User blog:Bane7670/Short Fiction: Republic Commando: Crosshairs

“Dispatch, this is Fox Twenty,” the pilot spoke into the comm channel. “We are loaded and ready to deploy.”

“Roger, Fox Twenty. You are cleared for departure,” the controller responded.

With a lurch, the LAAT/s dropped from the hangar deck of its RAS mothership and descended into Sullust’s atmosphere. Clayton exhaled and released his grip on the handrail, having grown used to nauseous feeling that came with hit-and-fade drops. Reaching down, he picked up the bulky helmet at his feet and examined it, then himself in the visor’s reflection. Only eight minutes earlier he was in the ‘fresher, feeling energized after a shave and a cup of caf. Soon following, he and his squad suited up, linked their HUDs, stocked up on weapons, ammo, and rations, and walked to the staging area of the hangar.

In that time, his energy and willpower had drained down to their reserves. The prospect of an extremely dangerous mission hadn’t even wrapped itself around his mind yet. He didn’t know about his fellow Commandos, but he was actually looking forward to the briefing. He needed a reminder that he was running on minimal sleep and stims for the good of the galaxy.

“Clayton,” Whipcord said beside him. Clayton turned his head towards him, simply grunting in response. “How you feeling about this one?”

“It’s another mission deep in enemy territory,” he replied flatly with a shrug. “I feel no different than the ones before it.”

“Even with how serious Vhon’ika seemed when she gave us the early rundown?” Bard noted, standing across the troop cabin from him.

“Vhon’ika is never anything else when it comes to preparing her soldiers,” Clayton justified. “And neither am I.”

That fact wasn’t another façade passed down from Command HQ. Vhonte Tervho was as solid a soldier as Walon Vau, which was as solid as they came. Over the years of the Republic Commandos’ training under the Mandalorian mercenaries known as the Cuy’val Dar, Omicron Squad always knew their training sergeant to be firm and straight-forward. She knew how a commando’s job was done right, how to trust in your vode and, subsequently, how to survive in the field.

That was why, though she would never fully admit it, Omicron knew she valued their lives on a personal level. It certainly explained why she continued to visit them in between assignments while most of the Cuy’val Dar moved on with their lives. Bard speculated that she saw them as her Mando sons and planned to adopt them once the war was over. Clayton didn’t oppose the idea, but wasn’t about to place any credits on it either.

Regardless of how far Vhonte was willing to take her relationship with her men, she was undeniably tense when she’d last spoken with them. She’d done a good job of hiding it, but Clayton knew her too well. There was something about this mission that, if she were in charge, would have made her think twice about sending a commando team in, let alone her own. There was definitely something different about this one, but maybe it was just a new type of weapon the Seppies were developing down there that would become their secondary objective. A mission was never as simple as its briefing.

“All right, Omicron Squad,” a familiar voice said over their comm channel a split second before a hologram rendition of the planet below them appeared in the larty cabin. “Here’s the story:

“As you know, the Republic fleet has secured most of this system, but Sullust itself is still under Separatist control, as is the entire SoroSuub Corporation,” their Advisor reported. “Since our first attempt to retake the planet failed, the business connection between Sullust and the Confederacy remains intact. We control most of the space around Sullust, including lanes of the Rimma Trade Route, but these lanes have become constricted by the corporation’s outgoing traffic. Sullustan officials claim they were merely cargo ships exporting supplies, but our Intel states that they are armed patrols placed by the Separatists to cut off our supply lines.”

“Why doesn’t the Republic send in a fighter wing to take care of them?” Whipcord asked.

“If the reps on the planet say they’re cargo ships, then attacking them will look like outright piracy to the public,” Advisor explained. “Besides, space isn’t the source of the problem. The problem, and your target, is this.” The hologram of the planet dissipated and was replaced by the image of a finely dressed Sullustan with as much of a steely expression as any of his species could have. “This is Beolars Bribbs, the CEO of SoroSuub, the planet’s senator in the Separatist Parliament, and de facto leader of the Sullustan Council. He’s been heading the corporation for years now with little regard for anything to do with the Republic.”

“He’s aligned his people with the Seps,” Kote noted casually. “Why shouldn’t he be biased?”

“Exactly. Command believes he’s moved up from businessman to Confederate commander,” Advisor continued. “We have reason to believe he’s also been feeding Intel of Republic activity in the system directly to the Separatists. Your primary objective is locate and eliminate him.” Vhonte had hinted that it was an assassination, but Clayton never imagined it would be a Galactic Senator. Their targets typically ranged from local militia leaders to corrupt warlords, but never someone of any political significance. The Republic certainly never showed interest in dealing a blow to such a major component of galactic trade, even if it had ties to the Commerce Guild. Up until now, at least.

All four commandos remained silent as they processed the information. Clayton spoke before the silence prolonged itself. “Are there any further objectives? Security threats? Clanker nests?”

“None as far as recon reports,” Advisor answered, changing the holographic display again to show a section of one of Sullust’s subterranean cities. “Bribbs was last reported to be staying at the Granaka Hotel in Pirin, though he’s probably gone by now. He plans to visit a SoroSuub Facility just north of there today. We can’t pinpoint where exactly he’ll be, so you’ll deploy on the outskirts of Pirin and track him from there. Unless any other mandates come through, you’ll stay right on him and evac immediately following his elimination.”

Ordinarily, Clayton liked jobs such as this. One clean execution and be back aboard the Perspicacity before the enemy can even put the pieces together. But this time, their target was a simple businessman and the “enemy” was an honest corporation that just happened to be linked to the Seppies. They were killing a man just for working with his allies. Clayton had hoped for a clearer picture how they were benefitting the galaxy.

“Advisor,” he asked, wanting a legitimate answer. “Should the target or his surroundings be considered dangerous?”

To his anxiety, their Advisor hesitated at the question. It was almost unnoticeable to those who weren’t looking for it, but Clayton was paying attention to how the answer was presented. “His security forces are well trained,” the Advisor answered after a moment. “Both clanker and local militia. Additionally, he’s been given much more influence over the Separatist Forces, so if he notices you too soon―”

“It’s our shebse,” Whipcord finished.

“Essentially,” Advisor said. “Confederate civs don’t like seeing Republic troops in their streets, much less taking out their senators, so make it fast and clean. Leave no Republic trace if you can help it.”

“Understood, sir,” Clayton responded for all of them. They could handle that level of stealth, but was it for their own good? Or for the Senate’s?

He shook the thoughts away. It didn’t matter. They had their orders.

The Advisor’s frequency cut out simultaneously with their hologram layout. Clayton looked to his squad and looked for any sign of uncertainty in any of their faces. Similarly, they were all looking to him for the next call and, of course, wouldn’t raise any objections to the mission unless he did. He looked down to his buy’ce and studied his reflection again. They had a job and were trusted to do it right. That was what they were made for.

“Lock and load,” he ordered, slipping the helmet into place over his head.

(To be continued)