This is the preview page for a story I’m working on called “Star Wars: Designation 13″. The purpose of this page is to get feedback from YOU on what you think of it so far and should I even keep hacking away at it. Give it a look and please comment.
Thanks, 13
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Star Wars: Designation 13 by TD-0013
Chapter One – End of a Dream, Beginning of a Nightmare
“This station is the ultimate power in the universe. I suggest we use it.”
~Admiral Motti, one week before the Battle of Yavin
“What? Say that again, pilot!” The Imperial Major snapped into the Sentinal’s Inter Communications System via the link in the headset he wore. “I said that it’s gone. There’s been an attack and the Death Star has been vaped!”, came the pilot’s response over the Major’s headset. Inside the troop transport, six squads worth of troopers relaxed in the relative comfort of the webbed troop seats. Helmets sat on the deck beneath their owners’ seats, or were hap-hazardly stacked in the corner as the soldiers chatted and joked with each other about the ignorance of the Intel Division for this mission or about women in various ports. Thirteen stared at them a moment in regret. Such moments like this were few and far between for soldiers, and he dreaded knowing that he was about to shatter it by giving them the news he had just received. A small detachment of the 501st Legion, “Vader’s Fist”, was on its way back to the ISD Devastator, having completed their seek and destroy mission on Dantooine, searching for the Rebel Base that had been reported there. It turned out to be a ruse. False information to send the 54 troopers inside the landing craft on a goose-chase, and it had spared the troopers’ lives.
“We’ve been given orders to pull a hot turn and burn once we reach the nest.” continued the pilot, his flyboy jargon doing little but confusing Thirteen. “What??” he asked into the link. The pilot sighed and muttered something about “stupid ground-pounders” then explained, “Once we reach the Devastator, we go through a re-fuel with our engines still turning. We’re heading to the Yavin system to search for survivors.”
Thirteen nodded, still looking around the troop area at his “brothers”. “Any word about the ‘Boss’?” Thirteen asked. “No,” the pilot replied. “No word of Lord Vader’s status, Major. Hopefully we’ll learn more once we’re on deck.” The Major looked down at the deck plating, finding his eyes focusing on one of the many steel loops in it used for strapping down cargo. “Roger that. Keep me informed if you learn anything before then.” Thirteen replied. Around him, laughter continued among the troops as Sergeant Tel finished telling an anecdote involving himself and a couple Zabrak women of questionable repute. ‘Let them have this..Just a few minutes more” he thought to himself as questions swarmed in his skull. What became of Darth Vader? He was onboard the station overseeing the interrogation of Rebel spies captured in a raid on a Blockade Runner mere days ago. Lord Vader couldn’t be gone. He was, for all intent and purpose to his troopers, immortal. Darth Vader wasn’t dead. The Major clung to that sliver of hope as he stood; rubbing the bridge of his nose a moment while the murmurs died down as each trooper took notice of him.
“Troopers…We just received reports that the Rebellion has attacked….and destroyed… the Death Star Space Station.” A few collective gasps filled the air. “Reports are still sketchy at this time, but we’re heading for the Devastator and hopefully we’ll get more answers there. Lord Vader’s last known location was onboard the station, and currently, his whereabouts are unknown.” Where only moments ago the troop hold was filled with loud, raucous laughter and chatter, now not a sound was heard, save for the creaking of the nylon webbing in the troop benches. Troopers blinked in confusion or stared blankly at him as if they simply did not believe a word he was saying. It was that fraction of a moment in time where denial told you something this bad didn’t happen; that it was all a dream, or some sort of sick joke. The Major really wished it was either of those things. “I for one, am leaning towards his having escaped, because if there’s one thing we’ve all learned about the Boss, it’s that he’s not like other men. They would need a lot more than a bunch of rebellious civvies to take down the Boss!” He paused a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “It’s a safe bet that things are going to get hairy in the coming days, men. The rebels have crossed the line turning this entire conflict from one of minor skirmishes to an absolute and undeniable war. I honestly have no idea what Command is going to do next, but safe money is that we’re going to be expected to find these pieces of filth, and wipe them off the charts permanently. There can be no quarter given for what they’ve done. Don’t ever forget that, or what they did to deserve your wrath. But first, we find the Boss.”
The gravity of it started to sink in on the Imperial troops. The Death Star was home to over a million Imperial personnel, and those million souls were lost in the blink of an eye. Many of those people were friends to the men onboard this vessel, and the Major could see one thing rising in each man; the thirst for revenge. Vengeance was a dangerous bit of cargo to keep in one’s knapsack. It clouded the vision and pushed all other duty aside. It could be a very powerful motivator though, if used properly. Right now, the Major looked up and saw an entire dropship of troopers overflowing with that raw emotion, and it was a safe bet that there was an entire Empire that helped carry that burden. He looked down and noticed something for the first time since he’d gotten the news. How long had he been shaking?
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As the troop ramp broke its seal and began to lower from the starboard side of the Sentinel, a wave of the Devastator’s comparatively fresh air flooded the compartment. It wasn’t as fresh as planetside, but it was still a welcome relief after being in the dropship so long. The Major glanced over his shoulder at Lieutenant Daymean Juhrett, his second in command of the detachment, who nodded to him, indicating the troops were ready to disembark. Behind Daymean stood ranks of troopers, with their buckets on and in formation. Despite the sorrow or rage they felt, they held their heads high and weapons ready. Each man hid the sadness behind the armored mask of the Imperial Stormtrooper; putting on their game face, as it were. “Once we disembark, I’m heading to the Commander’s office to find out what our next move is. Make sure the men get a hot meal, a hot shower, and some rack time while we can get it.” Thirteen said and turned back towards the opening ramp, pulling on his own helmet as he did, running through a series of quick blinks and eye movements calibrating the helmet’s internal systems to him almost instantly. The two openings for his eyes grew into one large, unrestricted opening as the heads up display and external sensors kicked in as the ramp hit the deck with a loud, clanging thump. The Major hefted his DLT-21 repeater rifle across his chest and led his troops down the ramp and through the large landing bay inside the Imperial Star Destroyer, Devastator.
Deck crewmen clad in stained grey coveralls ran past, dragging a hefty fuel line behind them to refuel the Sentinel, whose engines still buzzed loudly at an idle. The helmet’s filters cancelled out most of the exterior ambient sounds, but just enough got through as if to provide the music for the carefully choreographed dance that was deck operations at full alert. Deck crews scrambled all over the hanger bay, some moving refueling and re-arming equipment throughout the hanger, while others ratcheted down shuttles with long tie-down chains. Each crewman moved in such a way as to never slow down, but never get in each others’ way either. Most men referred to the hanger deck crew as “Swivel-heads” because a deck crewman’s head was always turning in one direction or the other, keeping a close eye on his surroundings so he didn’t end up becoming a fried red smear on the deck from walking too close to a ship that was turning, or a walker that was being loaded into its own massive dropship. The hanger was always a dangerous place to be, especially when your rate had nothing to do with flight operations. The deck’s bright yellow on black markings were there to keep the non-initiated alive…in theory. The Major had heard more than one horror story and seen more than enough images of troopers who didn’t follow the lines and ended up being a sad letter from Command to their loved ones. Shuttle craft rose above the deck, holding position at a hover as their pilots awaited clearance to launch. Overhead, TIE Fighters suspended on long pairs of retaining arms moved along rails that directed them to recovery bays as more ships kept coming in. Pulling in all the TIEs meant only one thing, the Devastator was preparing to jump. Thirteen paused in his tracks as an AT-ST scout walker stomped across the bay and into a heavily armored dropship, carefully directed by a swivel-head using light wands.
Once the path was clear, the troopers resumed their march out of the hanger bay, and Daymean led the men towards the nearest galley while Thirteen veered off and made his way towards the Unit Commander’s office. Hopefully, Stutger would have some information for him. As he made his way through the ship’s corridors, crewmen working to add another later to the brilliant shine of the floors gave him a wide berth and paused to stand at attention as he passed. Despite the crispness of their uniforms, and the purpose with which each one moved, there was a blank look within the eyes. Everyone here lost someone onboard the Death Star, but each person seemed to be dealing with it professionally. There was a job to do, so they pulled up the boot straps and did it. While he couldn’t smell it firsthand with his helmet on, he knew the passageways always carried the scent of polish. The walls, the floors, and every switch, button, and light on every panel shone with a mirror like finish. Busywork for the lower ranked enlisted, sure, but there was a purpose to it. It was an example of military discipline and it was an ongoing exercise of attention to detail; two things that made up the backbone of any true military force. It also gave the crew a sense of pride in what was, for all intent and purpose, their home among the stars, and every soul onboard the ship took care of the Devastator. Besides, focusing on such menial tasks helped to keep the depression from such a tragedy creeping in on you.
Upon reaching Commander Stutger’s office, the Major could see Stutger finishing up a communication, so Thirteen “popped tall”, rapped on the doorframe, and announced himself as military protocol dictated. “Major TD-0013, reporting as ordered, Sir!”
The Commander looked to the doorway and replied, “Enter and remove your bucket, Major.” Thirteen took three steps into the office, removing his helmet and tucked it under his left arm. “Thirteen, it’s good to see you. Any losses on Dantooine?”, Stutger asked. “No sir. As reported, we found the remains of a Rebel base, but it didn’t look like anyone has been there for months now, if not longer. A primary structure looked as if it served as a hanger, but it was stripped of everything except the walls, and had those been modular, I’m willing to bet those would have been gone too.
(to be continued/ WIP)
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