“Battle stations! Battle stations! This is not a drill. Imperial forces have landed and are closing in on our location. I repeat, this is not a drill!” The sobering message blared over the loudspeaker over and over again until every rebel soldier on the base was scrambling to get to his or her post. This was finally it. The Empire had discovered their whereabouts and the small band of rebels would soon be engaging in combat with hardened Imperial ground forces on this icy soon-to-be battlefield.
Corporal Cal Curtis shot upright in his cot after one of the loud warnings finally woke him from his short but badly needed slumber. He had been on patrol for nearly fifteen hours the day before and hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for as long as he could remember. After a moment, he gathered his bearings, tightened his snow boots, and grabbed his rifle.
As he stood up to head to his post, the sudden realization of what was happening finally set in. This was the real deal. Though he had been a part of the Rebel Alliance for nearly a year now, he had never seen combat before. His only experience “under fire” had been during training exercises back in infantry school. It was time to see if he had what it took to face the enemy.Will I be able to pull the trigger? Will I cower under fire? He thought to himself. He tried to shift his focus. After many months of eager anticipation, he would have his opportunity to exact a little revenge…
“Corporal Curtis!” His platoon leader shattered his train of thought. “Get moving! We are under attack, son.”
“Roger that, sir!” He said in as confident of a reply as he could muster, hoping that his superior couldn’t see his trembling hands. He shouldered his weapon and double-timed it towards the base’s large bay doors.
As he made his way out the exit, he saw his squad mates heading in the same direction and caught up with them. Cal was part of a heavy weapons team, and it was his job to cover the cannon gunner and his assistant while they directed fire at larger targets. He found the gunner, Corporal Chance, and his assistant, Private Holl, and slowed down to keep pace with them.
Chance had been a part of the Alliance for some time now. Ironically, he’d initially joined the Empire and was in training to become a Stormtrooper a few years back. After witnessing the ruthlessness of the Imperial army firsthand, he jumped ship and linked up with the rebel cause. With a lot of convincing on his part that he wasn’t a double agent, they welcomed him into the infantry.
Holl was brand new to Echo Base. He’d only joined up a few months prior and didn’t look a day older than eighteen. From what Cal could gather, he was a good kid and seemed to be a team player. He just hoped that would be the case when the bolts started flying.
The cannon was heavy and awkward and was most certainly a taxing piece of equipment for any man to carry. Despite Chance’s large build, the weight of the weapon coupled with the fact that they were walking on ice slowed him down considerably. He grunted and slightly adjusted the weapon every ten steps or so. His labored breathing produced puffs of icy breath through the thick scarf covering his mouth. Fortunately, the weapon’s tripod was detachable and traditionally carried by the assistant gunner. This crew was no exception, and Holl was able to alleviate some of the burden.
As they slowly trotted to their battle stations, Cal glanced at his crewmates. He wasn’t sure whether to feel more confident or more terrified when he saw the look on Holl’s face. He was ghostly white and his lips were trembling. The only comforting part of it was that Cal wasn’t the only one who was scared.
After several minutes of labored travel, Cal and the cannon crew broke off from the rest of the squad and headed towards their icy foxhole at the left flank of the main line of resistance. The rest of his platoon took up their positions several meters to their right. They were the end of the line.
Every day for the past several weeks, each unit had to march out to their holes and ensure they were in combat-ready condition. Thanks to the constant snowfall on the planet, they continuously had to dig out the excess build up of hardened snow. It was certainly a workout each time they had to perform the task and helped keep them in shape. Or at least the soldiers joked that it did.
Thankful to see their foxhole required no additional maintenance, the crew jumped into the protective space. The gunner snapped the cannon back onto the tripod and set it up in its firing position towards the enemy’s approach. Cal checked his rifle and made sure the action hadn’t frozen over. He placed some extra ammunition and a few grenades in little crudely made ice shelves he’d dug when they first prepared their position. Up and down the line, all of the rebel soldiers did the same.
After double and triple checking his equipment, Cal looked out into the icy wasteland that lay ahead of him. The ominous feeling of impending chaos loomed in the air. He saw an empty plot of barren land that was soon to be engulfed in blaster bolts and cannon fire. But for now, there was only silence.
For what seemed like an eternity, no one said a word. The unsettling realization of being outnumbered and outgunned was surely entering the minds of veterans and inexperienced troops alike. They waited.
In the distance, a large streaking object suddenly zoomed from the sky onto the icy ground. And then there was another. And another. Several more of these objects descended from the sky. The rebels couldn’t see what had just landed thanks to a foggy haze blocking their view.
Again, there was silence. Minds ran wild with fear and anticipation.
Unsure whether or not he would be alive or dead in the next several minutes, Cal tried to distract himself with the strategy. They’d been over the battle plan more times than he could count. Infantry and snow speeders are to fight a delaying action to give our transports enough time to escape past an Imperial blockade. Once the other transports have successfully fled, the remaining infantry will retreat and board the final transport.
Remaining infantry. That was the phrase that stuck out the most to him during their multiple briefings. Would there be any remaining infantry left to escape? It was a question that entered his head more often than he liked.
Several more minutes passed, and still, they couldn’t see anything. Some started questioning whether or not the assault would actually be coming from that direction. Is this a diversion? Are they going to hit us from somewhere else? Uncertainty spread amongst them like a virus.
Finally, they saw something. From the fog, hard metal shapes began to emerge into view.
“What the hell is that?” Cal said. Despite asking the question, he already knew. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. He had had enough training on the Imperial military to know that he was looking at All Terrain Armored Transports, AT-AT’s for short. Lots of them.
“Okay, boys, off your asses and into the fight!” the company’s commanding officer shouted into the com-link that connected him with the rest of his soldiers. Officers and NCOs began barking orders to their men, trying to instill some confidence before engaging with the enemy. It certainly roused Cal, and he felt a bit more inspired.
Another boost in confidence came in the form of several snow speeders zooming over their positions. The troops on the ground cheered loudly as their brothers in arms passed overhead. These experienced pilots and their heavily armed ships were on their way to knock out every last one of those big blasted machines. Or so they hoped.
The soldiers watched in hopeful anticipation as the speeders began to engage the large walkers. Far in the distance, they could barely see the bright beams from the ship’s cannons as they struck into the big metal beasts. There was just one problem. The menacing vehicles continued to advance despite the blows from the rebel craft. After witnessing several strikes on the AT-ATs, confidence in the destruction of these enemy machines began to rapidly fade. Their shields were too strong.
As if he could read the minds of his men, the company commander chimed in on the com-link system again. “Hold steady, men. We have a job to do, and we’re going to do it. Let’s make them regret showing their ugly faces on this planet. Hold your fire until they’re in range.”
Cal appreciated the message from his commander. He’d met Captain Zroeder the first day he arrived on Hoth and could feel the aura of confidence the man gave off from the moment he first shook his hand. He was certainly an impressive leader, and Cal felt lucky to be under his command. Not only had he seen action against the Empire in prior battles, but he’d also cut his teeth as a young front line soldier in the Clone Wars all those years ago. If anyone was going to get this unit through the fight, he was.
Cal looked on to the approaching battle in front of him. The speeders were still fruitlessly firing at the walkers trying to probe for weaknesses that didn’t seem to exist. Suddenly, he saw something fire from one of the speeders. It wasn’t a blast from the cannons. No, it was a tow cable from the rear of one of the ships. It locked onto one of the AT-AT’s legs as it continued its large strides towards the rebel base. The speeder began circling around the machine again and again. After completing several laps around the walker, the speeder appeared to detach its tow cable and veer in another direction. The clanking beast tried to continue making strides forward, but thanks to the tightly wound tow cable, it stumbled forward and was brought tumbling down to its gigantic knees. A moment later, the AT-AT burst into a ball of flames. Possibly even louder than the explosion itself, the rebel infantry cheered so loudly that Cal thought his eardrums would burst.
At last, they had some semblance of hope.
Boom! That sliver of optimism was quickly blown to bits with the impact of one of the walker’s cannons blasting the trench off to the crew’s right. The enemy was now within striking distance.
As he looked over to see the cannon strike the fortification, Cal could see mangled body parts fly from the space formerly occupied by two of his squad mates. A lightning bolt of fear struck his heart. Keep it together. Keep it together, he thought.
Every AT-AT and smaller AT-ST let loose a barrage of fire aimed towards the rebel forces, and explosions erupted all along the line. Soldiers, nearly defenseless against the giant blasts, hunkered down in their foxholes, praying they wouldn’t be next.
The commander gave the order for the larger turret guns to open fire on the approaching enemy. They were still too far distant for the heavy weapons teams and other riflemen to commence firing. Not that their weapons would do much good anyways. Their main objective was to confront the enemy infantry, battle-tested Snowtroopers. There was currently no sign of them.
Captain Zroeder, boldly standing tall in his part of the trench, looked through his binoculars at the nearest AT-AT. He could see the troop carrier hatch begin to open. He shifted his optics to other walkers and saw them do the same. He knew that, before long, companies of Snowtroopers would be well on their way to prying his rebel soldiers from their positions. He had confidence that his boys would put up a stubborn fight.
Cal was hunkered down in his foxhole with his eyes barely breaking the surface to see what was happening. Several snow speeders were still in action, doing their best to stall or knock out some of the Imperial forces. He’d also seen several of the craft explode in mid air or violently crash into an icy grave. This made him angry. It reminded him of why he was here in the first place. Why he was determined to strike back at the Empire any way he could…
Boom! An explosion rocked the ice just in front of Cal and his crew’s trench, knocking all three of them on their backsides. Their adrenaline had kicked in long ago, and without a moment’s hesitation they were all back on their feet and manning their posts. The blast had knocked over the cannon but had done no additional damage to it. Chance and Holl righted the weapon and prepared to get into the fight.
Minus a few low hills and impact craters, the terrain in front of them was mostly flat. There wasn’t a lot to offer the approaching enemy in the way of cover, which was exactly how the rebels designed their battle strategy. If the Snowtroopers wanted to take this position, they were going to have to cross through a kill zone and risk heavy casualties.
As the giant enemy machines continued to light up the line with their heavy weapons, several canisters fired with a high arch on a trajectory that would land them a hundred meters or so in front of the rebel positions. They were setting up a smoke screen. They may not have a lot in the way of protective cover, but they would at least be able to limit the rebel’s ability to easily pick out targets. The rebels knew this was a possibility, but they unfortunately, had no way of thwarting the screen.
“Hold your fire until I give the word,” the captain said over the com-link. He knew it would be a waste of ammunition to start blindly firing into the smoke. It would show lack of discipline and may create a panic among his troops. He was going to wait until he saw the black eyes of their helmets.
For a brief moment, there was silence. The walkers stopped their barrage and the smoke screen grew larger. All rebel eyes that didn’t belong to the departed faced forward.
They began to hear inaudible, yet authoritative voices that seemed to be shouting commands. Zap! Zap! A stream of blaster bolts emanated from the smoke in the direction of the rebel infantry.
Finally, the unmistakable shapes of enemy soldiers began to surface through the screen. “Fire! Fire! All units, open fire!” the captain shouted into his communication device. The fight was on.
All along the line, blaster rifles, cannons, and turrets erupted and barrage after barrage was sent towards the oncoming enemy. Several bolts hit their mark and left troopers dead in their tracks. The enemy infantry didn’t let up either, sending a mass of return fire.
Having difficulty pinpointing a target, Cal fired his rifle wildly into the masses. From what he could tell, he wasn’t hitting anything, but he hoped he was at least keeping the enemy at bay with his bolts.
Holl was helping Chance select targets for the cannon. He shouted and pointed in the direction of an oncoming group of soldiers. “Hit those bastards!” Holl yelled. Chance lined up his shot on the lead trooper and pulled the trigger. His weapon boomed loudly and found its mark. The large cannon blast hit the enemy soldier square in the chest. The now deceased combatant’s rib cage blew apart and left a gaping hole where his breastplate used to be. Chunks of bone and splatters of blood covered the ground around his body.
Chance and Holl continued to fire on new targets, but Cal couldn’t stop staring at the corpse of the freshly destroyed enemy soldier. He had never seen anyone die up close like that before. It was even more grisly than he could imagine. At first, he was appalled by the image and thought he might get sick. But then he remembered that that soldier fought for the Empire. He remembered why he hated the Empire. And anyone who supported their efforts, was a no good bastard that deserved to die. The once disturbing image of the soldier’s corpse now served as an inspiration. He was ready to fight. He was ready to kill.
“Cal, to your left,” Holl instructed. Off to the left of their emplacement, three troopers hit the deck and began firing in a prone position. They hadn’t seen Cal and were directing their bolts elsewhere along the line. Cal checked his rifle and rested it on the edge of the foxhole. He put his eye up to the sights. He adjusted his weapon until he saw the blur of an enemy trooper come into focus. He could see the black visors that covered his enemy’s eyes. What does he see? What is he thinking right now? Cal thought to himself. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He applied pressure to the trigger. The rifle kicked. As he watched through his scope, time seemed to slow down. He saw the bolt exit the barrel and head towards his enemy. Time sped up. The bolt hit the trooper right between the eyes and exited out of the back of his head. In his scope, he saw blood and gray matter splash out the back of the soldier’s helmet. He had taken his first life.
A surge of adrenaline flowed through his body, and he let out a ferocious war cry. He shifted his rifle and fired two more bolts at the next trooper. They found their target. He shifted again and dropped the remaining member of the group. All three lay dead on the ice. They looked as if they had simply collapsed and fallen asleep. They would not be waking up.
With his newfound confidence, Cal became intoxicated with bloodlust. He was about to prove he was quite the proficient killer as he adjusted his position in the foxhole to get a better view of the oncoming troopers.
“Watch it!” Chance said as Cal squeezed past him. After his brief annoyance, he returned his focus to his cannon, selected a new target, and destroyed it.
Cal witnessed a fresh squad of troopers heading in their direction. Without even taking the time to properly aim his weapon, he began squeezing off bolts as quickly as his finger could pull the trigger. A few of the bolts found their targets and dropped them onto the icy ground. The remaining members of the enemy squad desperately spread out and blindly returned fire.
Cal took their scramble for cover as an opportunity to put another ally into the fight. He grabbed a hand grenade, activated it, and tossed it into the mob. Boom! The grenade blast found several marks. Without hesitation, Cal through another explosive in hopes of finishing off the entire enemy unit. Having ducked after throwing the ordnance, he slowly brought his eyes back up above ground level. He saw several smoking bodies where his targets had been. One Snowtrooper made a futile attempt to crawl back to his own line in retreat. His legs had been blown off by the blast and he was quickly bleeding to death. He didn’t make it far.
As Cal and his squad mates continued to pick out targets and eliminate them, the rest of the rebel line wasn’t having as much success. The bulk of the enemy infantry was concentrated on smashing through the center of the main line of resistance. Platoons of Snowtroopers rushed the rebel trenches and unleashed fury with their blasters. Rebel soldiers were dropping like flies despite their desperate and brave attempts to battle the approaching onslaught.
One soldier had his rifle blown to pieces after receiving a direct hit from an enemy weapon. Undeterred, he leapt from his foxhole and charged toward the nearest trooper. With all of his might, he lunged and sent him crashing into the frozen ground. He sat on the trooper’s chest and delivered violent blows to his head until he knocked him unconscious or killed him. He didn’t bother taking the time to find out which outcome his blows inflicted. Instead, he grabbed the trooper’s blaster and put a bolt in his head. He stood tall, let out a frightening yell and sent bolts into the oncoming enemy. It took only a matter of seconds for enemy rounds to rip into his body and make him a martyr.
Other rebel troops fought with equal intensity and met the same fate.
Captain Zroeder tried keeping his fighting force together, but thanks to the overwhelming infantry and Imperial walker fire, the situation was rapidly deteriorating. He took a little satisfaction in the sacrifices his men had made when he looked to the sky and saw the first transport launch itself into space. “A worthy cause,” he truthfully whispered to himself. He could see several enemy soldiers were now within blaster range of his command post. He un-holstered his sidearm and began firing.
Cal continued his one-man barrage against the enemy. Seeing the incredible number of soldiers approaching the rebel line, he wasn’t having difficulty stacking up kills. Click! His magazine was empty. He turned back to his lot of grenades and hurled the remaining explosives towards the enemy.
As the explosions went off, he crouched down in the trench and slid a fresh power pack into his rifle. Before he could return to blasting away at enemy ground troops, a thunderous explosion rocked the squad’s foxhole, knocking everyone off their feet.
Dazed, Cal sat up and looked around for his rifle. He saw it lying a few meters away and crawled over to retrieve it. As he grabbed his weapon, he turned his attention to his crew to make sure they were okay. They were not.
Holl had a giant gash in his forehead and blood was pouring down his face and into his eyes. Chance was clutching at his left hand and cursing louder than the blaster fire. Cal made his way over to Chance, who was the closest to him, and asked to see the wound. Chance, reluctantly extended his left hand. It was badly hurt with the lower half of it having been blown off. Fortunately, he still had his index and middle fingers and his thumb. Cal quickly removed his scarf and wrapped it tightly around the injured man’s hand. “Keep pressure on it,” he shouted over the sounds of battle.
Having done what he could for Chance, he crawled over to Holl. The wounded rebel was a little dazed and bloodied, but otherwise, Cal found that he was in better shape than he originally thought. Removing the other man’s scarf, he wiped away the blood from his face and then tied it tightly around the man’s forehead in hopes that it would stifle the bleeding. Holl gratefully announced that he could see again. Cal let out a brief laugh of relief at his squad mate’s comment.
His laughing stopped when an Imperial soldier jumped into the foxhole. The trooper hadn’t realized there were live soldiers still occupying the position. This gave Cal an opportunity to grab for his weapon and pull the trigger. Click! The explosion had knocked the magazine out of his weapon before he could fit it securely in position.
Without hesitation, he jumped at the trooper before his enemy could squeeze off a shot. They struggled on the floor of the foxhole for what seemed like an eternity to both combatants. Neither man seemed to have the advantage over the other until the Snowtrooper head-butted Cal with his helmet. He lay on the floor with a bloodied nose and the trooper on top of him. Thinking this was the end, Cal closed his eyes as the enemy infantryman leveled his weapon at him.
Zap! Cal heard a weapon go off and felt a splash of warm liquid spray over his face. The weapon he’d heard did not belong to the Imperial soldier. It belonged to his injured squad mate, Chance, who’d raised his sidearm and squeezed the trigger just in time to save his life by ending the other’s.
Before he had the chance to thank his friend, the coms barked up with a message from a battered sounding Captain Zroeder. “All units retreat! The enemy has broken through the line! Fall back!” The com link went silent.
Captain Zroeder lay up against a wall of ice, bleeding from multiple wounds. His men lay dead all around him, having fought gallantly. Snowtroopers, having identified him as the commander, kept him alive until their own commander arrived. As he sat there in a semi-conscious state, he could see the terrifyingly large AT-ATs looming overhead as they poured fire onto the Rebel base.
Nearing unconsciousness, Zroeder only perked up when he heard one of the troopers nervously say, “He’s here.”
He looked up and saw a large dark figure approaching him. Zroeder, a veteran of multiple wars, tried not to let fear overtake him. He was looking at the most menacing man – if you can call him that – in the entire galaxy.
Darth Vader.
Vader stood over the wounded man as he continued to fade. The only sound Zroeder could hear was that of the Sith lord’s breathing. After several cycles, the sound was interrupted by another. One Zroeder hadn’t heard since the Clone Wars. That of a Lightsaber being activated.
Vader looked down at the man, seemingly hopeful that he would begin begging for his life. But he wouldn’t get the satisfaction from the Rebel commander.
“Go to hell,” Zroeder said with an ever so slight smile on his face.
Vader breathed a few more times, raised his weapon, and slashed down on his enemy. Zroeder’s head rolled onto the ice.
Wasting no time, Cal helped his two squad mates to their feet. “We gotta get out of here,” he said as they struggled to get up. Cal picked up the remaining magazines from the ice shelves and stuffed them back in the ammo pouches on his utility belt. Chance took a look at the cannon and realized it was damaged beyond repair, which didn’t bother him too much since it would have been too heavy to retreat with anyways. He gave the busted weapon an appreciative pat and turned to exit the hole.
Cal helped push the two wounded men up out of their trench and quickly followed after them. Crawling on their bellies, they began making their way back towards the Rebel base, terrified that the final transport would leave without them. Cal turned his head to see if any enemy soldiers were pursuing him and his fleeing friends. He saw that all the infantry and walkers were pouring through further down the line. He felt a small hint of relief knowing no enemy soldiers were in their immediate vicinity. They continued their crawl.
After a hundred meters or so of labored travel on their stomachs, the crew found cover in the form of an impact crater from one of the AT-AT blasts. They crawled in to rest and assess the situation. Holl peaked his head out of the hole and reported a hopeless sight. “Damn! There must be hundreds of Imperials between the base and us. There’s no way we can get through their without getting blasted.”
At hearing this, Cal popped his head up so he could see it with his own eyes. He wished he hadn’t. Upon seeing the overwhelming mass of enemy soldiers and hauntingly large AT-ATs, he realized that they would not be reaching the transport. We’re going to die here, he thought.
They sat back down in the crater and stared into nothingness as the feeling of hopelessness overtook them. Thinking and praying to themselves, no one wanted to say what they should do next, hoping that by not verbalizing the situation any further that it may just go away. That wasn’t the case.
“We can’t surrender. They’d kill us or worse,” Chance said. They all silently agreed, unsure what exactly that meant for them.
“What are we going to do?” Holl asked the two corporals. They didn’t know what to say.
Before anyone could think of something else to say, they heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps rushing through the snowy ground. Reacting on instinct, they each grabbed for their weapons and prepared to shoot whoever was out there. Cal poked his eyes over the ledge. “Wait! Hold your fire. It’s some of our guys,” he said.
Running in the general direction of the hole the crew occupied, Cal could see two infantrymen and a Rebel pilot in his orange flight suit. Cal knew this didn’t exactly swing the tide of battle in their favor, but it made him feel a bit more secure knowing there were other survivors. He cautiously waved to the approaching fighters, motioning for them to take cover in the crater. The soldiers stopped, looked at each other for confirmation, and headed towards the crater.
Upon reaching the impact crater, the exhausted men sat down with their backs supported by the hole’s walls and tried to catch their breath. One of the infantrymen tilted his head upward and, in an almost gulping motion, gasped for more oxygen.
Cal reached for the mostly-empty canteen on his belt. He unscrewed the cap and offered it to his newfound comrades. The pilot graciously accepted it, took a drink, and passed it around to the others.
After letting them rest for a few moments, Cal introduced himself as a corporal, hinting with the tone of his voice that he hoped one of these men held a higher rank. In such a desperate situation, he didn’t want to be the one who had to make decisions. He felt a sense of relief after realizing that the pilot had to have been an officer. No matter how junior he was, he would outrank any of the enlisted men.
The pilot, Lieutenant Dae, began the introductions on their end. He’d flown one of the snow speeders who’d attempted to knock out the AT-ATs with little success. His aircraft was shot down and his gunner killed when they approached one of the titanic metal beasts head-on. Fortunately, he’d been close enough to the Rebel line after crashing to make an initial escape.
The other two were riflemen, Privates Ordon and Janis, in one of the front line companies who bore the worst of the assault. They were all that remained of their entire platoon. The rest were wiped out by countless barrages of AT-AT fire and an overwhelming number of Stormtroopers.
After the hurried pleasantries were finished, Lieutenant Dae addressed the situation. “Any ideas of what to do now?” he calmly asked. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “Looks as though we are completely cut off from the base, and, besides, any operable craft has surely left by now…or will soon be knocked out by the enemy.”
“And surrendering is out of the question,” Chance piped in. “They’ll kill us for sure. That’s Stormtrooper-training 101. Believe me, I’d know.”
“I can vouch for that,” Private Ordon said. “We saw a few of our guys try to surrender, and those bastards cut ‘em down without a second thought.”
The small band sat there in silence for a few moments processing the situation.
Whether they verbalized it or not, Cal thought it was just as well they not have the option to surrender. Though the situation was bleak, they were soldiers of the Rebellion, and he’d rather fight and die than be at the merciless will of the Empire. He guessed the others, or at least most of them, felt the same.
Soldier’s pride aside, he was still scared. He tried to keep his trembling hands from showing. He crossed his arms over his rifle, hugged it against his chest, and tucked his hands under his armpits to make it look like he was just trying to stay warm.
“So, we’re surrounded by a superior enemy force, cut off from our escape route, and stuck on a desolate planet with no survival supplies,” Dae said.
Again, silence.
Cal crouched out of his sitting position and approached the side of the hole opposite the direction of the base. He squinted and scanned the horizon. In the distance, perhaps three or four hundred meters away, he saw a collection of small hills. He recalled having a discussion with some of the base personnel about how there were caves littered among the hills and mountains surrounding the Rebel fortification. In fact, Commander Skywalker found himself in one after he was attacked by one of the big grisly beasts native to this wasteland of a planet. He wondered if the hills he was looking at housed one of these caves. If the group could make it to one, they could at least have some protection from the elements until they figured out their next move.
He turned around to face the group, seeing they already had their eyes on him, curious to find out what exactly he was looking at. He considered this idea in his head for another moment and then shared it with the group.
“Over that way, there’s a group of hills. I know a lot of these hills and mountains on Hoth have cave systems running through them. I know it’s not a long-term solution, but if we make a break for them, we’ll at least be out of the elements. We can catch our breath and decide what to do next. Sure beats sitting here waiting for Imperial troops to find us.”
Their apparent sense of rank seniority kicking in, Chance and Dae looked at each other for some sort of assurance or confirmation for this plan. With an expression of good enough for meon their faces, they turned to Cal and gave their approval.
“We have to make sure we don’t get spotted. If anyone sees us go in there, we’re dead. They’ll have an entire company hunt us down,” Chance declared.
“Right, let’s crawl a hundred meters or so towards the hills and hopefully we will be far enough away that they won’t be able to see us, and we can make a run for it,” Dae said.
“Oh great, more crawling,” Holl said, still tired from the first trek on their bellies. Dae ignored him.
“Everyone check your weapons and make sure they’re ready to go,” Cal said. “Who knows what we will run into on the way there.”
Locked and loaded, the small band of Rebels exited the crater one by one. The only audible sound was the crunch of the snow and ice as they shuffled along in the prone position. After a bit of a distance, they could hear Chance’s labored breathing. Thanks to his wound, he had to crawl with his left hand sticking up to protect it from further trauma. That and he didn’t want to leave a blood trail behind for the enemy to find. Needless to say, this journey was toughest on him.
After some time, longer than it should take to travel that distance, Dae paused and looked back at the rest of the soldiers. He then shifted his gaze back towards the base and squinted his eyes, trying to gauge whether or not they could be seen from this distance. He decided this was good enough.
“Okay, guys, enough with the crawling. We should be far enough away to avoid detection.” Pointing towards the nearest hill, he said, “We’re heading over there. Let’s hope it has some shelter. Get on your feet, but stay low.” He hopped up first in front of everyone else and set out.
No sooner had they started their crouched approach to the hill than Cal heard something buzzing. “Everyone down!” he exclaimed in a shouted whisper. They hit the deck and then they all heard it. The buzzing was getting louder. Nobody wanted to believe it, but they all knew it was the sound of an approaching vehicle.
In the near distance, Cal could see a fast-moving object heading in a trajectory that would put the vehicle several meters off to their right. At first, it looked like a fuzzy blur kicking up snow and ice, but as it neared, Cal saw it was an enemy speeder carrying half a dozen troopers. They didn’t appear to know Cal and his group were there, but they were undoubtedly patrolling for stragglers.
Cal knew they had a decision to make, and fast. Either hunker down and hope they weren’t seen, or engage the troopers and hope to wipe them out before they could communicate their whereabouts to the main assault force. He tapped Chance, lying closest to him, to see what he thought they should do. Before Chance could open his mouth, Private Janis popped up with rifle in hand and wildly started blasting at the unsuspecting Snowtroopers. The decision of hide or fight was made.
Looking up at Janis, Cal could see he was almost hysterical. He was screaming at the top of his lungs and missing the mark with each of his shots. He’d just been through an emotionally stressful battle, losing several close friends, and he wasn’t operating like the trained soldier he was.
Chance began directing the other soldiers to cover. He wanted to set the team up so they could attempt to catch the speeder in a crossfire. Cal, holding the same rank as Chance, didn’t object. He reached a snow-covered boulder and began lining up a shot.
Before other members of the team could squeeze their triggers once, Janis had already emptied an entire magazine. After a few fruitless clicks of his weapon, he reached for a new battery pack. As his attention was turned to this task, a loud boom echoed from the speeder. The cannon shot struck Janis in his mid-section, nearly cutting him in half. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Cal drew a bead on the speeder. He lined up a shot on the driver, exhaled, and pulled the trigger. The driver’s head violently snapped back, and the speeder took a sharp turn off course. The other occupants didn’t waste any time and bailed out of the transport without hesitation.
As his tumble out of the speeder came to a halt, the nearest Snowtrooper tried to stand up and reorient himself. Before he could raise his blaster, Holl greeted him with several shots from his sidearm. The trooper collapsed to the ground, bleeding from his wounds. Looking up at the sky, his consciousness faded into blackness. He was dead.
An intense firefight erupted among the remaining combatants. With only modest cover available, men let desperate bolts fly from their weapons hoping they would find their mark.
Dae was hiding behind a small boulder trying to hit a partially concealed target perhaps fifteen meters away. Off to his left, another trooper sent a volley of rounds his way. Two bolts barely missed his head, but the last one grazed his arm enough to knock him off his feet. Instinctually, he dropped his weapon and clutched his wound. The enemy soldier saw this as his opportunity to advance and finish his kill.
As the white-clad foe approached Dae, Private Ordon surprised him with a rifle butt to the face. He’d been crouching in a slight depression in the ground and popped up right as the trooper passed by. After striking the man and knocking him off balance, he leveled his weapon at the hip and squeezed off multiple rounds into his foe’s chest.
With the tide of the fight clearly in favor of the Rebels, the remaining three Snowtroopers hunkered down behind whatever concealment they could find, one of which was behind the wrecked speeder.
The Rebels had their weapons trained in the general direction of the decimated patrol, but no one had a clear shot. Chance grabbed the last grenade from his belt, activated it, and hurled it towards the speeder. The sound of the grenade’s detonation was quickly lost in the much louder sound of the vehicle’s successive explosion. Chance could see the body of the trooper who’d been hiding behind the speeder lying several meters away from the blast, impaled with shrapnel.
Two left.
In a desperate attempt, one of the Stormtroopers blindly fired a few shots and tried to run. The Rebel contingent sent a volley of blaster fire his way and mangled his fleeing body with bolts. They could see smoking holes in his torso from the dozens of shots that struck home.
For several moments, they silently trained their guns in the direction of the final enemy soldier. All that could be heard was the cold air whipping around them. Finally, Cal instructed Holl and Ordon to fan out and flank the trooper while the others closed in on him head on. With blasters leveled, they tightened their noose.
They carefully crunched through the snow, pausing every few meters to see if their foe would attempt to repel them. They were within 20 meters now. Cal gave the hand signal to hold their positions. He motioned to Dae and Chance that he was going throw a grenade. They nodded in approval, and Cal reached for an explosive on his belt. He slowly removed it and prepared to activate it.
“I surrender! Don’t shoot!” a muffled yell came from the direction of the last Stormtrooper. “Please!” he pleaded. He tossed his weapon away and slowly emerged from his cover with his hands held high.
Cal took his thumb off the activator on the grenade secured it on his belt. Not sure what to do next, he exchanged a questioning glance with Dae. The pilot’s face turned from expressionless to angry. He then purposefully strode up to the soldier, raised his sidearm to the enemy’s forehead, and fired.
For a long moment, he stared down at his victim with a vengeful look on his face. The others didn’t say a word, nor did they have any sympathy for the surrendering enemy soldier. They all knew he would have done the same to any of them if roles were reversed.
“Cover the bodies to see if we can gather anything useful. Weapons, ammo, rations. And then let’s get the hell out of here,” Dae said.
After collecting anything of value from the dead enemy soldiers, the small band of surviving Rebels made their way to the hills.
