Myrinda stepped along in the center of the rough echelon. She didn’t like urban environments, most troopers didn’t, invariably armies worked best where there were open fields of fire. In a dense environment like this, sight lines were non existent and some crazy local with a crappy carbine could blow away a whole squad of storm troopers with a lucky burst. 

Comm signals spilled across her optics, intensity and origin. In theory it would let her pick up a sudden uptake in comm traffic that might precede an ambush or a rapid response. In practice, it was unlikely that the locals would be that sophisticated. To her surprise there was a spike. She played back the burst, making sure it wasn’t an Imperial signal.

[b]“Command,”[/b] she spoke into her comm, queuing a private channel between her, Blues and Nines.

[b]“Some nonstandard comm chatter Sarge,”[/b] she reported neutrally. It didn’t necessarily mean something. Maybe a bunch of people had just heard about a speeder crash or something, but that determination was above her pay grade. She drew her attention away from the data and paid full attention to her surroundings, just in case it was about to drop in the pot.