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https://www.facebook.com/COGS1138/?fref=tsFrom the characters of the Changing Tides and Knightfall trilogy comes: COGS of the Empire
Star Wars
Clone Wars/ Rebels
Cogs of the Empire: Currents Ablaze
Darkness has risen! Memories of democracy and THE CLONE WARS fade beneath the secure vice of Imperial governance.
The Grand Army of the Republic has undergone a stark change in doctrine. STORMTROOPERS clad in shining white armor maintain an ever growing presence across every system; far and near!
Clone battalions fight on for promised peace! Continuous consolidation keeps their ranks from dwindling. The 501st again, are engaged with an old enemy from a war already lost…
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Slight and isolated, Mustafar burned as it had for thousands of years in the Outer Rim; a system more or less forgotten after the Separatist Council’s destruction at the hand of Darth Vader. An ember tirelessly seared its’ own molten, exterior. The planet’s volcanic activity was all that announced its existence in a dark vacant space.
Evidence of a fresh battle, recently waged, lingered above its hazy atmosphere. Debris floated merely beyond the planet’s gravitational reach. Imperial ships gleamed against the resource world while small fighter squadrons darted amidst a destroyed taskforce of rebellious, yet familiar vessels. Carcasses of ships that had remained hidden for years prior to meeting their ruin; forgotten from days when the Confederation of Independent Systems held a respectable level of relevance.
Their robust shells were burned throughout, deck after deck, from tremendous firepower wielded by the Empire’s advanced Star Destroyer turbo-laser batteries. Many of the old hulls floated powerlessly; devastated beyond reaping, even by scavengers. Command bridges bristled with fire whilst hulls seethed under the growing pressure deep within each buckling core. Power couplings, generators, loosened, volatile armaments all created reactions large enough to gut each tormented ghost ship sporadically. Seams of their bilges popped. An outcome for the battle in space was already decided, but planet side, the upheaval’s last breath encroached with every fired blaster.
Had this fight been any other sort of disobedience, defeat would come with the promise of decimation. Yet this adversarial force was led by none other than Gizor Dellso, a veteran Geonosian gripped with sentiments of old hostilities. His army was conceived by a refurbished droid foundry left in disrepair. Remnants which once revitalized fueled his old, festering hatred. Years were spent assembling various “Separatist” assets from an earlier galactic conflict until a sizable contingent was established. They stood little chance against the modified Imperial Clone Army, even before the battle began!
The 501st legion was dispatched due to their affinity for discipline and fealty to the Empire. An instinctual hatred rekindled deep within each trooper’s blood upon discovering their foe’s identity. For them the only acceptable form of capitulation was complete obliteration.
On the surface of Mustafar, empty darkness shrouded red belching flares, orange lava flows, and hot, towering peaks of sharp, glassy stone. Flows glimmered off the shinning edifices only to be dulled by showers of infinite ash. Peppered across the surface were dozens of installations that floated close above the molten rock. Every facilities’ underside glowed blue with combined effects of shield and repulsor generators hard at work. They operated endlessly; insulating the structures from the consequential wear and tear of sustained heat exposure. Short, red beams sporadically whizzed up into the distance. They all seemed to emanate from one structure, the Droid Foundry!
Waves of droids advanced from the factory in droves; their weapons raised to acquire targets. Jango Fett’s voice emanated above the fray as it had since the first battle on Geonosis, “Hit them with everything you’ve got! SCRAP EM!” Trooper’s shouted back and forth to update one another on newly arrived, dense pockets of droids. “Bring up the guns! Eat laser! Push forward!” Familiar taunts filled the air, “Get back to being scrap metal ya CLANKERS!” “We ended you once! LEARN YOUR PLACE!”
Stormtroopers popped up behind cover, continuing to mow down B1 battle droids. Crimson bolts burned through metal shells, singeing critical circuitry; their vacant cases congealed in mounting heaps. Even the bulky topped B2, heavy battle droids, found themselves chewed up rapidly from shots fired by E-11 blaster rifles. “I almost forgot how much I hate these guys! Clapper on the right! Troops, we’re being out flanked!! Watch out!” Incoming blaster fire made a familiar high-pitched hum as it whizzed close overhead.
A phalanx of B2’s heavily clanked up a wide stairwell catching a lone squad of focused troopers unaware! Lasers scythed through them! Bodies smashed to the metal floor with heavy thuds, dead before impact. Each body dotted with closely paired, smoking blast points! The lone Stormtrooper ran then glided behind a waist-high column, avoiding a torrent of incoming fire. “CLAPPER! NO!! Right flank, right flank! Detonator close!!” the trooper shouted out of habit, but no one remained to listen. Before the shouted warning was finished, his hand had already pulled a grenade from the back of his utility belt. A quick click ensued. Having leapt from his position to another, the trooper fired his blaster using one outstretched arm. The other reeled the small grenade powerfully towards the cluster of oncoming droids!
Lightly the grenade clinked, skidding across the ground. Prior to its momentum ceasing entirely, the small white cylinder with a single black band, erupted into a ball of concussive force! Shockwaves from the grenade toppled several droids, enveloped others in metal sweltering flame, and hurled two over a railing at one side of the staircase. Their landing proved fatal when they slowly sank into the molten river that flowed beneath the foundry. Their popping processors were audible to the trooper above; his footing now regained. Soot clouded the trooper’s ocular sights! Taking a quick knee, his blaster laid nearby. Using a gloved fingertip, the clone wiped at the crevice of his helmets lens unsuccessfully.
*Clank * Clank * CLANK
Familiar and foreboding sounds of machine feet marching reached his ear. “It’s.. this soot is.. sticking to my visor! .. can’t.. see! Cover fire!” There was no reply. “I need support! Any close support?! ..COVER ME!” With eyes tightly squinted, they revealed more heavy battle droids veiled behind dark wisps of smoke from his spent grenade. A scratch made itself as he scooped the E-11 from the floor.
Muscles in his arm tightened to raise his weapon. The soldier’s body wrenched uncontrollably. A burning sensation bloomed across his side! Righting himself, he remained in a knelt position; the warmth of his own blood clung to his glove when they attempted a quick examination of damage dealt. His voice was soft and in disbelief, “..skrag.. I didn’t see this coming..” The foremost B2 auto targeted the clone trooper then raised its forearm to execute, as was typical behavior during the Clone Wars. A narrow green beam through the smoke caught the clone’s upward glancing eyes.
Zzssooww! Zzzsow! Zsow!
Three precisely aimed shots slammed into the leading B2! Charred components were visible behind the fragments blown away. The alternate B2’s failed to identify the incoming shots’ origin and quickly crumbled to the floor; their metal bodies dismembered. Fingertips wrapped around the breathing tubes of the wounded trooper’s removed helmet. With the dirt covered bonnet resting against his thigh, the clone turned back, looking above to see another Stormtrooper whose armor bore a dark blue insignia. An insignia few had any privilege to bear under the new directives of uniformity.
“Commander, thank you..” The Veteran stormtrooper reached down to grip the younger trooper under the pit of his arm. Similar to a parent and troublesome child, fingers pressed into the kneeling troopers muscle then yanked upward. It was more of a dragging motion than helping hand that pulled the trooper to his feet. “No thanks required. Put that bonnet back on and re-focus! It’s like you’ve not worn a trooper helm before. GET SHARP!”
Both walked with quick purpose from the platform to an elevated over-watch position. Below victory was close at hand, but each side fought on. “Sir, the name is Contrail. My squad was wiped..”
Midsentence the trooper was interrupted by the grough Fett voice of his clone brother-in-arms . “This army functions on by numeric order trooper, not its nicknames! Yours is..?!” The interruption hit Contrail with a smack of reality, “I.. uh.. TK 4981 sir! Reporting for duty Commander!” Motionless, the blue armored commander nodded his head, “This isn’t the army it used to be TK 4981.” Sharply a female’s voice resonated over their commlink communicators, “All units fall back. Repeat: All units fall back to points: Lima and Hawk.”
Continuing as if he hadn’t heard the recent orders, the veteran continued, “..When you realize that, follow me. Hope it won’t take too long or you’ll find yourself among the clanker debris.” With a jolting shake from being chastised, the trooper increased pace to flank his new commanding officer. “Why retreat if we’re winning?!” Each sprinted over a long, thin bridge that intersected a rectangular landing platform. Hundreds of Stormtroopers descended with the call of the female’s voice.
Having reached the point as ordered, the veteran turned towards the cohort. So many troopers in one spot an orderly chaos ensued; not to be confused with disarray. “Legion: Form up and make it tight!!” With that command, troops reorganized themselves into an orderly arrangement hastily. Crisp and precise they stood, as if prepared to march for the Emperor’s parade. A solitary gap existed where a trooper had fallen from another squad. There the blue marked commander pulled the new addition to his team, TK 4981, “We do not retreat! ..Not even in death.” The commander’s hand punctuated the sentence against 4981’s chest with a curled fist. His helmet turned away and with an upturned finger, pointed toward an officer.
Clad in a sharply groomed tunic, the officer’s stance was rigidly attentive to the battlefield. Everything orchestrated during the attack was thoughtfully done from this command deck.
Macrobinoculars lowered from the brim of the officer’s cap. His eyes remained shrouded in shade and jaw severely clenched. Tapping rapidly, his leather gloved fingers dashed against a digit pad on the edge of the table; he stood motionless. Still as he intently anticipated.
TK 4981’s gaze turned upward. Cloud and ash obscured any sight of what existed above. A green hue swelled. Brighter and brighter! A thunderous clap the ground shook! Another shortly after and then another. 4981’s attention was redirected just in time to see the origin of two of the three booming blasts. Thick smoke bellowed from each impact which straddled the battle ridden factory. Without any more time passing, two dozen tremendous, green salvos pounded the factory walls! The orbital bombardment lasted another few moments tearing away the ramparts only to vaporize everything beneath. Nothing withstood the sheer firepower that rained from orbit! Once the core deep within the facility ruptured; generators ceased their work, dissipating the integral shields.
The barrage halted; its catastrophic damage dealt. What ruined shell stood, sank into the blistering, molten surface of Mustafar. Mission completed.
The officer swiftly spun from his perch. 4981 snapped back to attention to avoid additional reprimands. No attention, however, was paid to such a minute infraction. Metal taps sounded above the subtle, flaking shower of ash and debris. They too stopped a mere five steps beyond the platform’s stairs. “Commander, bring your prisoners front and center!”
“Yes General!”
“Prisoner’s?” the word softly spoken by 4981, but not soft enough to avoid the blue adorned trooper’s stark stare. “Examples are always made. Vader’s fist stands for the execution of those most pivotal.” 4981 was glad his helmet concealed any consternation caused by the double entendre.
16 troopers wearing a unique armor stepped forward. Their helmets had a sharp visor, black cloth visible where armor was not, and additional munitions around their waist. Elite reconnaissance soldiers and scout troopers escorted a small handful of Geonosian dissenters forward. Each prisoners’ wrists were bound firmly in front, bound by the tight vice of metallic binders. Battered and bloodied their heads hung low, yet remained resentful. Ushered over the Stormtrooper crowded platform, the scout troopers pulled them to the edge.
Without any command or words, the soldier’s pressed the flat of their palms against their defeated foe. Each positioned with no causeway separating them from the fiery clutches of bubbling lava. Eight paces were taken before the line spun to stare down their enemy through black, emotionless lenses. 4981 then recognized the officer dressed in a raven black uniform. Its crispness unmistakable.
Though aged and hardened from years of combat, the weariness and sharp blue eyes of Haide Valhallen (Vallen as the lads knew him) were unforgettable.
A glowing datapad raised, held firmly in Vallen’s grasp, “As decreed in Article 6, Section 2 of the Cato Neimodia Accords, the use of battle droids in unsanctioned military actions is strictly prohibited. AND if used against the Imperium, these crimes are considered actions against the Emperor himself! THUS, as a result, these crimes carry the highest sanction for the responsible. Gizor Dellso, you and your compatriots are not only found guilty of insurrection against the Empire, but are wanted for War Crimes.”
Suddenly agitated, wings of the Geonosian vibrated pugnaciously! His language, a series of clicks, rapid and hard to decipher. Vallen paused during the disruption only allowing it to continue while he consulted a black clad protocol droid. Its voice’s pitch was lowly, but matter-of-fact, “He denies the charge of War Crimes and says those claims are only decided before the Judiciary Counsel. “You have no authority to mak..”
“Oh, but I do have the authority Gizor! You were not present for the Confederation’s ratification of surrender, nor the hearings before the Judiciary Counsel. Abstention from those proceedings were certainly in part due to your insidious plot to continue the war. Reconciliation is beyond your grasp. You are a traitor, a terrorist, and you are sentenced to summary execution.. immediately!!”
Protesting from the party of insects grew to a clamor! Clacks and squaks signaled enormous agitation! Those that were solemn joined the others; fighting a fate against which they had little chance of appeal. “ “What war?!” -- “What war?!”
The protocol droid’s glowing orange eyes looked to his commander when translating. Teeth pressed into one another. Each side of Vallen’s jaw writhed under the pressure of being clenched. “What war?” Vallen asked rhetorically back to the shouting mass. His demeanor calm, even icy. Unsung tensions tore at the officer’s very fiber. That war had cost so much for everyone across the galaxy. The threat of it being forgotten enraged him!
His body moved suddenly toward Gizor Dellso! Steps broad, determined, and heavy until his hateful exhale was common with Dellso’s inhaling breath. “What war?!? THE CLONE WAR!” Reaching down, Vallen’s tinted leather glove embraced the smooth grip of his DL-44. Still standing on the battlefield, the safety clasp had not been reengaged. This allowed a fluid draw of the powerful blaster. The weight of pulling its trigger took little to no effort.
A single red eruption of energy exploded from the barrel! In an instant Gizor’s eyes blinked from the flash only to dull from the fatal shot to his insectoid cranium. Smoke withered in the breeze of lava heat. Surprisingly the bug remained standing; wings twitching. Gizor’s exoskeleton remained tense from sheer shock; wavering shortly before stumbling backward off the platform. His body fell with such weight until it met the orange flow below. Vallen’s rage mellowed only to be met with an overwhelming sense of angst. Angst conceived from the loathing of what he had become as an officer in the Imperium; reacting with such hate.
Turning towards his men, adorned in white, he commenced a march towards a nearby structure the 501st had taken as its temporary command compound. Passing a line of oddly armored elite troopers, the General raised his hand as if to issue a command to halt. Each soldier’s eye was keen to every movement he made. Illuminating with hope, the Geonosian’s body language lightened as he neared the firing line. If he made it passed the door, perhaps they’re punishment would be another day.
As if discarding trash, Vallen’s hand casually flicked to the side. And so followed the lives of the insect insurgents. Each trooper aimed down their barrel, hastily unloading a dozen charges into each bug. Their bodies spattered in orange pock marks that glowed brightly. The advance was ruthless! Bolts plunged into the foe with such force many were propelled off the precipice. Clone trooper 4981 thought the only way to stop their onslaught was if they too marched off the platform. They halted at the cusp where a single Geonosian carcass remained; that too was cast to the fire below with the shove of a boot.
Close behind Vallen’s shadow, the blue marked commander watched the imposing officer ascend the stairs, “Company: On standby!” he shouted. The uniformed white mass broke the hard attention they held during the final pacifying moments of Mustafar. Each initiated a myriad of duties. 4981 instinctually moved to follow the trooper who had saved his live, but was given a stern sign to hold his ground and not enter the skirmish scorned building. Hissing, the door sealed behind.
--- To be continued...
