Twilights Edge - 2
The rally point was little more than a frozen hollow beneath an overhang of ice, but it gave them shelter enough to crouch low and make final preparations. Cassian's breath fogged his visor as he knelt in the snow, eyes fixed on the lattice of steel and floodlights ahead. The relay station loomed like some frozen predator, silent save for the occasional crackle of a comms dish rotating against the storm.
The squad leader raised two fingers, then drew a sharp line through the air. Power first. Then turrets. Then the strike.
Cassian adjusted his rifle, the familiar click of the charge pack sliding home grounding him. He could feel the storm pressing down on them, smothering, almost alive. Every heartbeat seemed louder than a blaster shot. Yet beneath it all was the steady hum of resolve. This was why he was here. To strike first, to carve out breathing room for the Republic, for Naboo, for everyone depending on men like him to hold the line.
The slicer in their squad, helmet streaked white with frost, shifted forward on hands and knees, disappearing into the snowbank as he began to crawl toward the utility conduit buried along the fence's edge. His job: cut power, dim the lights, open the way. Cassian and two others fanned wide, each step measured, each boot sinking silently into the snow. A searchlight swept past again, distorted by the storm but still blinding in its intensity. Cassian froze, lowering himself until the snow kissed the front of his armor. The light paused for a heartbeat, then moved on.
Comms crackled faintly in his ear, the slicer whispering: "Almost there… fifteen seconds…"
Cassian exhaled slowly, letting his breath vanish into the storm. He checked the position of his squad, dark figures in the white, waiting, ready. The glow of the station's perimeter dimmed. One by one, the floodlights flickered, guttered, then died. The fortress of light became a husk in the storm, blind and vulnerable. A shiver ran through the squad, not from the cold, but from the sharp pull of adrenaline.
The last floodlight died with a faint sputter, and in that single instant of silence, everything broke loose.
A flare of red lanced through the storm, a blaster bolt hissing past Cassian's shoulder. The first shot was wild, fired more out of panic than precision, but it lit the darkness like a signal flare. Alarms howled across the compound, muffled but unmistakable beneath the storm's howl.
"Contact!" someone barked over comms, voice jagged with adrenaline. Cassian rolled into the snow, blaster rifle snapping up as he fired back into the half-seen silhouettes scrambling along the station's fence line. His bolt found one, the merc crumpling in the snow, weapon clattering uselessly against the steel barrier.
The turret emplacements came alive, grinding as they searched for targets. Their optics struggled in the storm, but the thunderous whump of a repeating cannon tore through the white haze, stitching the ground with glowing red impacts. Snow exploded around the team in blinding bursts.
"Scatter!" the squad leader barked, his voice calm even as chaos erupted.
Cassian sprinted sideways, boots slipping on the ice, heart hammering. A bolt carved through the air where he'd just been. He dove behind a snowbank, pressing his back against the icy cover, chest heaving. He caught sight of two teammates vaulting the fence in the confusion, charging toward the nearest comms tower. Another lay prone, firing steady bursts to keep the turrets pinned. The storm became a battlefield in miniature, shapes moving in whiteout, muzzle flashes slicing brief arcs of light, shouts and curses carried half-swallowed on the wind. Every breath burned cold in Cassian's lungs. Every trigger squeeze echoed like thunder.
Above it all, the relay's great dish continued to turn, rotating with mechanical indifference, as though mocking their attempt to sever Black Sun's reach.
Cassian's hand tightened around his rifle. They couldn't just fight, they had to finish this.
"Push them!" he growled into comms, rising from cover, sighting the glow of a turret's power core through the snow. His first bolt missed. The second struck true. A violent explosion tore the emplacement apart, showering the storm with shards of molten steel.
The firefight was theirs to win, or die in the snow trying.
Sibylla Abrantes
The squad leader raised two fingers, then drew a sharp line through the air. Power first. Then turrets. Then the strike.
Cassian adjusted his rifle, the familiar click of the charge pack sliding home grounding him. He could feel the storm pressing down on them, smothering, almost alive. Every heartbeat seemed louder than a blaster shot. Yet beneath it all was the steady hum of resolve. This was why he was here. To strike first, to carve out breathing room for the Republic, for Naboo, for everyone depending on men like him to hold the line.
The slicer in their squad, helmet streaked white with frost, shifted forward on hands and knees, disappearing into the snowbank as he began to crawl toward the utility conduit buried along the fence's edge. His job: cut power, dim the lights, open the way. Cassian and two others fanned wide, each step measured, each boot sinking silently into the snow. A searchlight swept past again, distorted by the storm but still blinding in its intensity. Cassian froze, lowering himself until the snow kissed the front of his armor. The light paused for a heartbeat, then moved on.
Comms crackled faintly in his ear, the slicer whispering: "Almost there… fifteen seconds…"
Cassian exhaled slowly, letting his breath vanish into the storm. He checked the position of his squad, dark figures in the white, waiting, ready. The glow of the station's perimeter dimmed. One by one, the floodlights flickered, guttered, then died. The fortress of light became a husk in the storm, blind and vulnerable. A shiver ran through the squad, not from the cold, but from the sharp pull of adrenaline.
The last floodlight died with a faint sputter, and in that single instant of silence, everything broke loose.
A flare of red lanced through the storm, a blaster bolt hissing past Cassian's shoulder. The first shot was wild, fired more out of panic than precision, but it lit the darkness like a signal flare. Alarms howled across the compound, muffled but unmistakable beneath the storm's howl.
"Contact!" someone barked over comms, voice jagged with adrenaline. Cassian rolled into the snow, blaster rifle snapping up as he fired back into the half-seen silhouettes scrambling along the station's fence line. His bolt found one, the merc crumpling in the snow, weapon clattering uselessly against the steel barrier.
The turret emplacements came alive, grinding as they searched for targets. Their optics struggled in the storm, but the thunderous whump of a repeating cannon tore through the white haze, stitching the ground with glowing red impacts. Snow exploded around the team in blinding bursts.
"Scatter!" the squad leader barked, his voice calm even as chaos erupted.
Cassian sprinted sideways, boots slipping on the ice, heart hammering. A bolt carved through the air where he'd just been. He dove behind a snowbank, pressing his back against the icy cover, chest heaving. He caught sight of two teammates vaulting the fence in the confusion, charging toward the nearest comms tower. Another lay prone, firing steady bursts to keep the turrets pinned. The storm became a battlefield in miniature, shapes moving in whiteout, muzzle flashes slicing brief arcs of light, shouts and curses carried half-swallowed on the wind. Every breath burned cold in Cassian's lungs. Every trigger squeeze echoed like thunder.
Above it all, the relay's great dish continued to turn, rotating with mechanical indifference, as though mocking their attempt to sever Black Sun's reach.
Cassian's hand tightened around his rifle. They couldn't just fight, they had to finish this.
"Push them!" he growled into comms, rising from cover, sighting the glow of a turret's power core through the snow. His first bolt missed. The second struck true. A violent explosion tore the emplacement apart, showering the storm with shards of molten steel.
The firefight was theirs to win, or die in the snow trying.
Sibylla Abrantes
