Star Wars_ X-Wing 01_ Rogue Squadron - Michael A. Stackpole [71]
Unless someone is being very thorough.
The unmistakable squish of mud beneath boot alerted Corran to the presence of someone just outside the cottage. Looking up he saw the snout of a blaster carbine poke through the doorway. A left leg encased in the slate-grey armor worn by stormtroopers on commando missions followed it. The gun’s muzzle moved to the right, away from Corran, and began a slow sweep of the room.
Corran exploded up from his crouch and slammed his left fist into the stormtrooper’s throat. Using his own body as a weapon, the Corellian smashed the stormtrooper against the doorjamb. Hooking his right hand through the armpit of the soldier’s armor, Corran spun and flung the man into the center of the cottage. Taking one step forward, Corran leaped up and landed with both knees on the Imperial’s stomach.
The stormtrooper retched and vomit squirted from beneath his helmet. Corran pulled the man’s blaster pistol from his holster, tucked it up beneath the trooper’s chin, and pulled the trigger once. A muffled squeak accompanied the reddish light flashing through the helmet’s goggle-eyes, then the body beneath him went limp.
Corran winced. He who carries a blaster set on kill dies by a blaster set on kill. He tossed the blaster pistol to the floor beside the carbine, then slid off the dead man’s abdomen. He unbuckled the dead trooper’s ammo belt. Tugging it free of the body, he noticed, in addition to the erg-clips for the blasters, a number of pouches, half of which were bulging. Opening one of them he saw compact silver cylinders and a new shiver ran through him.
Explosive charges! Some must already have been set.
A noise in the doorway made Corran spin. A stormtrooper stood there, staring down at him. Corran’s right hand groped for the blaster pistol, but he knew he’d never make it in time. Then he noticed the stormtrooper’s hands were empty and, more importantly, the man’s feet were two inches off the ground.
Ooryl cast the body aside and it crumpled to the floor. The Gand took a look at the stormtrooper on the ground, then nodded once. “Ooryl apologizes for having left you undefended. Ooryl was out walking when the presence of these interlopers became apparent.”
“How many?”
The Gand shook his head. “Two less. Ooryl saw four others at various points on the perimeter.”
“And our sentries?”
“Gone.”
“Not good. Stormtroopers travel in squads of nine—let’s figure two dozen with the crew of whatever brought them here.” Corran refastened the ammo belt and slung it across his body. Reholstering the blaster pistol he noticed that Ooryl had similarly appropriated his trooper’s weapons. “Is your boy dead?”
The Gand nodded and rolled his trooper onto his stomach. The trooper’s helmet had a blood-smeared hole in the back of it. The hole itself looked odd, and Corran knew that was because of its shape, not just the jagged outline from where the armor crumbled. Kind of a diamond shape …
He looked up. “Did you hurt your hand?”
Ooryl folded his three fingers into a fist with the wound’s peculiar shape. “Ooryl is not impaired.”
“Well, I am, by the night and the fog. You’ll be in the lead. We have to assume the others are rigging the flight center to blow.”
“No alarm?”
Corran hesitated. By rights raising an alarm would be the smart thing to do, but there were no troops to fight against the stormtroopers. Waking everyone up would be inviting them to get slaughtered as they ran about unarmed. The pilots would head toward their ships and the stormtroopers in the flight center would cut them down in seconds.
“Have to go silent on this one. We want to approach the flight center from the blind side.”
The Gand nodded and led Corran out into the misty darkness. Clutching the blaster carbine to his chest, a legion of conflicting thoughts and emotions flooded