[center][h3]First Shot - Phase Line Alpha, Grolsk Wilderness Reserve - 4:37 AM[/h3][/center][hr]
As the sound of shots lingered in his ears among the newfound silence, Stojan made his move. He was in his trench, dug into the snow and connected to the First Section's, his headquarters's sections, shelter. Dug shallow but large enough for a crouching partisan to take cover in, it was inconspicuous, and seemingly that aspect had shown. The first phase line had gone off with relative success, an encroaching squad of stormtroopers eliminated by part of the 7th Uslam Liberators, the far off moans of the wounded all to remind of what losses they had taken.

The shots had come from their right, one of the other companies of the 7th. He'd known that it'd only be a matter of time before the Imperials shelled the whole grid square. And he didn't dare wait when the word was passed down the line that Phase Line Alpha was being abandoned. He snuck along his section's trench, clutching a DL-44 in his right hand, and a fusion lantern turned to the lowest output in his left. He came behind his second in command, a good friend, Lieutenant Milosevic, who sat staring idly at a manual clock by moonlight. Stojan spoke quickly but clearly, in a whisper-yell tone. "We're abandoning the phase line. Have the RTO inform the Colonel. And get a runner, I want all sections out of these trenches and to Phase Line Bravo in no more than ten minutes."

And suddenly, fire erupted far off, much further right than the last. Another engagement. Stojan took his leave from the Lieutenant, ducking into the section's shelter and stepping over bedrolls and cots strewn on the permafrost dirt, coming to his own paired with his rucksack. He expertly packed them all, slinging the rucksack with attached bedroll across his shoulder as other personnel around him did the same. As they all exited their shelter and dragged their bulky, snowsuit-clad bodies out of the trench, one of the Privates trailed behind, laying a detonator fuse into a wireless detonator. The mines that laid just under their trenches and on the roof of their shelter were armed.

They moved in columns by section through the pitch dark forest, ever wary of the far-off blaster fire as they trudged along, making idle corrections of direction with their compasses as they moved. The columns were dark, and silent, each section dragging their repulsorlift snow sleds behind them, with only the section leaders having their lanterns deployed, and not for light, only just to guide their sections.

First a pop as they trudged, thought as just a large branch cracking under the weight of trudging feet, but the ensuing flurry of red bolts proved otherwise, sailing over their heads. Repulsorlift sleds were deactivated and used as cover, the trees being cut and lit aflame for moments as falling snow snuffed the blazes. Fire from A280s and DH-17s answered, garbled encrypted speech from advancing stormtroopers putting pressure on the partisans.

Something needed to be done, and Stojan was mulling the thoughts as he was face down in the snow. He turned over, proclaiming in the native Uslam tongue. "Make a tactical withdrawal! I want the Second Section to lead, Fourth follows! First and Third, put out cover fire!" And he himself sprang to his knees, extending his DL-44 with one hand and aligning the sights.