Captain Garren Doz walked amongst his troops, Imperial Army Troopers. Most of whom were green—green as grass. They were equipped with riot gear: helmet, armour, batons. But their main weapons were the E-11 Blaster Rifle.
He was sitting in a Sentinel-Class Transport Shuttle, and he was a captain in the Imperial Army, assigned to handle the replacement of thousands of civilians.
Specifically, he was heading for the fifth most populated settlement.
A week had passed since Commodore Rysell had revealed the sheer terror of his new classified weapons: massive electromagnetic lasers, which passed through the storm unfazed.
And the Commodore had been playing psychological tactics left and right.
From what he had gathered, the civilians were to be transported to Nez Peron, a lush agricultural world in the Outer Rim, close to Celanon. The planet's governor had accepted the migration of these millions of Vireenians due to the heavy work which the planet required, being an agricultural world.
Commodore Rysell had deployed droids throughout every settlement with above a hundred settlers, playing pre-recorded videos of the lush environment of Nez Peron.
Green fields, thousands of trees, mountains, people, food, water.
And in addition, the transmitters also had vocal propaganda—propaganda of the Commodore informing them that the decision to glass their planet was committed by a rogue admiral, and that the Imperial Senate had taken pity on them, and therefore ensured a successful transfer.
And they had promised to build massive relay stations, whereby those who left could contact those who remained.
The fifth most populated settlement, referred to as S-5, currently had a large opening in the storm directly above them, permitting direct travel.
Which is why they were a priority, with hundreds of Sentinels and dozens of 7-85 Titan Dropships heading to the surface to rapidly transport the civilians into space.
Where a massive platform would transport said civilians into their designated cargo ship.
It wasn't luxurious, but it was efficient. Garren had briefly visited the platform, where the civilians would be placed into C-10 Cargo Containers, each container able to hold 100 individuals for a week's period.
And the containers would then be placed on the Class Four Container Transports—each could hold up to 230 containers, or 23,000 individuals per container transport. And amongst the four Class Four Container Transports they had—
Well, Garren realized each would have to perform 207 missions to Nez Peron. And as such, he knew this would be no quick task. He would spend months here—perhaps years.
Nevertheless, Garren pushed it out of his mind as his ship began descending down towards the city.
"Alright men! You know the rules. These civilians are to be regarded as likely hostiles. Keep your distances, and stay in your squads. Expect insurgents to rise up—they don't want their families leaving the planet."
"The civilians will be processed in sector A-13, and we will fill each box to the brim, unders—" Garren spoke, yet was interrupted as he was flung into the side of the wall, smashing into the metal as a loud explosion rang out.
"WE'VE BEEN HIT! SURFACE-TO-AIR MISSILE—GOING DOWN IN SECTOR A-04!" the pilot shouted, as Garren struggled with his head ringing. But he managed to stumble over to the seats, strapping himself in.
"BRACE FOR IMPACT!" the pilot shouted, as the ship crash-landed—flying straight into a hut-like building. Garren was temporarily knocked out by the crash.
Lieutenant General Kael sighed as he saw multiple Sentinel-Class Transport Shuttles go down over S-5.
Reports stated that the local insurgents had taken to arms, as the Imperial troops were scattered and reports flooded in from all across the settlement.
"Fortify the position in sector A-13. Send in the interception teams. All civilians who are not in A-13 are to be exterminated," Kael said with clear resignation. Hannah had informed him of the likelihood of this settlement harbouring large numbers of insurgents.
"Send in the probe droids. I want every organic in that city to be aware of the consequences of not seeking refuge in A-13," he continued, and a communications lieutenant nodded, relaying the message.
"Permit P-1 Degree orbital bombardments," Kael said finally, and the room froze for a second—before the orders continued.
It was not something Kael desired to do, but he knew it was required. And these insurgents decided to rise up against the Empire—there was nothing he could do.
.....
Garren slammed his foot into the cockpit of the pilots—the only part of the ship now capable of opening. He peeked out slightly, bringing his E-11 to his eyes. Yet the lack of clear hostilities resulted in him lowering it, and he jumped out of the ship.
And with that, the 72 Imperial Army Troopers followed him—two perished in the crash, not including the pilots.
Garren realized they found themselves on the outskirts of town, directly opposite to that of the secure point.
But before he could react, he heard an impact—as a trooper beside him fell, forcing his instincts to act as he threw himself to the ground, barely dodging another laser.
He hit the ground and rolled—into nearby vegetation, a bush devoid of leaves. He rapidly spotted the source.
"INCOMING FIRE, NORTH-WEST. Take cover behind the ship!" Garren shouted, as the troopers still climbing out of the shuttle slid down the southern side of the shuttle, rather than north as he and six others had done.
Garren preferred to remain hidden, sneaking some shots out when the hostiles—who clearly wielded a turret—had to cease fire, either to recharge or to avoid risking overheating.
Eventually, one of the troopers inside the ship acted. He wielded a rocket launcher as he peeked out of the cockpit and fired a single shot in the direction of the incoming fire.
"CHARGE!" Garren shouted, as he and four remaining survivors on the north side of the ship charged—bringing their E-11s up as they opened fire, yet faced no incoming fire from the turret position.
But they didn't get very far before the turret began shooting once again. The insurgents were most likely destabilised by the missile, yet recovered before Garren killed them.
Sadly for you, I'm an excellent shot, Garren thought, as he had gotten a firing arc on the turret position. And two clean shots were all that was needed—as the gunner of the turret fell down.
Though his second gunman brought forth an E-5 Blaster Rifle, he was too slow—as two out of four lasers hit the man, from the Army Troopers who ran beside him.
But Garren was not in the clear, as he and his four troopers were set upon by a new turret. This position was much more open—and fortified.
A trench to the west. Garren quickly reacted, spotting an abandoned building a few metres in front of them.
"ON ME!" he shouted, as he darted for the hut—his four troopers following, not out of competence, but out of sheer desperation. As they relied on the only individual they trusted in this scenario: Garren.
In a miraculous action, the squad made their way to the hut relatively unharmed—except for a few grazes. Yet it seemed as if their main forces by the shuttle had opened fire on the trench position.
Once they entered, Garren heard the troopers begin to complain, cry, or otherwise wail in desperation. Though he remained disciplined, as he began checking the house.
"Why are we even here!?! Why can't we just glass these traitors out of existence?" one of the recruits said—one of fairly rich origins, yet his arrogance landed him in the Imperial Army.
"We're going to die... we're going to die... we're going to die... we're going to die... I don't want to die... I don't want to die..." one sat in the corner and repeated to himself, with tears running down his chin.
The third, meanwhile, was simply frozen. As the adrenaline began to decrease, he remained frozen nonetheless—not looking, not talking, just standing still.
Meanwhile, Garren had been moving some furniture to create a wall. But he was surprised to find a massive opening behind the sofa. He brought out his flashlight, flashing into the hole.
"Get yourselves together, and follow me. If you wish to survive this ordeal, then you need to wake the fuck up," Garren grumbled harshly towards the three recruits, who awoke at his calling. And although shakily, made their way towards him, as the opening revealed itself before them.
They entered the hole—Garren first, and the remaining three after.
It was pitch black, and all natural—like the cave that an animal had dug out. Yet there were traces of the human species: tools, and the unique form of the cage.
They all needed to crouch as they walked down it, albeit slowly but surely. And soon enough, they reached a metal floor, as their flashlights circled through the pitch-black room, revealing no enemies.
That was, until the wall began to move—splitting apart horizontally at the middle, the wall directly to their right. Revealing a window, a window where four individuals sat—with a gleeful smile on their faces.
And with a waving motion, one of them pressed a button, as a green gas entered the room.
The recruits were frozen, though Garren turned towards where they had entered—only to see the wall having been shut there as well.
Of course they closed it. It would be braindead not to.
The toxin immediately took effect, as the recruits began falling one after another. But Garren would not go down without results—and he pressed a few buttons on his wrist, hidden from the sight of the insurgents behind the walls.
Before the toxin took effect, and he too slipped into unconsciousness—with a last thought on his mind:
This will teach you arrogance, retards. Though you won't be able to learn from that mistake.
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