War Journals

[TheDrunkenConsular]

So, sometimes, I need a break from working on Brothers so that I can go back to it with a fresh mind, and that's what this thread is for!  This will be a series of one-off stories featuring characters from Brothers and perhaps others, written from a first person perspective.  I'll also use this to fill in some blanks from between time jumps in Brothers.

So, here's the first one!

...

HEDITT CRESCENTFALL
1 ABY

     I found myself reflecting on my old Jedi companions as I sat in the captured troop transport, surrounded by my fellow Rebel commandos. I missed my brother, and Dala, and even Tasrii, to a degree.  I forgave Tasrii for Addy's death almost as soon as it happened, but I wondered what they must think of me.  After Rakham had defeated his old master Kadmaur and we'd returned to Nar Shadaa, it had only been days before I'd crept out into the night and stolen a ship.  I had no idea where I was going at first, or why.  I imagine that my companions thought I was racked with grief, but I only felt numbness at first.  That's what I was truly afraid of; I'd lost a brother when my apprentice was killed, and instead of rage or grief, I felt only emptiness.
     It had been hard at first.  I tried to start my own little rebellion on Coruscant, wanting to carry on Addy's aspiration of destroying the Empire, but our first few mission went a little too well, and Vader and the 501st Legion put an end to it soon after it began. That's how I lost my right hand.

     "Get ready!"  The officer in front of me shouted, breaking me from my thoughts.  I gripped my blaster rifle, a captured Imperial E-11, and unfolded the weapon's shoulder stock.  It had always befuddled me that the Imperials didn't train Stormtroopers to do the same thing, it did wonders for the accuracy of the weapon.
      With a shake, the transport lifted off the floor of the hangar, and we were off, darting through cannon fire.  A small but ferocious battle was raging between two capitol ships over some abandoned space station that both factions wanted to scour for resources or information, or something.  I wasn't that concerned about the motivations, I just wanted to be behind a blaster that Stormtroopers were in front of.

     The ride was shaky, with the pilots dodging what fire they could and letting the shields absorb what they couldn't.  It wasn't even two minutes before we set down inside a hanger on the Star Destroyer.  The Imperials didn't know it, but our cruiser had a lot of it's armament down for maintenance since this was expected to be a relatively risk-free mission, so it was important for us to shut this thing down from the inside if we wanted to make it out. 

     The sound of blaster fire started before our ramp dropped, the cannons on top of the half dozen transports providing cover fire as our doors dropped.  I sprang to my feet and shouldered my blaster, giving my reflexes over to the Force.  I was at the end of the row, closest to the door, and I was already firing the E-11 and making my way down the ramp before it even hit the floor.  The acrid smell of smoke hit my nose, and red bolts of blaster fire streaked through the air.  I hammered the trigger of my rifle, letting the Force guide my hands as my eyes searched for cover.  I saw a stack of fuel, a pallet loaded with armaments, and finally, something that hopefully wasn't combustible, a row of crates.  A wave of my left arm signaled my squad to follow, and we sprinted for the boxes, Imperial fire cutting down several men.  The other squads had similar troubles, many of them having to simply lie on the floor as they returned fire, attempting to make themselves as small as possible.
     As I hit my knees behind the crates, I could finally get my bearings.  The Imperial resistance wasn't as stout as it seemed.  Scattered troopers were taking cover at the far end of the hangar, but they were badly in need of reinforcements.  Reinforcements that would probably arrive soon.
     "Cut down those troopers and move up!"  I shouted over the din of battle.  My gunner and sharpshooter immediately went to work, his automatic barrage suppressing the troopers that her precision fire wasn't eliminating.  As the riflemen joined in, it only took seconds for a path to open.  "Keep that blaster on the entrances!"  I ordered the gunner, before vaulting the crates and joining the rest of the squad, leading a rush across the hangar.  There were only a few Imperials left, and they became fewer by the second. 

     We reached the Imperial battle line, and picked our way across the unmoving Imperial corpses.  It almost seemed like we were in the clear, when the door ahead of us slid open, revealing three long rows of Stormtroopers.  Immediately the gunner began pouring fire through the door, tearing through their ranks, but not badly enough to prevent return fire.  The marksman fell to the floor beside as I screamed to get down.  I dropped to the floor beside her, and it only took the briefest glance to see that the light had left her blue eyes. 
     "Look away!"  A trooper behind me yelled, and a thermal detonator sailed through the air.  I gave it a nudge with the Force, and it sailed perfectly into the midst of the remaining troopers.  Foolishly, I didn't heed my comrade's warning, and the flash blinded me for a moment.  By the time I could see again, the troopers had been plastered against the walls in a gory mess, and my squad had made it to the door.  The gunner ran forward, stopping to help me to my feet. Tear rolled down his face, and anger twisted his lips.  I remembered vaguely that I often saw him laughing and joking with the now dead sharpshooter in the mess hall on our ship.  I clasped him on the shoulder, and stared the younger man in the eyes.
     "Use that feeling."

...

     The fighting didn't get any easier, but we made it to the ship's reactor.  We set bombs on it, and a young Rodian woman who'd taken a blaster bolt to the stomach stayed behind, a DL-44 in one hand and the detonator in the other.  If the Imperials came to stop the timer, she was going to set it off manually.  I was the last out of the reactor room, and I gave her a salute that she proudly returned it from her position leaning up against a control panel. 
     We took the hallways out the same way we'd come, quickly stepping over the bodies of our enemies and our friends alike.  Halfway back, I saw the gunner slumped against a wall, a hole burned in his chest, the barrel of his RT-97C still smoking, and his sooty face streaked with tears.  I stopped despite myself, and closed his sightless eyes.

     This was the face of war.

[Taegin Roan]

Oh this is wonderful. Very well written. Very gritty, and gets right down to the heart of the battle. Its not about the amount of troopers you kill, or even that you complete the objective. Ultimately it ends up being about the ones you lost along the way. Well done.

[Illyiss]

Numbness.  Worse than feeling the pain, worse than not caring.  When you are so stricken with grief and pain that it shuts down all feeling, something deeper than apathy, and somehow farther than it from empathy.  That hollow feeling inside, that no amount of anything can ever seem to fill, but the adrenaline of combat, of killing, in this case righteous killing, seems to help lessen, at least while the action is hot.  It seems both brothers now have faced Vader, and lived to tell the tale, if a bit less of themselves came through.  Do the Rebels even know that it is a Jedi in their midst, or has he buried that so deep that even they don't know?  The face of war indeed, faces of friends fallen, for objectives that someone, somewhere says is important, though those cooling faces never know the why.  Not that the why every really matters, all that matters is one more step, one more shot, one more breath, one more action.

[TheDrunkenConsular]

Thanks Taegin, and damn, Ilyiss, that's deep!

[TheDutchman]

I.  Like. This!

Absolutely intriguing and a refreshing way to give yourself a mental break from your main story arc.  Well written TDC!  I felt as if I were watching "Saving Private Heditt" as your interlude conveys the desperate need of the Rebels and the horrified choas of battle, especially poignant when considering the smells evoke the terror that acts as a precursor to death.

And, admittedly, I like Heditt in that he's used to a strictly regimented existence and now is coming to terms with a life he's not altogether used to.  Excellent characterization!

Oh, and brilliant humorous nod to stormtrooper accuracy (or rather, lack thereof  ).

Thanks Taegin, and damn, Ilyiss, that's deep!

Yeah, Illyiss is our resident erudite philologian 

[Lord_S_Gray]

As the others have all said good little battle sequence...My interest is in Hedditt's motivation, he seems a bit like a Ronin - wandering aimlessly from battle to battle searching for war and easily finding it because its all he knows, trying to fil this emptiness he feels with death and borrowed purpose perhaps?

[Karmack]

As the others have all said good little battle sequence...My interest is in Hedditt's motivation, he seems a bit like a Ronin - wandering aimlessly from battle to battle searching for war and easily finding it because its all he knows, trying to fil this emptiness he feels with death and borrowed purpose perhaps?

That was my thought as well.  He lost his focus and purpose when his student died, and has been trying to fill the void.  And maybe a bit of looking for a glorious death in battle?

[TheDutchman]

As the others have all said good little battle sequence...My interest is in Hedditt's motivation, he seems a bit like a Ronin - wandering aimlessly from battle to battle searching for war and easily finding it because its all he knows, trying to fil this emptiness he feels with death and borrowed purpose perhaps?

That was my thought as well.  He lost his focus and purpose when his student died, and has been trying to fill the void.  And maybe a bit of looking for a glorious death in battle?

EXCELLENT analogy!

"Ronin" and a "glorious death" indeed 

[Illyiss]

... especially poignant when considering the smells evoke the terror that acts as a precursor to death.

Oh, and brilliant humorous nod to stormtrooper accuracy (or rather, lack thereof  ).
Yeah, Illyiss is our resident erudite philologian 

I had a very good friend, who was an artillery Marine in the Vietnam Conflict.  He talked once, about why he couldn't stand to go to barbecues.  Talked about how after a shelling in the valley they were watching, they came to be able to tell by smell if they had gotten animals, or people...  His words, his voice, his wash of emotion, and the look in his eyes.  Bill went for coffee when we grilled...

Why thank you, kind Sir, I but merely give humble life to words in response to what I see.  *tips hat*

[TheDrunkenConsular]

Another one.

Nadia Stark

26 BBY

     To say that everything was ruined would be an understatement.  I walked through what had been one of the most luxurious penthouses on Nar Shadaa a few hours ago, and now it was a tattered ruin.  Small fires filled the air with smoke, and blood and bile from bodies strung across the floor soaked into the carpet.  The floor was littered with chips of wood and stone, and the entire place was scarred with blast marks.
     
     At the end of the room was a great oaken desk, with various drugs and weapons scattered across it, and behind the desk was a matching seat, but it looked more like a throne than a chair.  Rakham was on the floor, leaning against the front of the desk with his head down, staring into nothing and slowly turning his lightsaber in his hands.  His fresh, clean shaven face was covered in soot, and his Jedi robes were torn.  Anton stood beside the desk, furiously shouting and waving his arms at a holo sprouting from somewhere amongst the contraband on top of it.  I could already sense what both of them were thinking.
     Rakham waited for me slump down in the chair and shut off the holofeed, cutting Anton's argument short, before saying anything.  I could sense that he hated speaking the words as much as I hated hearing them.
     "I have to go."
     After a long silence, I finally responded.
     "I know."
     "I'm going to miss you.  Both of you."  He stood, "But I can't do this anymore.  I'm going to finish my training."
     I don't think either of us made eye contact with him.  He waited for a moment, and walked towards the door.
     I'm sorry. I projected into the Force, using the trick he'd taught us.
     I know. He replied sadly, and then he was gone.  Anton started speaking almost as soon as the door closed.
     "The Hutts got everything.  They raided the warehouses, killed or conscripted the cooks and workers and stole all of our product.  Even the freighters at the spaceport got blasted."
     "You're sure it was the Hutts?"  I asked, staring at the desk and running my finger in little circles through the silvery powder spilling out of a damaged package.
     "I convinced one of these mercenaries to tell me, but it's not like we didn't already know.  Only two people knew where the backup warehouse was, and one of them just walked out the door.  That leaves Gradda."
     Anger began to swell inside me as I pondered, still running my finger through the silver Noba powder.
     "So, what are we going to do about it?"
     "We're going to kill him and take our product back.

...

     Gradda was, as far as Hutt crime lords go, what you might call a 'small fish.'  Compared to other crime lords on Nar Shadaa, however, he was a very, very dangerous individual.  We had entrusted him with the task of moving our weapons and drugs, finding buyers and negotiating payments.  He took a hefty cut, but as we began to grow and take more and more responsibility for those tasks ourselves, not only did his profits decrease, but he began to feel threatened by our operation.  So, he saw fit to gather his enforcers, hire mercenaries, and hit everything we had at once.  So much for honor among thieves.  The thing he didn't know and couldn't count on was the fact that he was sending a few dozen cut rate mercenaries to kill three Force adepts rather than three strung out drug dealers.  All of our guards had been killed, and our penthouse was destroyed utterly and entirely, but we had lived, and that was enough to rebuild from as far as we were concerned.

     The only thing that Gradda hadn't hit was our cantina, likely because it was entirely separate from our more illicit dealings.  We were there now, around a table speaking with half a dozen mercenary leaders.  After very curt greetings, I addressed them.
     "First things first, gentlemen.  The target is a Hutt."  I paused for a moment, as two of the threm stood up and left without a word.
     "Which Hutt?" One of them, a Nautolan man with large black eyes and long tentacles, asked.
     "Gradda." I answered.  Two more stood up and left, but the Nautolan stayed.  The other remaining captain was a Mandalorian wearing red armor.  I looked hard at both of them.  These two were staying.
     "Pay is ten thousand credits per head.  We need fifty men.  We intend to storm Gradda's compound as soon as you can gather your men.  If we are lucky, Gradda believes us to be dead.  If we can attack him by morning, he may still have his guard down.  Any questions?"
     "Can we leave now?"  The Mandalorian asked, speaking for the first time.
     "That depends."  Anton replied, looking expectantly at the Nautilan.  He nodded in response.  "I'll call the boys."

...

     Twenty Mandalorian mercenaries, who called themselves the Hit Squad, and thirty-something of the other group, Arbee's Raiders, were crammed into a tiny transport with the Dark Jedi.  The Raiders set a stark contrast to the Mandalorians, having members from every species imaginable, and very little discipline between all of them. However, they were too rough, and many of them too old, to have made it this far as poor fighters.  We were happy with the team, especially the Mandalorians, who had privately negotiated a fee twice what we were paying the others.
     Our plan was simple; we'd fly in pretending to be delivering a shipment, and pour out of the transport guns blazing.  We'd already managed to mind-trick the guard into letting us inside, and the hangar loomed before us.  Anton and I had been here many times on business, and we knew that this hangar was close to the lounge where Gradda was most likely to be, celebrating his  victory.  I grasped my lightsaber and began moving towards the back of the crowded transport. 
     "Get ready!"  I shouted as the landing gear touched down, and slammed my palm against the door release.  "Go!  Go!"

     Mercenaries poured into the hanger, firing indiscriminately at anyone who didn't drop what they were doing and lay on the ground.  Screams of terror and battle cries filled the air, but the sound of blaster fire lasted only a moment, replaced by the blaring of an alarm.  There had only been a few armed guards here.  The Mandalorians fell in line quickly, but it took the Raiders longer to reorganize.
     "Let's go!"  Anton shouted, activating his lightsaber and making for a nearby passage. Other than a few workers and staff, we met no resistance until getting to the outside of Gradda's lounge.

     A veritable barrage of rocket fire from the Mandalorians dealt quickly with the squad outside of the door.  It made quite a mess.
    "Nobody shoots the Hutt. Gradda is ours."  I said to the assembled mercenaries, and then punched a number into the keypad by the door.  I was hoping Gradda had forgotten that I knew his passcode.
     
     With a hiss, the doors opened, and hell broke loose.  Gradda's guests and dancers cowered around the edges of the room, hiding behind furniture, and in the center, using upturned tables as cover, Gradda's personal guard.  They were hardened, and they're storm of blaster fire made a dent in the Raiders, but as the Mandalorians poured in, they stood no chance.  In less than a minute, it was over.
 
     The Mandalorians went to the middle of the room and ensured that there were no survivors among the guards.  The Raiders took to harassing dancers and the assorted guests, groping, robbing and sometimes shooting.  Anton and I made a beeline for the far end of the room, towards a raised dais where Gradda cowered, holding a struggling Twi'lek dancer wearing nothing but a look of fear in front of him, as though she could shield his massive body.

     Anton ended her struggling with a swing of his saber, and snatched her body from Gradda's grasp.  Force lightning poured from his hand, and Gradda screamed, a blood curdling sound that made the entire room fall silent.

     Finally, Anton stopped, and I spoke.
     "You thought you could rip us off and get away with it, slime?"  I snarled at the disgusting, quivering creature as he sobbed. It smelled as though he had soiled himself, and he refused to look at me.  This time, the forks of lightning came from my hand, and I screamed in rage.
     "ANSWER ME!"
     I stopped, and he mumbled in Huttese.
     "What?"
     Please don't kill me.  He repeated in his language.  His fear filled the Force, and I poured lightning into him again, this time longer than before.
     "You took my business."  I began striding towards him.  "You destroyed my home." I activated my lightsaber.  "You drove away my best friend."  I was before him now, close enough to smell the stench of his breath.  His fear somehow became even more intense, and I relished it, looking into the Hutt's enormous, glassy, ugly eyes for a moment, before burying my saber to the hilt in his stomach.  Gradda the Hutt screamed once more, and then was silent.

...

     Hours later, Anton and I stood at the bottom of a stolen freighter's loading ramp.  The cargo hold was packed to the brim.  Deathsticks, Noba powder, Dreamdust and a dozen other illicit substances were packed into the hold, and any space that wasn't filled with drugs was packed with blaster crates.
     "I think we're going to be alright."  Anton said, grinning.  He was right; this wasn't enough to make up for all that we'd lost, but it was a start, and we still had money.  I still couldn't bring myself to smile.  I was ashamed of the torture we'd inflicted on the Hutt, and I missed Rakham.
     If he'd been here, he would have stopped us.  I thought to myself.  My brother must have sensed what I was thinking of, because he put an arm around my shoulders and squeezed reassuringly.
     "He'll be back someday, Nadi."

     I hoped so.

[TheDutchman]

Take a ride on the Dark Side!

Well Nadia and Anton may be Dark Jedi but who doesn't enjoy a revenge yarn with laser-guided karma for the deserving culprit in question 
I really like these "War Journal" entries TDC!  Nice vignettes that add flavor to an already rich narrative.

And the twins don't mess around!  Wonderful mercenary groups with "Hit Squad" and "Arbee's Raiders"  Just more icing on the proverbial cake 

[Karmack]

An interesting peek into the lives of the Dark Jedi of Nar Shadda.  I loved the balance of the characters.  because of our introduction to them and the POV of the story, we can't help but side with Anton and Nadia, but its easy to see why Rakham finally had to leave.  I wonder how he compromised so long...

The attack on the Hutt is perfectly paced.  I love the mercs - Arbee's Raiders!  WOOT! - and their actions.  The Mandalorians, consummate professionals, getting a higher pay grade and operating with strict discipline.  Arbee's raiders, lower pay but taking the time to loot the place.   

The one person I really feel sorry for is the poor Twi'Lek slave girl.  All she did was have the misfortune to be the toy of a slimo Hutt, and she got cut in half for it.  Poor girl.  If Karmack or Ken or Jorya had been there they might not have been ... nice ... to Anton.  :-/

But as an underworld "mob" style hit piece?  Awesome writing.  :-)

[Illyiss]

This is the level upon which society floats, soaring to shining heights of self righteous delusion.  The bottom of the pile will always live and die by it's own rules, the rule of bigger fish.  For all the good they do, Anton and Ani run a criminal enterprise, and we knew that from the start.  The dark world of escape, need, and addiction is profitable, and where there is profit, there are those who will risk the dirt for the coin.  Coin that when the situation comes to a head, will buy death.  A lot of death.  Passion on the path to power leads to victory.

[Lord_S_Gray]

As the others have said another good little slice of life, I liked that the Dar Jedi only regretted the torture on the Hutt, not the fact they'd killed all the guard, the twi'lek girl, the Hutt, or allowed the raiders to loot to their hearts content, I guess even they have standards, selling drugs and guns fine, torturing a Hutt that's too far! In the end I guess they are just another cog in Nar Shadda's underworld (well entire world actually....), that they happened to be force sensitive is almost just like their particular 'skill' rather than having any other real meaning, Mando's have organisation and armour, Arbee's have speed and ferocity, they have lighting.

[TheDrunkenConsular]

Thanks, guys!  I think that there were two real points I wanted to make with this one.

First, the difference between Dark Jedi in battle and Jedi in battle.  Nadia and Anton found herself in a position almost identical to Heditt's in the first installment, but rather than dwelling on the horrors and casualties around her, she barely even noticed, instead worrying only about her goal of revenge.

The second, however, is that Nadia isn't entirely consumed by darkness, but she IS selfish.  She felt remorse for what she did, torturing the despicable Hutt, but as far as she's concerned, Anton murdering a slave girl, Mandalorians executing prisoners and the Raiders assaulting bystanders is all on their respective heads, not hers.


We'all probably get one more installment here before the next chapter of Brothers.  My  intention is to post here whenever I want to write something quick and dirty, and take my time on Brothers, making sure that the content over there is as high quality as possible.