[right][h3]Corte I
Grolsk Reserve[/h3][/right][hr]

Corte ejected the A280’s power cell and inserted another, back pressed up against the sandbags. At least, against what little of them remained.

Her position had been eviscerated in the initial exchange, crimson bolts tearing through the meagre fortifications she and her squad had prepared. The roof they’d put up for their makeshift shelter was gone, and the occasional flake of snow fell on the open foxhole. Bodies littered the floor of the shelter. Only she and Vash were still on their feet. A third soldier, a young human male whose name Corte couldn’t recall, laid on the floor, tying his leg with a tourniquet. 

The Falleen peered through one of the portholes they’d dug out, face strained and dark hair matted with blood.  “No visual,” Vash said, lowering his carbine. Corte nodded.

“Sergeant Glaato, do you copy?” she asked, raising her wristcomm to her mouth. No response. The silence was tense. “Sergeant, come in.” 

“Lieutenant Adala,” a rough voice responded over the sound of blasterfire, “this is Glaato.” 

“Report, now,” she ordered.

“We’re under fire. Two wounded,” the Nikto replied. “Do we have orders?”

“We’re following standing orders, Sergeant, hold your position,” Corte answered. “I’m bringing my squad to you. Adala out.”

“We’re moving?” Vash asked.

“Can’t stay here,” Corte answered, gesturing to the squad’s devastated defenses. “If we take another engagement like that we’re all dead.” She moved to the fallen soldier and offered her hand. He took it, and she pulled him to his feet. “What’s your name, Private?”

“Josko,” he answered. "Jasko Bravic."

“Private Josko Bravic, can you walk?” Corte asked. 

“I think so.”

“You don’t really have a choice,” she said grimly. “Lean on me, we need to move now.”

They made their way out of the shelter and into the open, forested field of the Grolsk Reserve. With Private Josko unable to walk easily unassisted, they moved slowly. Vash took point as they moved from tree to tree, keeping as low as they could and moving as quickly as they could while in the open. Glaato’s position was a kilometer or so from theirs, and they could hear the blasterfire in the distance. And then, very suddenly, it was much closer. 

Violent red-orange light was joined by the crisp smell of ozone as blaster bolts flew. Josko screamed as a bolt caught him in the side. The three rebels went to ground behind a wide tree as they took fire. Corte laid Josko against the tree as Vash returned fire. The private was unresponsive. She checked his pulse, and found it perilously weak. 

Cursing, she joined Vash in defending the position. The Falleen did not shoot wildly. With a blaster in hand, Vash was a predator. Each squeeze of the trigger was well-chosen, precisely timed, lethal. Corte, stock to shoulder, peered around the other side of the tree. A squad of snowtroopers, now less a few soldiers, were scrambling for cover, replying with wildly inaccurate fire in their haste. 

She lined up her sights, held her breath, and squeezed the trigger.