WillMackey175
04-10-2015, 04:45 PM
I got into a writing mood a few days back and wrote a short story for fun. After I finished I realized how much I enjoyed it and now I plan to write more. What you are reading is the first chapter/prologue. I am fairly new to writing so any and all critique is welcome! Last bit of information, this story takes place within the Star Wars universe so if you see something you don't recognize or understand I am more than willing to explain :)
Milo walked down a long, barren road, blaster rifle in hand. Everywhere he looked there was nothing but craters and scorched land. Occasionally he would get a faint whiff of a rotting corpse. The war had been going on for so long that he was starting to forget what Balmorra once looked like. He wondered if Balmorra was even worth fighting over anymore; perhaps they should all just surrender and let the Imperials take the damn planet. He had lost almost everyone he knew trying to resist the merciless Imperials. His mother and father had died in the initial bombing, his sister succumed to disease from drinking the now irradiated water, his friends all taken to prison camps somewhere near Sobrik and not one of them ever seen since. Milo was now a mere shell of who he once was, tall and gaunt, with short dirty blonde hair, trimmed into the raggedy mohawk. His gear was practically in tatters, brown cloth painted to look like dirt with a few pieces of scrap metal underneath. It did little to protect him from blaster fire, but it was all he had. He was a soldier of the rebellion that was for sure.
It had been nearly four years since the initial attack yet Milo still lived, fighting on with the Balmorran resistance, which was growing smaller every day. He felt his confidence slowly draining away with each fresh casualty report. Even with the Republic quietly handing out supplies, they simply did not have the manpower to fight back. One planet of rag-tag, untrained fighters could not hope to defeat an army that has proven itself capable of obliterating entire worlds. All these thoughts of death and destruction haunted him irrepressibly. As much as he wanted to, he could not give up. He had to keep fighting for the citizens of Balmorra, so onward he walked. He was heading back to one of the hidden outposts in the Markaran Plains with new scouting information, the Imperials pushing to capture the Okara Droid factory again. The Resistance needed more troops over there if they have any hopes of maintaining their control over it. The factory was key, they lose that, the probability of losing the war skyrockets. Milo gripped his rifle a bit tighter. There had been no signs of any Imperials for far too long. Worrying himself, he broke out into a jog. The sooner he could get to camp, the better. A few miles later, Milo spotted three Imperial soldiers looting some corpses about a hundred yards away. It didn’t take long for them to see him, standing in a large charred field offered very little to hide him from view. He sprinted towards the blaster fire and jumped into a nearby crater. It did not offer much cover, but some was better than none. He hunched down and fumbled on his belt for two small metallic spheres. Lightly tossing them in front of himself, the spheres jumped up and created a small, transparent shield barrier that went up to his waist. Now he could deal with the Imperials. They were firing in his direction, standing tall and confident in their black and red full body combat armor. Squatting behind his newly created cover, he waited patiently for his turn to retaliate. He popped up, squeezed the trigger and quickly ducked back down. One Imperial fell with him. There was a reason Milo was still alive after these four long years. He gave a slight grin, proud of himself for being so proficient, he was good at this. He jumped up again, shot, and dropped another, leaving only one soldier left standing. This last soldier, in an assumed state of panic, started to charge Milo, firing wildly. Milo stood up to claim the final Imperial’s life. He squeezed, and the gun clicked. His old, broken equipment had finally given out. The rifle was jammed. He crouched back down and tried to clear the weapon. His right arm felt numb and he was fumbling with the gun, achieving little. Milo looked up to see how close the soldier was, only to find a boot connecting with his face. He stumbled backwards into the crater and then, as if through some higher power, rolled out of the way of a blaster bolt that would have surely brought his death. He jumped up and tackled the brutish Imperial to the ground. He hit him as hard as he could, but a bare-knuckled punch doesn't do much against plate metal. The Imperial rolled Milo and returned the favor two-fold. Not having time to complain about the sharp and sudden pain in his face, he reached for his Vibroknife resting hidden on the side of his thigh, and drove it into the Imperial’s side. Pushing him off forcefully, he stood up, and quickly drew his blaster pistol to finish the job, and he did so generously. Milo took a moment to now look over himself. His nose was definitely broken, and he had apparently gotten shot in the shoulder. “****.” He exhaled exhaustedly, pulling out some bandages to wrap up his arm. It didn’t look pretty, but it would last him until he arrived at camp. Milo grabbed his portable cover and his rifle and started walking down the road. He stopped once he neared the other two Imperials and looked over them, taking their ammunition and communication devices. Suddenly, he heard a loud shot that rang across the barren fields. He turned around to see where the noise came from only to be knocked down by something powerful. He hit his head hard on the ground and felt a strong pain his chest. Blood was pouring out heavily, he had been shot. He was confused, the pain wasn't helping with his thinking, he tried to figure out who might have done this. Coughing up some thick smears of blood, he realized that it didn't matter anymore. All he could hope for was that some other resistance soldier would find his body and pass along the information of the upcoming attack. He only hoped he would get to see his family now. Scared and in pain, he closed his eyes and let out his final breath. Far off in the distance, dark blue Chiss with piercing red eyes stood up, brandishing a large sniper rifle. He pulled out a holocom and made a call. “Watcher Two this is Cipher Nine, I’ve taken care of the last scout, the Balmorrans are in the dark and we are clear to move ahead with the assault”. He stood, watching the holographic woman while waiting for her response.
“Copy that Cipher, I’ll inform Major Hanson right away. Return to Sobrik with further instructions when you are ready. Watcher Two out.” As the Chiss gathered his remaining gear, he looked back at the road and scoffed to himself. The fact that three Imperial soldiers could not handle one simple Resistance fighter was pathetic. “One would think we would get something better than these embarrassing excuses for soldiers,” he said to himself. “For being such a ‘key planet’ we get nothing but these rookie soldiers straight out of the academy; Ridiculous”. The Cipher Agent had a long walk ahead of him. Thankfully, he still had quite a lot of ranting left inside him to keep him occupied.
Milo walked down a long, barren road, blaster rifle in hand. Everywhere he looked there was nothing but craters and scorched land. Occasionally he would get a faint whiff of a rotting corpse. The war had been going on for so long that he was starting to forget what Balmorra once looked like. He wondered if Balmorra was even worth fighting over anymore; perhaps they should all just surrender and let the Imperials take the damn planet. He had lost almost everyone he knew trying to resist the merciless Imperials. His mother and father had died in the initial bombing, his sister succumed to disease from drinking the now irradiated water, his friends all taken to prison camps somewhere near Sobrik and not one of them ever seen since. Milo was now a mere shell of who he once was, tall and gaunt, with short dirty blonde hair, trimmed into the raggedy mohawk. His gear was practically in tatters, brown cloth painted to look like dirt with a few pieces of scrap metal underneath. It did little to protect him from blaster fire, but it was all he had. He was a soldier of the rebellion that was for sure.
It had been nearly four years since the initial attack yet Milo still lived, fighting on with the Balmorran resistance, which was growing smaller every day. He felt his confidence slowly draining away with each fresh casualty report. Even with the Republic quietly handing out supplies, they simply did not have the manpower to fight back. One planet of rag-tag, untrained fighters could not hope to defeat an army that has proven itself capable of obliterating entire worlds. All these thoughts of death and destruction haunted him irrepressibly. As much as he wanted to, he could not give up. He had to keep fighting for the citizens of Balmorra, so onward he walked. He was heading back to one of the hidden outposts in the Markaran Plains with new scouting information, the Imperials pushing to capture the Okara Droid factory again. The Resistance needed more troops over there if they have any hopes of maintaining their control over it. The factory was key, they lose that, the probability of losing the war skyrockets. Milo gripped his rifle a bit tighter. There had been no signs of any Imperials for far too long. Worrying himself, he broke out into a jog. The sooner he could get to camp, the better. A few miles later, Milo spotted three Imperial soldiers looting some corpses about a hundred yards away. It didn’t take long for them to see him, standing in a large charred field offered very little to hide him from view. He sprinted towards the blaster fire and jumped into a nearby crater. It did not offer much cover, but some was better than none. He hunched down and fumbled on his belt for two small metallic spheres. Lightly tossing them in front of himself, the spheres jumped up and created a small, transparent shield barrier that went up to his waist. Now he could deal with the Imperials. They were firing in his direction, standing tall and confident in their black and red full body combat armor. Squatting behind his newly created cover, he waited patiently for his turn to retaliate. He popped up, squeezed the trigger and quickly ducked back down. One Imperial fell with him. There was a reason Milo was still alive after these four long years. He gave a slight grin, proud of himself for being so proficient, he was good at this. He jumped up again, shot, and dropped another, leaving only one soldier left standing. This last soldier, in an assumed state of panic, started to charge Milo, firing wildly. Milo stood up to claim the final Imperial’s life. He squeezed, and the gun clicked. His old, broken equipment had finally given out. The rifle was jammed. He crouched back down and tried to clear the weapon. His right arm felt numb and he was fumbling with the gun, achieving little. Milo looked up to see how close the soldier was, only to find a boot connecting with his face. He stumbled backwards into the crater and then, as if through some higher power, rolled out of the way of a blaster bolt that would have surely brought his death. He jumped up and tackled the brutish Imperial to the ground. He hit him as hard as he could, but a bare-knuckled punch doesn't do much against plate metal. The Imperial rolled Milo and returned the favor two-fold. Not having time to complain about the sharp and sudden pain in his face, he reached for his Vibroknife resting hidden on the side of his thigh, and drove it into the Imperial’s side. Pushing him off forcefully, he stood up, and quickly drew his blaster pistol to finish the job, and he did so generously. Milo took a moment to now look over himself. His nose was definitely broken, and he had apparently gotten shot in the shoulder. “****.” He exhaled exhaustedly, pulling out some bandages to wrap up his arm. It didn’t look pretty, but it would last him until he arrived at camp. Milo grabbed his portable cover and his rifle and started walking down the road. He stopped once he neared the other two Imperials and looked over them, taking their ammunition and communication devices. Suddenly, he heard a loud shot that rang across the barren fields. He turned around to see where the noise came from only to be knocked down by something powerful. He hit his head hard on the ground and felt a strong pain his chest. Blood was pouring out heavily, he had been shot. He was confused, the pain wasn't helping with his thinking, he tried to figure out who might have done this. Coughing up some thick smears of blood, he realized that it didn't matter anymore. All he could hope for was that some other resistance soldier would find his body and pass along the information of the upcoming attack. He only hoped he would get to see his family now. Scared and in pain, he closed his eyes and let out his final breath. Far off in the distance, dark blue Chiss with piercing red eyes stood up, brandishing a large sniper rifle. He pulled out a holocom and made a call. “Watcher Two this is Cipher Nine, I’ve taken care of the last scout, the Balmorrans are in the dark and we are clear to move ahead with the assault”. He stood, watching the holographic woman while waiting for her response.
“Copy that Cipher, I’ll inform Major Hanson right away. Return to Sobrik with further instructions when you are ready. Watcher Two out.” As the Chiss gathered his remaining gear, he looked back at the road and scoffed to himself. The fact that three Imperial soldiers could not handle one simple Resistance fighter was pathetic. “One would think we would get something better than these embarrassing excuses for soldiers,” he said to himself. “For being such a ‘key planet’ we get nothing but these rookie soldiers straight out of the academy; Ridiculous”. The Cipher Agent had a long walk ahead of him. Thankfully, he still had quite a lot of ranting left inside him to keep him occupied.