier is never enough, but two is entirely too many.
Joined: Apr 2004
Gender: Male
Posts: 76
Location: Kansas City
| | Re: Baptism of Fire - Kahlen Vaar's Origin
« Reply #6 on May 5, 2006, 8:11am » | |
Chapter 7: Awkward Squad
Kahlen followed Churhee through the docking bay doors. Several more mercs were scattered around the bay, performing routine checks on a massive but battered Kleeque-class regimental troopship. Churhee gestured towards it.
“That’s our ride, Churhee’s Law. We travel light, so it can carry tha whole outfit, plus vehicles an’ equipment. We got a permanent base elsewhere, you’ll be seein’ it soon enough.” He turned, and looked Kahlen up and down.
“First things first. You need that cut taken care of, you’re bleedin’ like a stuck Gamorrean. Corpsman!”
Another merc stepped over, carrying a medical pack on his hip. Churhee gestured to Kahlen. “See to our new brother here, he’s gotten his shiny pink face marked up.” Churhee laughed as the corpsman began cleaning Kahlen’s wound, then crudely stitching his face back together. “That’s gonna leave a beauty of a scar, son. ‘Course, a dip in a bacta tank’d fix you up good as new, if only we had a bacta tank.” He roared with laughter again, and then turned his scrutiny to Kahlen’s attire. “We gotta get rid of those rags, they’re hurtin’ my old eyes. Corporal, take Mr. Vaar here to the quartermaster, and set him up with his basic issue. Once he’s outfitted, send him to my office. We need to go over a few things.”
The corporal saluted, and turned towards the ship without so much as a glance at Kahlen. Kahlen nodded his thanks, and trotted off after him. The corporal entered the ship through the boarding ramp and took off down the labyrinthine corridors, never once stopping to point out important locations or even introducing himself. It was as if Kahlen didn’t exist. Kahlen noted the looks of disdain and utter contempt on the faces of some of the other mercs they passed.
The corporal finally stopped at a hatch deep within the bowels of the ship. Nodding towards the door, he turned on his heel and went back the way he came. Kahlen sighed and shoved open the door with a squeak of the hinges.
He emerged into a dim and dingy cargo compartment. Shipping crates and cargo pods were strapped to the floor in several locations. A long, high counter blocked access to the cargo area except through a thick, locked durasteel door, and steel mesh rose from the countertop to the ceiling. A slightly overweight and balding man sat behind the counter, his dingy boots up on the surface and his head lolling back, snoring slightly. A cigarra smoldered in the corner of his mouth, dropping bits of ash onto his dingy shirt. Kahlen cleared his throat.
The sleeping man didn’t stir. Kahlen rapped loudly on the counter and the man jerked awake, scowling. “This better be good, Troopie.”
“My name is Kahlen Vaar, uh…” Kahlen scanned the man’s uniform for rank insignia, but found none. He wasn’t sure what style of insignia they were using, anyway. “Colonel Churhee sent me here for basic issue.”
The quartermaster glared suspiciously at him, and checked a computer terminal on his desk. “Vaar. Hmph. Awkward Squad, huh? Well, let’s get it over with. Just remember that when you get yourself killed, wash your guts off your uniform before you turn it back in.”
The quartermaster looked Kahlen up and down with a practiced eye, and began traveling to different crates and pods, removing items and shoving them through a small slot in the metal grate above the counter. Three sets of dark grey battle fatigues, combat harness, a wide fan-shaped blast helmet similar to the one Imperial Naval troopers wore. Two pairs of combat boots, a fatigue hat, comlink, and dozens of other assorted odds and ends. Kahlen’s hands and arms were getting full when the quartermaster finally shoved a backpack through the hole with a smirk. He then waited until Kahlen had stuffed his belongings into the backpack before telling him he had to dump them out again to inventory and sign for them.
Kahlen endured the mild hazing without complaint. So far, this was nothing compared to when he was a plebe at the Academy. The quartermaster then shoved out a small thumbprint reader, scanned Kahlen’s thumb, and handed him a thumbprint-coded padlock. He then noticed the holster on Kahlen’s hip.
“Hand over that piece, Troopie. You’re only allowed to have weapons that are issued to you at this point. Besides, it’s share and share alike here. Any…acquired…weapons and equipment go into the regimental armory, that way everyone gets a fair shake.”
Reluctantly, Kahlen unbuckled his gunbelt and slid it across the counter. The quartermaster snatched it up and drew the blaster, looking it over with an expert eye.
“Hm. BlasTech DH-17, Imperial Navy issue. Nice piece. I’m partial to Merr-Sonn hardware myself, but we gotta take what we get.” He slid the blaster back into the holster, and then buckled the gunbelt around his ample waist as Kahlen glowered.
The quartermaster sighed. “Nothing personal, Troopie. Churhee wants his troops outfitted with a certain loadout, you’ll get yours soon enough. Pistols won’t do you much good with most of the jobs we get, anyway. Now, you’re supposed to bunk with the rest of the worthless wastes of space we picked up on this tour. Compartment G-40. Out the door, hang a left, and keep going. When you hit the engine room, back out quickly before Chief Markham kills you. Take another left, and your squad bay is right in front of you. You’re the last one we’ve picked up, so I imagine all the good spots are taken.” He nodded at the thick lock in Kahlen’s hand. “Make sure you lock your things up. Things tend to disappear, especially from that particular squad bay. You lose it, you bought it. You better get going. According to this message, the Old Man wants to see you in his office on the command deck when you’ve gotten your things together. I’d hurry, you’ve got five minutes.”
Kahlen left wordlessly and stepped out in the corridor, closing the hatch behind him. His brow furrowed as he tried to piece together the layout of the ship that he could remember. If he remembered correctly, he was near the rear of the ship at its lowest level. Most likely the command deck was forward at the highest level. Kahlen shook his head. More than likely this was another bit of hazing, sending the recruit to the rear of the ship to change and stow his gear, and then scurry to the front of the ship in less than five minutes.
Kahlen found a door farther along the corridor. Opening it cautiously, it turned out to be a small supply closet that didn’t seem to be used for much of anything but collecting dust. Kahlen changed into his new fatigues (which fit surprisingly well), and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he went in search of the command deck.
His instincts proved correct, although it still took him ten minutes to navigate the massive ship’s hallways. Churhee’s office was located behind the ship’s bridge, and Kahlen entered in time to see Churhee being treated by the same corpsman that had tended to his face. The corpsman seemed to be knowledgeable enough, but his work wasn’t pretty. He seemed to be a true battlefield medic, able to patch together wounded troops just well enough to get them back in the fight, or stabilize them long enough to evacuate them to the rear. Churhee grimaced as the corpsman finished wrapping his leg in a crude cast made out of an odd foam that hardened in seconds after the corpsman sprayed it on.
Churhee gestured to his leg. “Again, if we had a proper bacta cast, I’d be up an’ dancin’ a jig in two days. Now I gotta drag this thing around for two months.”
The corpsman ignored him; apparently he was used to this type of complaint. When he finished, he began repacking his medical pack. “You need to stay off your feet for the rest of the day, Colonel. You might be able to walk on the cast in a few weeks, but you’ll need to check with me first…”
Churhee waved him off. “Got things to do. Fetch me some crutches.”
The corpsman sighed, and left the office.
Churhee took a swig from his flask, as Kahlen fidgeted near the doorway. He wasn’t sure if he should stand at attention, or say “Reporting as ordered, sir,” or what. Churhee motioned to a chair, grinning.
“Have a seat, Mr. Vaar. So, ya decided ta head straight here, did ya? Ha! Tha rest of tha jokers we picked up took a coupla hours ta stow their gear an’ find their way back here. I like how ya think.”
He leaned forward on his desk, and his jovial manner suddenly disappeared.
“Thought you should know you coulda made me a great deal richer a few minutes ago.”
Kahlen’s heart leaped into his throat, but he said nothing.
Churhee’s stare was icy. “Imperial troops come nosin’ around here while you were getting’ yer gear. Said we was harborin’ a wanted criminal. Murderer. Deserter. Sound familiar?”
Kahlen began sweating very slightly, but still said nothing.
Churhee leaned back into his chair. “Sounded familiar ta me. Like half my roster. Told ‘em ta shove off, my personnel files weren’t none of tha Empire’s business. That said, I reckon that squares us in tha life savin’ department.” His eyes bored deep into Kahlen’s. “So, Mr. Vaar. You’ve got a choice, an’ once made, there’s no turnin’ back, either way. Right now, there’s nothin’ keepin’ ya here. We’ve made no agreements between us, just done each other a coupla favors. You can walk off this ship right now, an’ no hard feelin’s. This life isn’t fer everyone. Empire might catch up with ya, might not. Or, you can stay. But once yer here, yer here fer good. There’s no desertin’ tha Riflemen. We don’t abide that, not us. You don’t even wanna know what happened to tha last deserter we caught up with. That was seven Standard years ago, an’ there ain’t been one since.
“If ya stick with us, I promise ya you’ll live ta regret it. Tha next few months are gonna be spent at out permanent base, where you an tha other recruits are gone get put through tha paces. If ya make it, you’ll be assigned ta a regular company as a probationary trooper. Nobody’s a full Rifleman until they’ve been bloodied in combat. Our equipment’s substandard, pay depends on what contract we have, an’ there’s no recognition fer yer efforts. No pats on tha back from our employers, no shiny medals.”
Churhee leaned forward again. “But we don’t fight fer recognition. With this bunch, yer either a Rifleman or yer not, an’ if yer not, you don’t matter. I’ll tell ya what else you’ll get. Once yer a Rifleman, yer a Rifleman until ya die. Everyone in this regiment is your brother and sister. They’ll give ya their last blaster pack, tha last sip from their canteen, an’ you’d give ‘em tha same. There’s pride an’ honor here. You won’t see a gang of thugs loungin’ around, waitin’ fer someone ta wander into their line of fire so they can call themselves soldiers. We train as hard as we fight. This is a quality outfit, Mr. Vaar, and we act like it. We run a tight ship, but the result is we are the best at what we do. You’ll be tha best too, if ya can hack it.”
Kahlen absorbed all this. From what he’d seen, the Riflemen were not a wealthy mercenary outfit. The equipment he’d seen was several generations old compared to the cutting-edge hardware he’d trained with in the Imperial Navy. But there was a pride here that he’d never felt before. These men and women knew that they could take inferior equipment, make the best of it, and still be a formidable fighting force.
Kahlen stood stiffly at attention. “I choose to remain and become a Rifleman, sir.”
Churhee nodded. “You’ll stay, all right. Whether or not ya become a Rifleman remains ta be seen. Raise yer right hand.”
Kahlen complied, and took his oath as a Recruit Trooper in Churhee’s Riflemen. His previous rank and experience didn’t matter one bit to his new companions. A Recruit Trooper was a non-entity, an unclean…thing… that was taking up valuable space and rations until he proved otherwise. Now that Kahlen was sworn in, Churhee’s friendly demeanor diminished somewhat, and Kahlen realized that he had to prove himself all over again. Instead of wishing him well, Churhee gruffly dismissed him and told him to sack out, as he’d be meeting his drillmaster in the morning. Kahlen saluted and left.
As he made his way back to his squad bay, he noticed the looks he was getting were marginally less hostile, but not remotely friendly. A voice came over the loudspeaker, instructing the crew and passengers to secure for liftoff, and Kahlen flattened himself against the hallway wall as beings scurried past him to their stations. One of them called over his shoulder as he passed. “Get in your bay and stay there, Troopie. You’re just in the way out here.”
Following the loud throb of the troopship’s engines, Kahlen found his way to his squad bay. “Awkward Squad” was crudely painted on the hatch, and he pushed open the door.
The room was dark, but the light from the hall showed a small open bay with several sets of bunk beds and wall lockers, and a door that presumably led to a refresher. Loud snoring told Kahlen that he wasn’t the first to arrive here, and that it would be a bad idea to turn on the light. Fishing in his backpack, he found a glow rod with a red lens filter, and managed to find the only open bunk in the room. Predictably, it was the least popular spot in the room: top bunk, right next to the door. Kahlen locked up his things in the last empty locker and crawled into the musty-smelling bunk. The rhythmic thrumming of the ship’s engines lulled him to sleep in seconds.
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The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, and a lot of griping.
Kahlen Vaar's bio and stats
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Kahlen Vaar
Trooper
Mercenary
member is offline
Churhee's Law of Combat #32: One enemy soldier is never enough, but two is entirely too many.
Joined: Apr 2004
Gender: Male
Posts: 76
Location: Kansas City
| | Re: Baptism of Fire - Kahlen Vaar's Origin
« Reply #7 on May 7, 2006, 10:18am » | |
Chapter 8: Recruit
It seemed to Kahlen that he had only been asleep for a few minutes when the squad bay’s lights came on with an almost audible thump. His ears were then assaulted by a ferocious barrage of barking and growling, so much that Kahlen thought someone had turned a pack of Cyborrean warhounds loose in the bay. Before he could thrash his way free of his blanket and leap to the floor, his entire bunk was lifted bodily up and hurled across the room, amid more howling and the shouts of the other recruits. Kahlen crashed against the opposite wall in a heap, and finally disengaged himself from his bedding to face his assailant.
His outrage died a quick death as Kahlen stared at the biggest Wookiee he had ever seen. The biggest anything Kahlen had ever seen. Fully eight feet tall and built like a shaggy brown and grey gun bunker, the enraged Wookiee roared and howled through a mouthful of fangs, throwing bunks, wall lockers, and recruits across the bay in a seeming battle frenzy. The only one unaffected by this tirade was a tall, thin merc with corporal insignia standing at parade rest near the door, his heavy eyelids and unmistakable “1000-yard stare” betraying the fact that he’d seen action a few too many times. A grinning gang of mercs lurked outside the door, their heads the only parts visible as they watched the carnage.
Gesturing to the middle of the bay, the Wookiee howled and roared in rage as the recruits scurried about in confusion. The thin, dolorous looking corporal finally spoke in a slow, deliberate voice.
“I suggest you form up at attention in the middle of the bay. Sergeant Kiranthorr is likely to become agitated if he has to repeat himself.”
A formation appeared in the center of the bay, as if by magic.
Sergeant Kiranthorr clasped his massive, clawed hands behind his back and began stalking back and forth in front of the formation, looking each of them over scornfully as he passed. As he passed each one, he would shake his head in disgust, and mutter the same series of barks and growls as he moved on. Finally he stopped, spread his arms and howled at the ceiling, as if appealing to the heavens for mercy. Turning on his heel, he stalked towards the door muttering to himself as the crowd outside the door vanished, and punched the durasteel bulkhead as he passed through the hatch, denting it badly.
The droopy-looking corporal hadn’t budged an inch during the tirade. “Well,” he said in his slow monotone, “the drillmaster has pronounced judgment. Apparently his gods are angry with him, and have cursed him with you lot. The only appeasement he is allowed is to turn each of you into soldiers worthy to be called Churhee’s Riflemen. I’m sure now you understand why he is so upset. Myself, I fear for the sergeant’s everlasting soul.”
He looked at his chronometer in a slow, lazy motion. “You have ten minutes to change into full battle gear and assemble in formation in Cargo Bay 4. Unfortunately, eight of those minutes have already elapsed. My advice is to not keep the drillmaster waiting, or he may attempt a blood sacrifice to appease his gods.”
With another lazy motion, the corporal turned on his heel and headed for the door. The recruits scrambled for their lockers and began getting dressed. One of them, a slim Bothan, raised a hand. “Excuse me, corporal?”
The corporal paused at the door.
The Bothan cleared his throat nervously. “It’s just that…well, none of us speak Wookiee.”
The corporal sighed a longsuffering sigh. “I suggest you learn,” he said, and left.
None of the other recruits belittled the Bothan for asking the question; it was on all of their minds. Kahlen quickly donned his fatigues and boots, strapped on his combat harness and blast helmet, and shouldered his backpack as he ran out the door. A gauntlet of hooting and jeering mercs lined the way, herding the recruits on a winding and time wasting tour through the ship before they arrived puffing and panting in the cargo bay.
Sergeant Kiranthorr was livid. Roaring in fury, he gestured towards the far end of the bay and made several circular motions. That much was clear: start running and keep running. Kahlen set off at a brisk trot, with the other recruits following.
For the next two weeks, as the Churhee’s Law traveled to the Riflemen’s permanent base, Kahlen and the other recruits’ mornings began the same as his first: A rude awakening followed by assembly in the cargo bay, and then hours of calisthenics. Just to spice things up, Sergeant Kiranthorr would alter the environmental controls of the bay from time to time. Some days it would be blisteringly hot, others freezing cold. Some days he would reduce the oxygen content of the air in the bay, leaving them gasping like landed fish. Other days he would increase the artificial gravity in the bay, so they could hardly stand upright under their own weight. More often than not, their backpacks were filled with scrap metal and broken engine parts.
Calisthenics would be briefly interrupted at noon for a hurried chow call (for those who could hold it down) and then more calisthenics. Later in the trip, their afternoons were spent in hand-to-hand combat training, and squad-level combat maneuvers. They were not allowed anywhere near live weapons, instead carrying broom handles and saying, “Bang!” during combat training.
Just when they were beginning to get used to the intense physical training, the ship’s loudspeaker blared to life.
”Dropping out of hyperspace in five minutes. All hands are confined to quarters until further notice.”
The location of Churhee’s Riflemen’s permanent base was a closely guarded secret, known only to Churhee himself and a few of his top officers. All the rest were to wait in their quarters during planetfall or liftoff, so none of them could know exactly where they were, and therefore possibly have that information forcibly extracted from them.
The recruits were dismissed to their bay under orders to get their things packed and clean the bay until it shone. Sergeant Kiranthorr only provided them each a small potato to accomplish this task, much to their dismay. Packing didn’t take long, as none of them had many personal items. Cleaning the bay was another matter. It wasn’t particularly filthy, but it had a general griminess to it that it shared with the rest of the battered old transport. Kahlen and the rest scrubbed until their potatoes were mashed into paste, but it didn’t improve their surroundings a great deal.
Being so close to the engine room, they could tell when they finally landed. The loudspeaker confirmed this as they were directed to assemble in the main staging area by the cargo ramp. They found the entire regiment formed by companies, wearing spotless crimson and grey dress uniforms and black berets. Kahlen and his crew self-consciously lined up wearing their wrinkled, sweat-stained fatigues, in their own small formation behind the regiment. Sergeant Kiranthorr headed their formation in obvious disgust, while the dour corporal, whom they had learned was named Vollett, brought up the rear as a file closer.
Colonel Churhee stood at the head of the formation. His uniform was identical to the rest of his troops’ uniforms, besides his rank insignia. No badges, ribbons or medals bedecked his chest. He shouted a few words that Kahlen couldn’t hear, and then limped to the side of the formation. A shouted order, and the regiment marched forward out of the staging area and into the mercenary base. Churhee saluted as his troops passed, but dropped the salute before Kahlen’s squad reached him. Apparently they still hadn’t earned their place.
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The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, and a lot of griping.
Kahlen Vaar's bio and stats
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Kahlen Vaar
Trooper
Mercenary
member is offline
Churhee's Law of Combat #32: One enemy soldier is never enough, but two is entirely too many.
Joined: Apr 2004
Gender: Male
Posts: 76
Location: Kansas City
| | Re: Baptism of Fire - Kahlen Vaar's Origin
« Reply #8 on May 7, 2006, 10:19am » | |
Chapter 9: Unclean
The mercenary base was located on a hot, humid jungle world. A large clearing served as the landing area for the troopship, and as Kahlen watched, a large hydraulic arm covered the ship in sensor-reflective camouflage netting. Several crude pourstone buildings were erected across the base, all serving various purposes. The largest was the chow hall and common area; the one with several antennas and sensor dishes was obviously the command center. Others served as barracks, supply building, armory, repair garages, motor pool, stables for beasts of burden, and dozens of other functions. Fortified bunkers dotted the perimeter of the base, which was comprised of a sandbag and stone wall with a deep trench in front of it. The trench was lined with sharpened stakes, and coils of slicewire covered the tops of the wall. Anti-aircraft batteries and light artillery pieces were scattered across the base at strategic locations.
After another brief formation, the regiment was dismissed for the remainder of the day. As the rest of the troops scattered to their barracks, Kahlen and his squadmates remained where they were, wondering where their assigned barracks were. Sergeant Kiranthorr turned and leered at them, barking orders and gesturing towards one of the lesser-used auxiliary perimeter gates. The squad marched towards the gate, where a guard emerged from a bunker near the gate and swung it open. A small trail led into the jungle, where they found a decrepit, half-collapsed and leak-riddled tent. Sergeant Kiranthorr halted them in front of the tent and railed at them for several minutes before stalking away. As was their custom, the recruits then turned to Corporal Vollett for explanation.
“We generally don’t allow recruits inside the base. It’s good basic hygiene procedures, to keep the rest of the regiment from catching recruititis. Nasty stuff, recruititis. Very catching. You will make your home here, in the shelter we’ve generously provided for the less fortunate. You are free to wander the jungle at your leisure, but approach to within 50 meters of the base perimeter without orders and you will be shot. You are free to take your meals at any time you are not training. I’m sure you will find the bountiful flora and fauna of this lush paradise more than adequate.”
The inquisitive Bothan piped up again. “You mean, we have to hunt for our food?!”
Vollet turned his dour face to him. “Of course not. You are more than welcome to sit and starve, if you prefer. Myself, I always enjoy a full belly. Then again, the predators in the jungle also enjoy a full belly, so I imagine you’ll have to choose at some point whose belly will indeed be full. I would advise against eating the red berries growing on the bushes with blue flowers. No one should have to die that way. Ever.”
He pointed further down the trail. “Approximately one thousand meters down the trail is a small stream. The water there is good, so you don’t have to worry about purification techniques. I think there’s some fish in there, too, so you might look there if you’re hungry. That’s tusk-cat territory though, so don’t linger too long.”
The Bothan was almost squealing in dismay. “Predators? But we have no weapons!”
Vollet sighed, and gestured around him. “There’s sticks. There’s rocks. There’s vines. I’m certain at least one of you is reasonably clever; surely you can think of something. I would suggest a fire if you’re concerned about predators. That will also bring the insects, but I suppose having your blood slowly sucked out of your body is preferable to being torn limb from limb. I can only assume.”
Vollett turned to go, and then turned back. “I thought I’d mention that you are all free to go if you so choose. Oh, I know the Colonel told you all about how no one deserts the Riflemen. Well, that goes for actual Riflemen. You, on the other hand, aren’t. If you feel that you have erred in your choice of vocation, by all means leave. I honestly can’t tell you if there’s a starport on this world, or indeed if there’s any other civilization at all. We could be totally alone on this world. Then again, a resort casino could be just over that ridge of mountains on the horizon. I daresay you could find out if you looked. There’s Thevexian Marauders down in that valley, though, and I’m sure you know as well as I do how territorial they are. I’ll be back in the morning to collect those who stay and survive the night. Your conditioning that you had on the trip here should prepare you for the final phase of your training. Have a pleasant evening.”
Vollett turned and disappeared up the trail.
Most of the recruits collapsed where they stood, muttering in disgust. Kahlen dropped his backpack, and tried to take stock of the situation.
None of his Imperial Navy training had prepared him for this. He had had basic survival training, but it was only a week long and under close supervision. The recruits milled around, most of them cursing and complaining but none of them doing anything productive. It was then that Kahlen remembered some training that did apply.
Among other things, the Imperial Academy was a training ground for officers. Even though flight officers generally have no place in the command structure outside their squadrons, being an officer meant that you were a leader, whether you liked it or not. Kahlen remembered how he had led his shuttle crew, and how well they all reacted to him once he had gained their trust and respect. He looked around to his comrades.
All of them had come through Kiranthorr’s rigorous conditioning. Sore, tired, some minor injuries perhaps, but they had all come through. That spoke volumes in itself. All of them were veterans of some military organization, whether Imperial or a planetary militia. The raw ability was all there, but it needed to be led in the right direction or none of them were going to survive this jungle.
Kahlen surveyed the tent. “Well, we should inventory what assets we do have, and go from there. We should also form some details to get some basic services set up.”
Everyone looked at him quizzically. Kahlen had normally been one of the quiet ones, keeping to himself and not bothering to make friends.
Kahlen continued. “I’ll take volunteers for details. Any of you were hunters or outdoorsmen, you should take care of the hunting. The rest of us can split up and repair the tent, work on a fire, prepare defenses, and establish latrines.”
A hulking brute of a man snorted. “Listen ta this guy. Doesn’t say two words ta us this whole tour, an’ now he’s buckin’ fer Colonel. Har!”
Kahlen looked at him levelly. “All right. What do you suggest we do?”
The bruiser averted his gaze. “Prob’ly oughta make sure tha tent is in shape. Y’know, have some hunters look fer somethin’ ta eat, things like that.”
Kahlen nodded. “Good idea.”
Two of his fellows had been wilderness guides, and Kahlen instructed them to search for food, but not to wander too far. He divided the rest of his squad into work gangs, repairing the tent, building a fire and constructing trenches and stake fences around their camp. Kahlen himself dug the latrines, as he felt he couldn’t ask anyone else to do it. They spent a miserable first night, as the hunters were unsuccessful and the firestarters couldn’t produce even a spark in the damp jungle air. Kahlen divided them up into a watch schedule for the night, so if something did wander into their camp they would have some warning. Kahlen volunteered for the dawn watch, so he and the rest of the squad not on guard duty curled up under their thin blankets and hoped that they would see the sun rise.
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The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, and a lot of griping.
Kahlen Vaar's bio and stats
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Kahlen Vaar
Trooper
Mercenary
member is offline
Churhee's Law of Combat #32: One enemy soldier is never enough, but two is entirely too many.
Joined: Apr 2004
Gender: Male
Posts: 76
Location: Kansas City
| | Re: Baptism of Fire - Kahlen Vaar's Origin
« Reply #9 on May 7, 2006, 10:20am » | |
Chapter 10: Useless
Kahlen awoke to a nudge in the ribs by the trooper who was coming off guard duty. Clambering to his feet, he took the sharpened stick that passed as the camp’s defensive weapon and posted himself behind a bush next to the opening in their stake fence and trench. His watch passed uneventfully, although his imagination conjured up more terrors than probably existed near their camp. As morning began to break, he was treated to a gorgeous sunrise on this pristine jungle world, and for just a moment he forgot how miserable he was.
Farther up the trail, the recruits had no idea they were being watched.
Sergeant Kiranthorr had posted himself several meters outside the camp, in a camouflaged observation post built for the sole purpose of monitoring the recruit camp. He had observed the usual complaining and discouragement of the recruits, but was surprised at this Vaar character. Usually someone didn’t take the initiative and try to organize the camp until they were near starvation, and even then turf wars were common, as recruits usually refused to follow orders of other recruits. He’d made mostly the right decisions, even if they didn’t yet have food or fire, but that wasn’t for lack of trying. He nodded in approval as the recruits focused on preparing shelter, defenses and sanitary provisions to prevent disease. Most recruits didn’t bother posting a guard or setting up stakes, and Kiranthorr had a merry time with them until they figured it out. This bunch had done it on the first night. They still had a long way to go, but they just might do all right.
Kiranthorr yawned a toothy yawn, and stretched mightily. Stuffing a large piece of dried meat into his mouth, he gnawed thoughtfully as he made his way noiselessly towards the camp. Despite their progress, he had to maintain appearances; otherwise the recruits might relax and get too comfortable. Can’t have that.
The next several weeks went much the same way. Kiranthorr and Vollett would appear at all hours of the night, ambushing whichever guard happened to be on duty at the moment and terrorizing the rest of the camp, kicking over the tent and uprooting defenses. The good news was, the recruits had finally learned to hunt for themselves and build a fire. Due to the threat of tusk-cats, the water detail was a full squad combat formation, as they all marched cautiously to the stream with their canteens and sharpened sticks.
One early morning on guard duty, Kahlen was watching the sun begin to peek out from behind the mountains and listening to the jungle come alive around him when his nose suddenly itched. Scratching it absently, he suddenly went fully alert as he remembered what an itchy nose meant. Crouching behind the bush with his stick in hand, he grabbed a fist-sized rock from a pile the recruits had left at the guard post, and began to slowly scan his surroundings for an intruder.
A sudden crashing thump to his right caught his attention, and he spun to face the threat. “Who goes there?!”
The attack came from his left.
Kahlen had enough time to curse himself for falling for a diversion before a muscular brown-furred arm reached into the bushes and dragged him out by his collar. Sergeant Kiranthorr jerked him to his feet and snatched the stick from his hands, biting it in half with his powerful jaws. As usual, Kiranthorr began roaring and howling in his native language, but this time something clicked in Kahlen’s mind. As Kiranthorr gestured to the camp defenses, he uttered the same series of growls that he had made when they had first met them, and the meaning was suddenly clear as day in Kahlen’s mind.
[USELESS!!]
Kahlen suddenly turned and gaped at the sergeant. “Sergeant, I understood that!” he blurted.
His answer was a cuff that caught him behind the ear, spinning him halfway around and dropping him to his knees.
[SPEAK ONLY WHEN SPOKEN TO!!]
Kahlen staggered to his feet, his head spinning as he nodded. “Yes, Sergeant.”
By now, the others had heard the commotion and had piled out of the tent, quickly forming up in the jungle path. Kahlen shakily made his way to join them.
Kiranthorr posted himself in front of the formation, along with Corporal Vollett, who had just meandered his way in from the base. Kiranthorr stared at Kahlen thoughtfully for a moment, and then addressed the squad.
[So, you have managed to survive the jungle. Fortune smiles on even the least deserving at times. But you are still useless! If I had my way, I would have you all taken into the center of the jungle and fed to the Marauders. Perhaps then you might be of some use to someone. When the Marauders are fat and happy, they don’t bother us here.]
He looked them over again and shook his head.
[Today, it seems I have particularly angered my gods. Not only have I been given the responsibility of turning you bantha fodder into soldiers, but Colonel Churhee himself has decreed that you are ready for live weapons training. I informed the Colonel that you lot were not fit to be issued shovels to clean out the stables, but the Colonel insisted. Therefore, you disgusting slime will march yourselves to the base and report to the armory. YOU!] He pointed a clawed finger at Kahlen. [Take charge of this rout and ensure that they don’t get lost between here and the base. I won’t be blamed for bringing this filth into our home. MOVE!]
“Yes, Sergeant!” Kahlen stepped to the head of the formation under the amazed glances of his fellows. Even Corporal Vollet’s eyebrows rose fractionally. Kiranthorr stalked away towards the base shaking his great shaggy head.
Corporal Vollet cleared his throat. “Well. It appears…”
Kahlen spoke up, he was once again feeling ten feet tall and blaster-proof. “Take the formation and report to the armory for weapon issue, corporal?”
Vollett nodded slowly. “So it would seem. The squad is yours, Trooper Vaar.”
The recruits were muttering excitedly as Kahlen turned to face them with an ear-splitting grin. “You heard the man. March!”
Kahlen lead them at a route step through the winding path, as the trail was too rough to maintain a proper formation. As they approached the base perimeter, a blaster shot suddenly struck a branch above Kahlen’s head, and the recruits dove for cover.
“Hold your fire!” Kahlen shouted. “We’re under orders to report to the armory!” He looked around him, and quickly calculated the distance between him and the gate. It was at least a good hundred and fifty meters. “I thought you were supposed to give us until fifty meters!”
“Are we?” piped a voice from the guard bunker.
“I thought it was fifty meters. My rangefinder must be sticking,” said another. Laughter erupted from the bunker, along with a couple more blaster shots. Kahlen hugged the ground, wondering what to do now. He peeked up to see a pair of boots walking past his face, and looked up farther to see Corporal Vollet striding calmly towards the gate amidst the blaster fire.
“That’s enough. Open the gate. Get your squad on their feet, Trooper.”
Kahlen and the recruits climbed to their feet as the snickering guards opened the gate and let them pass. Kahlen marched them towards a heavily reinforced bunker. Inside was a small waiting area with a long counter topped with thick steel bars, similar to the supply compartment on Churhee’s Law. The armorer looked up sourly as they approached.
“Hmph. Well, as of today, we can forget the proud traditions of the Riflemen. Handing out weapons to Troopies is as good as waving a white flag.”
Kahlen and the rest said nothing, merely waiting at parade rest. Corporal Vollett entered bearing a datapad, and posted himself by the armorer’s counter. He then began reading names off of the datapad.
“Vaar.”
Kahlen stepped forward to the counter as the armorer pulled a blaster rifle off of a rack and read the serial number to Vollett. The armorer then slid the rifle across the counter to Kahlen, who was then instructed to read the serial number again, to double-check. A sheathed vibro-bayonet slid across the counter when he finished, and he was dismissed back into line. Kahlen attached the vibro-bayonet’s sheath to his battle harness, and glanced at the rifle in his hands. It was an older model Merr-Sonn TK-90, a durable enough weapon but much larger and heavier than the SoroSuub Stormtrooper One Kahlen had trained with at the Academy.
The other recruits soon got their issued weapons, and Vollett formed them up outside the armory and marched them to the range. This was the first time Kahlen could honestly say he enjoyed himself since joining the Riflemen. All of the recruits were former military, so none of them had to be taught how to shoot. Some were better than others though, and it had been some time since Kahlen had handled a rifle.
More weeks passed. Their jungle camp seemed more like home all the time. By this time the recruits had taught each other the survival skills they knew; now any of them could hunt for the camp’s dinner, build a fire, lead a combat march to the stream, or patch the tent with palm fronds. More than once, they had to repulse a tusk-cat ambush, and their first-aid skills were put to the test. They learned to maintain their weapons and equipment in the moist and humid environment, using grease off the animals they hunted to lubricate and protect the metal. Every day they practiced at the rifle range. Later, they trained with hand grenades and their vibro-bayonets. Kahlen thought that bayonets were somewhat pointless in this day and age, but the training was enjoyable. They were familiarized with some of the other weapons the Riflemen had in their inventory, such as light repeating blasters and grenade mortars, but they would receive no specific training in those weapons unless they were assigned to them later.
They were also familiarized with the few vehicles the Riflemen had. According to the Imperial Order of Battle, Churhee’s Riflemen was technically considered a light infantry regiment. They had no heavy armored vehicles, but they had several smaller, lighter repulsorcraft and riding beasts, such as Cracian Thumpers.
The recruits were growing and learning faster than their instructors could teach them, and they knew it. Even Sergeant Kiranthorr seemed pleased, in his own gruff manner. Kahlen could now understand most of the Wookiee’s barks and growls, and that may have had something to do with the sergeant’s improved opinion of them.
One day, at the end of their training schedule, Sergeant Kiranthorr called them to formation. This time, however, he told them to take a knee instead of standing at attention. Glancing at one another, the recruits complied. Kiranthorr stood in front of them and scowled mightily.
[Well, despite my best efforts to prove otherwise, it seems the time has come for you useless dunghills to take your oaths as Riflemen.]
Amid the grins of his recruits, he continued.
[The only consolation I can think of is I am finally quit of shepherding you children around, and I can finally get back to my assigned platoon. I have prayed nightly that none of you would end up in my platoon, but that decision ultimately rests with the Personnel Department. I’ve made my recommendations, of course, and they involve all of you being as far away from me as possible.]
He gave Kahlen a significant glance before continuing.
[Your brothers and sisters are waiting for you. Strike camp and get into formation.]
“He’s got a point,” the Bothan whispered to Kahlen as they sprinted towards their camp. “Now that we’re out of training, we won’t have to deal with him anymore.”
The recruits scurried about, packing their things and lining up. Kiranthorr and Vollett marched them through the gate for the last time, and it shut behind them as they passed into the large open area used as a parade ground.
Nearly a thousand mercenaries stood in regimental formation, in full battle dress. Churhee and his command staff stood on a flatbed repulsortruck, facing the formation. Kahlen’s squad was marched in front of the command staff, with the entire regiment behind them.
Churhee stepped to a public-address mic that had been rigged to the truck. “Churhee’s Riflemen! We are gathered today to bear witness to the oaths taken by our new brothers, and to make our oaths to our new brothers. We will hear them give their sacred words to bring honor upon themselves and the Regiment. They will hear our sacred words as we pledge to help them in that endeavor.”
The rest of the words blurred together, even when Kahlen and his fellows raised their hands and took their oaths as Probationary Troopers. Not even graduating from the Imperial Academy had made Kahlen feel this way; of truly earning something he could be proud of, that no one could ever take away. He repeated the oath that Colonel Churhee stated, and listened to a thousand other voices take their oath. Churhee finally ended the ceremony. “Before your brothers and sisters you have sworn this creed. Welcome to Churhee’s Riflemen, brothers.”
The cheers were deafening.
Churhee and his command staff descended from the flatbed, saluting and shaking hands with each new member. Churhee favored Kahlen with a wink. “Knew you’d make it, son. Glad ta have ya aboard. You’ll be getting’ yer full Trooper status soon enough; we’ve been hammerin’ out a contract fer tha last few days. You’ll be assigned ta Second platoon, Epsilon Company. You’ve got a good sergeant in that platoon, listen to him an’ you’ll do fine.”
Kahlen beamed. “Thank you, sir.”
Churhee pointed out Kahlen’s company, and Kahlen double-timed it over there. He stopped and saluted his company commander, a slim, red-haired Human female named Captain Frey. She returned his salute briskly.
“Welcome to Epsilon, trooper. This is the best company in the regiment; don’t let anyone tell you different. We expect you to hold up your end.”
She motioned behind Kahlen. “You’re with Second Platoon. Get moving, your sergeant will want to get you squared away.”
Kahlen saluted again. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
He turned on his heel and trotted towards Second Platoon. What he saw brought him up short.
A hulking pile of brown and grey fur stood at the front of the platoon. Black lips peeled back from a mouthful of fangs, forming a fearsome smile. Kahlen felt sick.
[Well, if it isn’t Useless,] said Sergeant Kiranthorr.
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The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, and a lot of griping.
Kahlen Vaar's bio and stats
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Kahlen Vaar
Trooper
Mercenary
member is offline
Churhee's Law of Combat #32: One enemy soldier is never enough, but two is entirely too many.
Joined: Apr 2004
Gender: Male
Posts: 76
Location: Kansas City
| | Re: Baptism of Fire - Kahlen Vaar's Origin
« Reply #10 on Dec 29, 2006, 9:22pm » | |
Chapter 11: Mercenary
After spending the last few months in a moldy, leaking tent, the pourstone barracks seemed like the Emperor’s palace itself. Even the normally less-than-appetizing menu served at the chow hall seemed to be a banquet fit for a noble. Kahlen didn’t see much of the other recruits now that they had all been assigned to their individual platoons, but Kahlen’s platoon became his new family. Even though he still wasn’t a full Trooper, the other mercs’ attitudes towards him were more paternal than anything, and it seemed they adopted him as a lost little brother who required a lot of looking after.
Training and drill were far from over, however. Despite his experience as a transport pilot, Kahlen chose to keep that information under wraps; too many bad memories as a pilot. Many weeks passed, and Kahlen integrated himself as a rifleman in Epsilon Company. Sergeant Kiranthorr still referred to him as Useless; apparently this was an honorific bestowed on the newest recruit in the company. Kahlen would have to wait until the next batch of recruits came in to shake it off.
One day at company formation, Captain Frey informed them that Epsilon company had been contracted to a noble house in the Ragan sector. These nobles were having some problems with some insurrectionists, and needed some…discreet assistance. Using their own planetary militia was politically unsavory, and asking help from the Empire would make them appear weak. Hiring the entire regiment involved too much logistics (and money), but a single company could be transported relatively anonymously.
A battered Corellian Action VI bulk freighter arrived to transport them to their destination. Action VIs were common enough sights in starports around the Galaxy, and would draw far less attention than a troop transport. Kahlen and the rest of his company trooped on board and settled in one of the cavernous cargo bays, again confined to quarters until they reached hyperspace. Kahlen and his mates busied themselves by checking and re-checking their equipment. The company supply sergeant began issuing out cold-weather gear and winter-white fatigues, so it didn’t take a great deal of imagination to determine what kind of environment they would be operating in.
After several days of travel, their transport arrived at their destination. They had foregone landing at a public spaceport, again in the interests of discretion. A cleared landing strip far into the northern frontier was where Epsilon Company disembarked. Kahlen’s first impression of the planet was an icy blast of wind that slapped him in the face as soon as the transport’s cargo ramp dropped, and the sun shining blindingly off of a thick blanket of snow. Kahlen zipped up his parka and dropped his darkened goggles over his eyes as the company trotted off the ship.
After a brief accountability formation, Captain Frey and the platoon leaders left to meet with their employers. Sergeant Kiranthorr was left in charge of Second Platoon while their platoon leader, Lieutenant Merkr, was in the meeting. He turned to face his company, all bundled up in cold-weather gear, and sneered. The Wookiee wore nothing but a combat harness loaded with ammunition and other gear, and cradled a massive medium repeating blaster in the crook of his arm. The repeater was normally a heavy crew-served weapon, meant to be fired using the built-in bipod or mounted on a tripod. Kiranthorr hefted it as easily as a carbine.
[Well, children,] he snarled. He didn’t use the usual epithet “ladies,” as several of Second Platoon were females, and would take no offense. [Looks like we get to play in the snow for a while. I want all of you nerf droppings to de-ionize your blaster weapons twice a day to prevent electric discharge. Those of you old-timers who still insist on using slugthrowers, I want you to check your actions hourly. T’Thark!] He pointed at a shivering Ishi Tib carrying a large comset on his back. [Check the cold-weather modifications on that comset at least once every three hours. Every hour if you can manage it. The last thing we need is our communication cut due to a frozen comset. We can replace you, but comsets are expensive.] The Ishi Tib clicked his parrotlike beak in the equivalent of a grin.
Kiranthorr clasped his hands behind his back and looked them over. [You all have done this before. Well, most of you. From our initial intelligence reports, we’re just dealing with a poorly-armed rabble of civilian insurrectionists, but you don’t need me to tell you that you never underestimate an enemy. We’re going up against Imperial Storm Commandos until they prove otherwise. Watch your brothers’ and sisters’ backs. There’s no reason we can’t all walk away from this one if we’re careful.] He tossed snow out of his shaggy mane and waved at them in a dismissive manner. [Enough talk. Rest in place until the Captain returns. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.]
The mercs loitered about, muttering to each other, smoking cigarras and trying to keep their various extremities warm. Kahlen busied himself with his rifle, which sure enough had already built up an excessive ion charge. He filed that away in his memory for later use. Tips like that were good to know before your equipment failed in battle.
Lieutenant Merkr soon rejoined the platoon. He was a Human in his mid thirties, and might once have been called handsome if not for the horrific napalm burn covering a good two-thirds of his face.
“Second Platoon, listen up! We’re heading out.”
He knelt in the snow as the platoon gathered around. Unsheathing his vibrobayonet, Merkr began scratching several shapes in the ground.
“We’re right here, at the spaceport. We’ve contracted a transport to take us to the edge of this mountain range here, probably a good 100 klicks away. Our objective is here, the suspected headquarters of the insurgency. Apparently there’s supposed to be a council of war happening in the next day or so, a big gathering of all the minds behind the revolt. We all know that the enemy always likes to wrap himself up in a neat little present like that.”
The mercs snorted and chuckled as Merkr continued.
“We’re the recon and skirmish platoon. Our mission is to discover the actual location of the target. Fifth Platoon will be behind us as the main assault force. First Platoon will drop behind the objective to cut off escape routes, while Third and Fourth hit the flanks. That’s it in a nutshell, but if you think it’ll end that neatly you’re better off scooping up Hutt slime. We’re the eyes and ears of the whole company, they’re depending on us for accurate information. I for one ain’t gonna let my brothers down.”
A battered Ghtroc 720 freighter began warming up on the field behind them. Merkr glanced over his shoulder as he rose and erased his “battle map” with his foot.
“That’s our ride. Two minutes for the padre, formation in five. Dismissed.”
Kahlen was surprised to see several mercs go over and kneel in front of another one of the Riflemen. He was Human, dressed in battle fatigues and fully armed just like everyone else, but with strange insignia on his collar that Kahlen assumed had some kind of religious significance. The padre murmured something over the kneeling troops, clutching a small, well-worn book and moving his hand in a side-to-side motion. The kneeling troops repeated the hand motion and rose. Sergeant Kiranthorr had noticed Kahlen watching the proceedings. He himself had been fingering a small leather pouch that hung around his neck while the padre was carrying out his duty.
[Everyone fights in the Riflemen, Useless.]
Kahlen nodded and joined the formation in front of the transport. When accountability was finished, the troops boarded and took off for their objective. It was a bumpy ride, as the pilot flew nap-of-the-earth to avoid sensor detection. When they arrived at their LZ, the pilot dropped the ship like a stone, cutting the hydraulics to the boarding ramps so they hit the ground immediately. The platoon charged off of the freighter, immediately setting up a perimeter at the edge of the clearing as the transport blasted into the sky.
They lay quietly for several minutes, watching and listening while Lieutenant Merkr got his bearings. The Move Out command was given, and the platoon broke down into squads and headed into the woods.
The trek through the woods was uneventful for the most part. Kahlen’s platoon moved wraithlike through the trees, half of them crouching in a firing position while the other half scurried forward to the next available cover. They leapfrogged in this fashion for several kilometers, alert for the slightest sight or sound that was out of the ordinary.
The first hint of something out of the ordinary came just as Kahlen’s platoon arrived at the base of a large rocky hill. As the lead element approached, blaster fire erupted from the ridge above them, dropping two of the Riflemen in their tracks as the rest scurried for cover. Kahlen dove behind a fallen log as chips of bark and sparks rained down on him. Kiranthorr was roaring at the platoon to lay down covering fire, and Kahlen risked a glance over the log as he searched for a target.
The ridge above them was sparkling with muzzle flashes from both blasters and slugthrowers. It was a good, brisk, masking fire, but it didn’t seem heavy enough for them to have stumbled upon the insurrectionists’ main force. He could hear Kiranthorr bellowing for T’Thark, the comset operator, but there was no reply.
The Riflemen had meanwhile organized themselves, and were pouring a withering fire back into the ridge. Kahlen added his own blasts to the mess as he heard Lieutenant Merkr’s voice shouting over the din.
“First and second squads, advance! Third and fourth, cover!”
Kahlen staggered to his feet and began climbing the hill with the others in his squad, his heart pounding in the terror and exhilaration of the moment. They were in defilade at the moment from the shooters on top of the hill, but anyone who poked his head above the ridge would be in for a rude surprise. Stopping just under the ridge, Kahlen waited for Kiranthorr and the others to catch up. Kiranthorr was swearing mighty Wookiee oaths at the situation.
[What a pretty bantha rodeo. I want grenades to the flanks, and we go over the top in the center. Any of you not behind me when I go over, I’ll toss your pink hairless backsides off this ridge. NOW!]
Kahlen yanked the pin from a grenade, and tossed it as far as he could towards the flank of the enemy position. The others did the same, and a thundering group of explosions rocked the hill as the enemy fire slackened somewhat. Kiranthorr charged roaring over the ridge, his medium repeater spitting fire as he went. Kahlen shouted a wordless cry as he followed.
The enemy was falling back, for the most part. Those that stayed and fought were quickly dealt with. Kahlen himself took his first prisoner when he tripped over an insurrectionist lying prone under a tarp, quaking with fear. Kahlen was nearly as frightened, but managed to shout loud enough for the enemy trooper to surrender peaceably. Corporal Vollett observed the incident, and nodded his approval. “Well done, Trooper. I shall mention your tactics to the Sergeant. I would have never thought of tripping over an enemy soldier to make him surrender, but seeing is believing.”
Fifth Platoon had moved up to exploit the breach made by Second, and the enemy was caught inside the encircling arms of the company. The intel provided to the Riflemen had proven to be accurate; they had indeed come upon a meeting of the main personalities behind the rebellion. A few had been shot as they tried to flee, but most had been captured without incident. Epsilon Company secured the area as a transport was directed to the site to remove the wounded and prisoners.
Kahlen’s adrenaline was burning off, and he found himself shaking all over. He fumbled for the canteen on his combat harness, and noticed a scorched hole in the sleeve of his uniform. The flesh underneath it was seared and blackened from a grazing blaster hit, yet Kahlen had felt nothing at the time. He sure enough felt it now.
[Let’s have a look at that.]
Kahlen turned at Kiranthorr’s gruff snarl. “Oh, uh, it’s nothing, Sergeant. There’s others that need attention more than I do.”
[That wasn’t a license to run your mouth.] Kiranthorr poked gently at the wound as Kahlen grimaced. [Your expert diagnosis was correct, but the corpsman still needs to look at that. You’re not getting on the transport without that being cleaned and dressed. I’ve no use for heroes. Get a move on to the aid station, Trooper.]
Kahlen trotted off. It was much later when he realized Sergeant Kiranthorr hadn’t called him Useless.
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The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, and a lot of griping.
Kahlen Vaar's bio and stats
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