Half Pint
TokyoPewPew
MaksartThe layout was just like they planned. "The belly of the beast," he said aloud, mumbling as he usually did when his mind was occupied. "Hundred meters aft, right turn, fifty meters straight." The numbers didn't make sense when they were blocked out in a far-too-small hangar with cones and electric tape representing the shape of things, but down here in the guts, it was clear enough. Bad guys that way, forward march. If the bumpy ride didn't get one's blood up, there was always the looming certainty that imps with guns were right over your head, separated only by a few inches of bulkhead and itching for a fight. Vannin lived for these little moments.
Because of the narrow shaft, the whole squad was stuck in a column formation -- not the best way to start a fight, but it left plenty of eyes free to watch any access tunnels they might encounter before the turn to the bridge, and a rear guard with big guns and a battle droid. If anyone in a white suit showed up to play, he'd have to fight his way through the whole line of the hardest rebels around -- and they'd make him eat blasters for every inch. But waiting for an attack wasn't in the gameplan, and it wasn't in Vannin's blood, either. Ten meters at a time, cover to cover, he and Beskad leap-frogged up the corridor, trading positions at the very tip of the spear.
The ship lurched as they neared their first waypoint. "The frag's going on out there?" he whispered without meaning to. Beskad shot him a look. "What? They start shooting at our ships, our ships're gonna have to shoot back, right?" He didn't have to finish the though -- if their pir privateer friends started blasting away at the enemy corvette, there was no telling which maintenance alleys might get blown out into space. But from here, there was no way to tell who was shooting at who, just as there was no way to do anything about it in the first place.
"Let's get the lead out," Vannin called over his shoulder. He pumped his fist in a hurry up damn it motion and started leap-frogging a little more rapidly. The rest of the unit could keep up or catch up as need be. He didn't mind dying in a maintenance shaft, but the thought of friendly-fire from some Y-jockey was making him more nervous than he cared to admit.
Because of the narrow shaft, the whole squad was stuck in a column formation -- not the best way to start a fight, but it left plenty of eyes free to watch any access tunnels they might encounter before the turn to the bridge, and a rear guard with big guns and a battle droid. If anyone in a white suit showed up to play, he'd have to fight his way through the whole line of the hardest rebels around -- and they'd make him eat blasters for every inch. But waiting for an attack wasn't in the gameplan, and it wasn't in Vannin's blood, either. Ten meters at a time, cover to cover, he and Beskad leap-frogged up the corridor, trading positions at the very tip of the spear.
The ship lurched as they neared their first waypoint. "The frag's going on out there?" he whispered without meaning to. Beskad shot him a look. "What? They start shooting at our ships, our ships're gonna have to shoot back, right?" He didn't have to finish the though -- if their pir privateer friends started blasting away at the enemy corvette, there was no telling which maintenance alleys might get blown out into space. But from here, there was no way to tell who was shooting at who, just as there was no way to do anything about it in the first place.
"Let's get the lead out," Vannin called over his shoulder. He pumped his fist in a hurry up damn it motion and started leap-frogging a little more rapidly. The rest of the unit could keep up or catch up as need be. He didn't mind dying in a maintenance shaft, but the thought of friendly-fire from some Y-jockey was making him more nervous than he cared to admit.