Fortress Imperator | Bastion
181st Armored Division
Keylee Linth
Open For Interaction
A dithering hand reached for the faucet; turned and closed with a faint metallic squeak, the stream of clean water ceased. Droplets of water, intermingling with his sweat, dribbled down onto the basin off the Corporal’s young, flustered visage. Alone in the men’s refresher, the young lad, wearing the Imperial Army’s full dress uniform, colored jet-black, signifying he was of the armored corps, stood silently before the sink as his wide-eyed gaze stared back at him from the mirror.
He felt overwhelmed.
Rapid deployments into hot combat zones in the past few months to fight the many enemies of The Empire, all back-to-back, had forsaken him the respite he needed to stop for a second and process the deeds he had committed in battle, and the many things, the
horrors and realities of combat he saw through the gunner’s sight of his tank.
No matter what he tried, he could not get the image of that Alliance tank crewman trying to claw his way out of his burning tank on Ilum. He could recall the scene in sickening detail; how his charred skin looked as the remaining bits of leather and fabric of his gloves burned to a crisp along with his flesh, how desperately he tried to pull himself out of the hatch but couldn’t as he was engulfed by the red-hot flames jetting out from all the cracks and hatches of the vehicle, and how, after a moment’s futile struggle, his hands just went limp and dipped back into the interior, down the blown open commander’s hatch.
It was all etched into his memory now; wholly left its imprint onto him.
That was the fate he feared the most that he thought they might have shared that day on that
worthless planet with his brothers-in-arms, but fate had something else planned for them, it seemed. The rending of metal as a sabot round finding its mark through their armor during the armored surge for the last Alliance landing zone still rang sharp in his ears.
If it weren’t for the spall liner, a steel fragment only slightly larger than his thumb would have been buried into his cranium at lightning speed. If he hadn’t sat hunched forward, burying the dome of his head onto the rubber pad above the gunner optics, the steel arrow would have decapitated him before it eventually lobbed off the tank commander’s leg from the calf.
The conflict waged over the damnable frozen wastes of Ilum was the closest he got to Death. The idea that the breath one had drawn could very well be their last in the next moment during battle, that nobody’s survival was ever guaranteed, no matter their rank, unit or background, mattered not in combat. It was total and
complete coincidence -and a little bit of luck- he survived that massive battle. No amount of training would have saved him if he had
just sat up right a few inches on his seat in the fighting compartment of the tank.
He knew full well what he had signed up for, just like his fellow brothers-in-arms; but that did not at all help to bear with it all. He had snuffed out
dozens of lives by now. It was only
now he had a moment to stop and think of that.
Regaining a bit of his composure, the young man shook his head as his eyes closed shut. Snapping out of it, the young Corporal heaved a deep breath before opening his eyes once more. Drying his hands and face with a paper towel from a dispenser nearby, the man reached for the pair of black leather gloves he had tossed onto the sink counter beside his black beret, and slipped them on; the beret’s silver cap badge above his left eye glistened brightly back at him under the light. Giving himself one last look in the mirror, the young lad made sure his formal attire and the tanker’s black beret he wore was worn in full compliance to the Imperial Army’s dress and appearance regulations before leaving the refresher.
Nervous and jumpy, the agitated young lad walked the halls of the Fortress Imperator alone at a brisk pace on his way to the large gala hall; Kale and Stege would join him later. He had come early and ahead of them and the rest of his platoon. Entering through the doors into the tastefully gilded gala hall, the young lad briefly came to a halt as he regarded the men and women inside.
So
many officers and high ranking officials alike…
The one time he had seen an officer above the rank of Major, was during one occasion when he ran some errand back in HQ; the amount of brass hats in the room made him all the more uncomfortable. He greatly felt out of his league, and was right to feel so. He was just a measly
Corporal after all. He didn’t know what to think when the members of his platoon, him included, were called to this particular event.
The crowd and the scenery had put him on edge more than before now, adding up to his anxiety.
He had to find a way to calm down, and
fast.
As his wide-eyed gaze swept over the high ranking officers and officials alike while making his way towards the nearest balcony at a brisk pace, to catch a smoke or three, the kid mistakenly bumped into a pleasantly dressed woman (
Keylee Linth
) standing by a food-table.
”Excusemesorry!” the agitated kid sputtered a quick, profuse apology as he spared her a brief glance before looking ahead again, focused on reaching the balcony above all else; with hurried steps the young lad left her without sparing her another glance, passing by others at his brisk pace.
Emerging into the spacious balcony, the man heaved a sigh as he walked towards the waist-high railing. Neverminding the others engaged in conversations alike around the balcony, the young lad produced a pack of cheap, low quality cigarras and a lighter from a pocket. Lighting a cigarra after placing one between the corner of his lips, the young lad took a puff at the smoke.
He couldn’t wait for this ordeal to end already. Never before had he wanted so much to head back to his barracks and hit the sack in his life.
