Fiction Home - More by Anton "Viper" Moore - More in Action and Aventure - More First Fanfic Challenge entries

"He's gonna get away!" Hrassk hissed, watching through a pair of high-powered macrobinoculars. Their quarry was engaged in full-scale flight from the scene. "Come on, shoot the scum!"

"Shut the hell up!" Captain Moore breathed at his companion. "No he's not!"

"There he goes! Shoot him! Shoot him!" Hrassk shouted out loud, pointing vigorously out at the clearing two kilometers away. The target was not visible, of course, being too far away for the un-aided eye to see clearly, but it made no difference to the spotter.

"Shut up you sithing piece of slime," Moore told him, "or I'll shoot you instead." The Trandoshan corporal lucked out and took the cue. Had he not stopped talking, Moore would have gladly shot him.

The captain kept both eyes open as he stared through the macroscope mounted on top of his Merr-Sonn M-435 Deathsledge sniper blaster. He kept referring to the distance indicator in the lower corner of the display and made minute changes to the slight movement of the rifle to accommodate the different readouts displayed in a layover view on the scope display. Slowly he began his trigger pull, squeezing the trigger back slowly until it reached the point where the blaster discharged its lethal beam of energy. The scarlet bolt of death leaped out for two klicks and caressed it's victim, striking the fleeing Imperial major right in line with his shoulder blades, and slightly to the left of the spine. The body tumbled head first into a ditch and skidded to a halt.

Captain Moore watched the body closely for a minute or two before reaching down up to activate his helmet commlink, "Hawk-eye one to Eagle's nest, over."

A static-filled reply echoed in his earpiece, "Eagle's nest reading you five by five Hawk-eye, over."

"Nest, target is down," he informed Major Colferson. "Repeat, target is down. Talon can pick up the trash at their convenience, over." The ambush team would at least search the body for trinkets to pass on to Intel. Normally Alliance Intelligence insisted that they bring the cadaver in as well, although no one could quite come up with a reason why.

"Copy that, Hawk-eye. Good work, captain," Colferson told them. "Bring your spotter in and as soon as Talon gets back with the meat we'll get off this jungle-infested ball of rock and head for the rendezvous with the Spirit."

"Yes, sir. Hawk-eye one out."

* * * * *

Moore made his way up to the cockpit of the small Lambda class shuttle the team had available to them. He was tired, and looked just as haggard as he felt. To make matters worse, he stunk. He smelled of sweat, grime, mud, blood, and a wide swath of forest fragrances from oils that had rubbed off onto his combat jumpsuit from the variety of planets growing on the humid planet.

Wordlessly, he sunk his battered, bruised, and broken body into the seat at the comm station and looked out the forward viewpoint at the mottled blue-black vortex of hyperspace travel.

Major Colferson turned around in the co-pilots seat to reveal hardened, blood-shot eyes. "Commander Ausland was killed in action," he reported stoically. "The Spirit was ambushed by an Imperial patrol and suffered some heavy damage. She's heading in to Fastback Station for some repairs. Lieutenant Kadso said they would wait for us there."

"I'm sorry," the captain told him. "I knew you two were close friends."

"We both attended university together," Colferson said, dwelling on his past. "But that's the past, we've got a present to live in, don't we?"

Moore nodded wearily, "We do." Colferson was not the only one dwelling on memories of the past.

"Well, General Golum has seen fit to promote both of us. Congratulations Major, you get my job now."

"So he's put you in command of the group?" Moore asked of ex-Major Colferson.

"Yeah," Colonel Colferson reported with a sigh, "he's also promoted Kadso to lieutenant commander. The scumbag isn't fit to command a trash hauler in the Imperial navy let alone captain an entire frigate."

Kadso had a remarkable ability. His ability was unique in the entire combined Alliance armed services. It was the ability to repeatedly fall into the exact same trap. Jok Kadso had attended the Imperial training academy and had been a completely unremarkable cadet whom had defected to the rebellion because he was from Chandrilla and so was Mon Mothma. Quite frankly, both officers fervently wished he had stayed in the Imperial Navy. It would have saved them all the pain of countless problems.

"What's our ETA to Jassic's place?" Moore asked, slightly perked by the chance of seeing his old friend again.

Colferson made a show of checking the navicomputer and flipping a few switches that Moore knew controlled the external landing lights. "Two days, eleven hours."

"Wake me up when we get there," Moore told him.

* * * * *

The shuttle came out of hyperspace well away from the edge of Fastback Station's defense envelope and proceeded in at sublight speeds until a crackle came over the comm system.

"Unidentified shuttle, state your identity and purpose and prepare to be boarded."

"Fastback control, this is shuttle Eta Seven off of the Free Spirit," the pilot said through the pickup. "Confirmation code zero-niner-alpha-alpha-seven."

The gruff voice of Fastback Station's traffic controller came back heavy with distortion and static, "Confirmation code authenticated, you may proceed Eta Seven."

"Thank you, control. Requesting permission to land"

"Permission granted. Head for platform 2T. The proper course is being uploaded to you now."

"Thank you, control," the pilot said, slightly relieved that the station's defenses would now recognize them as friendlies. "Eta Seven, out."

Colferson turned around in his chair to face Lieutenant Danby, "Go wake up Major Moore. We're here."

* * * * *

"Jas!" the joyous shout echoed down the corridor.

"Anton!" came Jassic's equally loud reply. "When you're ship came in for repairs and that scrawny looking lieutenant came on to handle negotiations I got worried."

"We were off on a mission," Moore told him. "Speaking of that, I've got a cold one to send back to the fleet. Wanna help with that?"

Jassic wrinkled his nose in disgust at the thought of currying a dead body. "Why in the name of the Sith do your intelligence people want the dead bodies?" he asked. "Wouldn't it be more cost effective to just leave them? I mean, you expend all that money on fuel and the manpower to transport a cadaver. I just don't understand it."

"Neither do I, unfortunately," the major sighed.

"I'll have one of my people take it when we send the next shipment of warheads," Jassic informed him. "That ought to save a few credits."

Major Moore shook his head. It was just like his friend to think up a way to save money in transporting a corpse. Instead of broaching the subject, he decided to move the conversation along a bit. "What's the status on repairs to the Spirit?" he asked instead.

"She'll need extensive repairs," Jassic said, and then elaborated on points of damage the ship had received.

Moore held up a hand to stop him. "How long and how much?" he asked simply.

Jassic named a sum and a time length and Moore shook his head angrily. Across the hanger, some one else was observing the exchange as well.

"Aw sithspawn," Colferson muttered to Kadso standing beside him. "There they go."

"What?" Kadso asked, looking the wrong way. "There who go? Should I know them?"

Colferson gave the lieutenant commander an odd look, "Yes, one's Major Moore and the other's the guy who's providing the techs and parts to fix the Spirit."

"Really?" Kadso asked. "One looks like a Wookie, and the other appears to be a Barbel."

"Turn around you silly sod!"

* * * * *

Seven weeks later the Free Spirit limped back into Fastback Station's drydock facilities.

Lieutenant Colonel Colferson was dead.

Lieutenant Commander Kadso was dead.

Twelve crewmembers were also dead.

Major Moore finished conning the ship into the drydock and slumped down into the navigator's chair. The captain's chair had been crushed by debris falling from the ceiling, and had crushed Kadso along with it. In the space of a few minutes, Anton had lost one good officer and a bad one. He'd lost three friends among the crewmen killed. Nine other fine enlisted men had also been killed.

Are we actually making a difference? Moore asked himself. Is all this having any effect on the outcome of the war, or is it all just worthless. Did all these men die helping a cause, or were they sacrificed to no useful avail?

"Sir, message from General Golum. He's promoted you and given you command of the group."

"Wonderful," he murmured to himself, "now it's my turn."

"I'm sorry, sir. What was that?"

Moore waved his hand, "Nothing, ensign, nothing at all."

"Very good, sir."