The First Days

[Meatslopper]

Chapter Four: Scent

---

---

Specialist Esme Roi smelt the stench of smoke, the heat of the fire and the sounds of screaming mortars as they hurled towards the enemy. It was upon a small ridge the scouts had made their nest. They huddled bodies buried deep in the brush as they looked out upon a tiny village consuming nothing but rations that provided sustenance and not taste. She didn’t mind, her partner in this watch Illia however was rather frustrated over the lack of taste. Illia’s distaste of her had grown, yet their Squad Lead, Sergeant Yam Semaji found it amusing or a futile team-building exercise to jam them together. Maybe he just thought because they came from the same world they liked each other, a classic example of Imperial ignorance. Whatever the case Esme would have resolved it if she could. She just didn’t know why Illia disliked her, she’d have very much liked to have resolved it already. There was no need for any of this, it reminded her of school. She shuddered, she recalled her classmates chiding and the shoving when she couldn’t understand their jeers. Illia was no different, even here, overwhelmed by the stench of corpses of the burnt face of Agamar she couldn’t escape annoying someone. Everytime she hoped to fit in there was always another Illia to sour it.

“These rations are absolutely terrible, right?” Illia complained, “the least they could do is give us something, anything with taste…”

“I-I guess?” Esme stammered and looked through the macros, “…it’s, like it’s fine. We eat what they give us, no real use complaining.”

Beyond the treeline, a mushroom moved but before she could say anything, it revealed itself a Mugruebe, this small animal spotted with a hanging jaw and two tiny arms, its large stocky legs bounced it away, it was an oddity of Agamar and reminded her of Gizka back home.

“Gees…” Illia muttered, “aren’t you a broken record? Is that really all you can say? Are you actually like stupid or something?”

Esme weathered the insult placidly, she always had, scratching at her clump of hair.

“Maybe I am… Look, like can we just focus on the task at hand? We don’t have to get along, you know…”

Esme scrawled down on flimsiplast the shift in the environment ahead. It was open ground leading from the trees to a remote village, where the Republic's presence had yet to be confirmed; they were the point of a fleeing infantry company, who were charting a road back to a muster point. They were all running at this point, the glory of Agamar, a jewel ripe for the taking, had turned sour and after months of fighting the Republic was finally being pushed all the way back home. She’d thought on many occasions that some of the strategies here were ill-conceived, but every time she did so, she bit it down after all, what did she know? What could she change? Was it even her place to try as an outsider, an offworlder? No, it really wasn't. So whatever, right? She’d followed her orders wherever they took her. Someone else had a plan and she wasn’t going to be the one to ruin it.

“I just want to talk,” Illia said after a time, “I’m losing my mind out here, come on…”

“Well, like maybe, we could talk without you insulting me at every moment, gees.”

“Pleaase, couldn’t you at least lighten up, it’s just a little bit of banter.”

“Banter… Right… Look can I just like ask you something?”

“Ask away, Roi, ask away,” Illia rolled her eyes.

“Just… like, look, why don’t you like me?” Esme asked.

Illia blinked and taken aback, Esme felt surprisingly direct for once in her life. The jives rolled off her but this incessessity of them made her curious, yes she was curious, that’s what she framed it as in her own head. Illia took a long moment before answering this open confrontation unexpectedly, even after their years or so of service together.

“I don’t not like you, but… Come on, you don’t really fit in here do you? Any other normal karking person would just insult me back, move on, right? Why don’t you? Where’s your fire…”

It was Esme’s turn to be taken aback, she sketched a detail she’d just noticed to identify one of the trees on the map absentmindedly fiddling with the flimsiplast as she didn’t answer for a time. She’d done everything she could to be one of them, apart of the squad in more than name, their tattoo lay unfinished upon her back, Corvos liked her too much, but Illia couldn’t accept her and that as always hurt. She was jealous of Illia, the way she seemed to meld into the unit in a way she often didn’t. Sometimes, just sometimes, she was caught in a perpetual awkwardness with her comrades.

They trusted each other.

They liked each other.

What more could she do?

“I try to, I really do, I follow my orders, I listen to our Sergeant, just what more can be asked of me?”

Before she can answer, the Specialist smells the distant exhaust fumes, through the forest, as the branches quiver and the brush rumbles, emerging from the far-side two Republic Speeders accepted welcomingly into the city. That was just the information they were here for.

Illia, their Comm Specialist, tapped their comms, “This is Howl 2-4, to Howl 1-1 how copy, over?”

“Howl 2-4 this is Howl 1-1, loud and clear, what’s the sitch?”

“Two Republic…” Illia glanced at Esme.

“…ISA-23 Model Speeder Bikes…”

“Entering through the Dargan Villages South Gate, we have confirmed tangos, over.”

“Copy that, hold position and see if any more scum rear their ugly mugs, out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Illia lowered her fingers.

Had she been expecting a reprieve from their duty? She seemed remarkably discontent, as if she still after all this time serving expected an immediate reprieve. Esme had learnt the lesson that there almost never was a long time ago but some people really are just stubborn learners. They watched until night fell. There was scant activity to report, though a Republic Squad were seen passing through the same gate, that was to be summarily reported by someone else. They were calm, and relaxed, they relied on several Probe Droids that passed around the perimeter at random times and the extendable eye from the wall surface. They’d tucked away well enough that they were relatively confident they nor their Speeders had been spotted. How could they tell? The Republic would have reacted if they’d seen anyone of the squad.

Esme didn’t get it, the Republic had engaged the Balmorra Company in this region, they’d driven them off in a direct confrontation and now with the Empire licking their wounds, this was the best roadblock they could offer? It’s almost like they were letting them leave…

They were letting them leave.

“I think they’re just… letting us go?” Esme murmured to herself.

Illia turned her helmet to Esme, “I guess you think it’s a trap?”

“Look, I don’t really know, I mean it could be, or it could be exactly what it looks like, they are just letting us go…”

“And why’d they do that? They had Balmorra practically by the balls.”

“I think it’s because they’re smart, they probably don’t want to fight us either, we inflicted heavy losses on them as well you know, like they know we don’t want to fight, they know we’re leaving, so why fight?” Esme scratched the back of her head.

Illia shook her head, “A nice theory I suppose.”

The comms came in again, “Howl 2-4, this is Howl 1-1, we’re ignoring this, Balmorra Company are moving past, keep an eye out for probes and follow on after, out.”

Of course her CO had figured it out too. If she was smart enough to work it out, they could as well and there was no point delaying to engage this minor force, if they didn’t want to fight here either. So they waited this time in silence awkward but Esme barely noticed it. Through the thermal optics of her helmet she could see the shapes of Balmorra Company slug through the night, they crept past, slowly but with a distant glimmer. The Republic no doubt saw them too, for they responded with multiple probe droids that ascended skyward from the village, it was not a sign of engagement but they were watching them. The low thrum of their repulsors, the warbled muttering of their transmitting thoughts sent a shiver down her spine. They’d learnt to have a healthy respect for probe droids, a favourite of the Republic Commander, they’d haunted their operations since they’d landed. They’d lost men to probe droid blasters only for them to scamper away or dropped grenades in foxholes. They were harder to deal with than people thought. None of them had been close to her, so she was lucky, but it had taught her a lesson, basic or her Spec course had not prepared her for.

Fear the Probes.

But for now they were just keeping vigil and it was time for them to move too.

“Alright, let’s just go,” Illia muttered.

They withdrew from the brush in which they sheltered, into a sheltered clearing, dragging their packs with them. They found their speeders hidden by sheets, mesh and dozens of twigs, mud and grass, that made them near indistinguishable from the forestry that surrounded them. Esme was proud of her work until, Illia spoke.

“We really could have concealed these a little better, don’t you think?” Illia muttered as she packed the mesh into her bag.

“Maybe… I suppose…” Esme replied halfheartedly.

Illia glared at her for that response and she found herself clueless as to why, like she'd answered? She’d conceded Illia the floor and she somehow didn’t like her? What more could Esme ask for some normalcy between the pair.

“Gees…” Esme muttered as she swung a leg over her speeder.

Illia blinked at her, “Really?”

“What?” Esme asked.

“Never mind.”

‘Never Mind’ couldn’t she just tell her, why she didn’t like her? What was she doing wrong? Esme had spent most of life unable to have this kind of conversation, why did Illia have to be so just frustrating about it. Esme let it lie again, ultimately there was no point bringing it up and no point now.

They mounted their Speeders and the moment the go ahead was given, they tore off into the forest at impossible speeds, the world whizzing past them as trees and forest floor shifted beyond, the rustic browns and greens a flurry into the distance the wind breaking over her helmet, felt through its ventilators against her skin, the vibrations rippling through her body. Despite her small laments there was no destination but forward. If she’d been alone in these woods, on this planet, she might have been lost and at night, in the dark, got herself into an overthought mess but here, amongst her squad? She felt no fear because her direction was clear, answered by the flash of her viewscreen. The freedom of purpose, not lost, little need to choose, just follow the marker

Follow the marker they did. Until at last.

“Hault! Identify yourself?!”

The sentries slowed them to a crawl just beyond the Imperial LZ, where they mustered, they lent on their bikes and propped themselves on a leg.

“Specialist Illia.”

“Specialist Roi.”

They took their helmets off, and it all aligned perfectly well in the sentry's mind and so they passed unassailed by opposition into the LZ. Just on time, not to catch a break but to finally leave this place, there were mutters amongst the men, Corvos and Illia amongst them of shame and embarrassment, as if it all this venture was for nothing, the eagerness that had called them here long gone after months of weary fighting. Esme didn’t really get that. She just went where they told her, it wasn’t her fault, wasn’t their fault it couldn’t be, this was a burden the commanders bore, their leadership, that she trusted could make mistakes not that she blamed them for it, it happened but it was also kinda how it happened. No Squadie unless they were distinctly terrible would take that blame. This is why, she told herself, she would never command. She’d certainly screw it up worse than them. To command was to take the burden of others upon your shoulder and she was thankful for them holding hers, she was comfortable and confident even to depend on them and their decisions.

But she had to remain alert because now they were in a full dedicated retreat and in no danger of counterattacking. The Republic could choose now to harass them, so she didn’t engage much in conversation, only dropping her offhandedly commentary before walking to the edge of the group.

“Hey, we just do whatever they tell us I’m pretty sure they have a plan, I mean who like even knows what fronts we are alleviating by being here, you know?” Esme murmured to Corvos.

Corvos grinned, “Hah. That’s a positive way of looking at it.”

Something just felt off.

She was probably just overthinking this, she was always overthinking things, getting them wrong, getting in her own way. The wind was blowing amongst the trees as Dragonfly Shuttles descended upon them, to liberate them from the ground, the rustle of the trees. She almost gave up her vigil, they were supposed to be some of the first out. But she had a responsibility to her comrades and if her hunch was well founded…

There. Another Probe Droid.

Esme felt a sudden flash of danger and drew her pistol.

“CONTACT LEFT! PROBE DROID!”

And she fired, illuminating the tree with a vivid crimson glow and though missing her first and second shots, scoring bark, her third landed dead on and it tumbled, as a chorus of other blasterfire echoed later, some catching it on its trip to the earth below. There was a resounding explosive as its payload landed in the forestry. The blast rustled the brush and sent a shockwave barreling over the Soldiers, shrapnel shredded parts of the trees and tumbled leaves from themn Specialist Roi exhaled deeply and whipped up a frenzy of Soldiers suddenly checking the dark closer, panicked, another one might arrive at any time. Corvos was by her shoulder, peering out into the murk.

“Good karkin’ work. How the hell you’d know?”

Esme didn’t really have an answer when she stammered out, “I literally… I guess kinda just thought about it, and I guess I just kinda like figured it’s what I would do now…”

Together, they boarded the shuttle. Together they ascended up to the ISS Blood Spear, a real Harrower, their very real flagship. A marvel of Imperial engineering so far beyond her grasp of understanding, she’d long to learn a small fraction, long to simply see its bridge and gunnery deck. There the air was clean, pure Imperial air not that of sodden bark and pine stench, intermingled with the iron of blood, ionised blasters and ever present smoke and embers permeating the wartime air.

What more would they ask of her?

Whatever it was she would answer.

---

---