Here Comes the Hothstepper

[Ria Misrani]

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HOTH​

IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE​

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YOU LUCKY FEW STORMTROOPERS, ARMY AND AUXILIARY PERSONNEL ARE GOING TO PLAY A LITTLE GAME OF SURVIVOR. YOU HAVE YOUR ARMOR AND YOUR GEAR. MAKE IT BACK TO FIREBASE VEERS ALIVE AND YOU'LL GET A FEW EXTRA DRINK RATIONS. DON'T MAKE IT BACK, YOU'LL HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE NAME LUKEWARM AND HEAD KISS A TAUNTAUN KELDABE STYLE AS YOUR PAYMENT. YOU'LL BE GROUPED UP IN FIRETEAMS, UNITS WILL REMAIN SEGREGATED STORMTROOPER/ARMY/AUXILIARY.​

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GOOD LUCK.​

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@First Order Ground Forces​

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What. In. The. Feth.

Ranulph and his team had been dropped off in the snow.

"This shouldn't be too complicated, right?" He asked his teammates while adjusting his armour, he fiddled with his pauldron a moment before taking a step forward. "So, Firebase Veers right that's um, that's this way I think."

Hoth was a frozen, desolate wasteland and why his superiors had chosen this as their survival training he hadn't a clue. At least they had afforded him the opportunity to try out the Snowtrooper gear. He hadn't worn that before so it was a nice bit of change, he took another step forward his boots struggled to get ground over the snow. He had a gun with him mostly to shoot at the wildlife he supposed. Whatever wildlife might be out here anyway. Communication with the other teams would still be available and while he had heard rumours that the Auxiliary had been sent down as opposition. Which left him with the thought of whether this was survival training, or war games or perhaps both. Both if he knew his superiors. His alabaster armour blended in with the snow as he took a few more steps forward. "C'mon lads, on we go."

Firebase Veers.

Shouldn't be too complicated of an outing, at least he thought.

Now, if he could only get his gear to work properly out in the vast nothingness that was Hoth, he'd be all set.

[member="Chubs"] | [member="3X744"] | @Other Troopers

 

[Zak Dymo]

"THE DROP ZONE IS APPROXIMATELY SIXTY CLICKS FROM FIREBASE VEERS!"

SHUTTLE DECIUS
PRESENT ALTITUDE: 31.4 KILOMETERS

Phantom pain shot up his arm.

It was like there was an itch there. It was bizarre. He felt like he had an itch. It was right on the backside of his hand.

Except the object moving as he flexed and relaxed his arm in some frustration wasn't his arm. The cybernetic prosthesis articulating back and forth as he exercised the servo joints.

"YOU'LL RENDEZVOUS WITH BRAVO COMPANY AT THE TWELVE CLICK MARK ON YOUR MAP!"

Ignoring the phantom itch, the young corporal turned his attention to the map as it popped into his field of vision. The HUD inside the snowtrooper helmet responded to eye movement. Eyeball tracking allowed him to cycle through the visual displays with a blew rapid blinks.

A sixty kilometer march in wasn't something to sneeze at.

And he had a thirty-one kilometer free fall before he could even get started.

The troop back in the back of the shuttle suddenly went black. Then, just as quickly, was bathed in red light.

Getting on his feet, the stormtrooper shuffled toward the door. He tried to shake out his joints. Limber up. Try and relax... all the while his heart was beating in his throat.

He'd been training for this since the loss of his arm and his re-construction surgery into a cyborg. Now he was trying to come back to the level he'd been at before the accident.

The door opened. The light went green.

And suddenly there was thirty-one thousand meters of nothing between Three and the planet surface below.

Sixty kilometers...

...those drink rations better not be Pabst Blue Ribbon.

[member="Ranulph Tarkin"]​

 

[Chubs]

Private Chubs Hadley shivered as he hit the ground. The stormtrooper hated the cold. Thakawa was not a planet which had much of the tundra or ice which seemed a consistent part of Hoth's environment. Although he had previously been posted on the planet at the Naval Yard, Chubs hated every minute of his three month deployment to the repair yard. However now, as he picked himself up out of the snow, Chubs could feel the ever unyielding cold of the planet through the protection offered by his armour.

"Come on private!" Chubs' CO, Sergeant Dornan barked from some distance away, "I am getting my hands on some scotch, and I will be damned if your fat arse stops me from taking that."

Chubs groaned, as he stood up, and waved his arm, "Understood sir!" He obidiently replied, there was no use arguing with a squad deprived of alcohol. Instead, he did what he'd learned to do in training. Internalise everything and bear through the pain. And if that meant he perhaps got a slice of the prize, who was he to argue?

"Corporal!" Dornan snapped, "Get us a bearing, I want us ready to move in five, understood?"

[member="3X744"] | [member="Ranulph Tarkin"]