Star Wars - Shifting Gears - Unpublished Read Free

on speeders!” The lieutenant recognized that voice. It was Arvee, his second. “I’d say your informer was wrong. El-T. I’d say we’re the zilg-dicody, and the Imps are gonna feast on us!”
    “No!” the lieutenant screamed. “We’re not going down tonight!” He darted away from the slope and hit the ground, rolling and dodging blaster fire. He paused only to take a couple of shots at the white helmet peering over the hilltop, then he kept rolling, not bothering to see if he had hit the stormtrooper. Have to get a look at the other side of the hill, he thought. Just to be sure. Maybe my guess is wrong, maybe there’s not a few dozen stormtroopers up there. Maybe we could charge up that hill, circle round, get back to the shuttle. Maybe… The keen whine of a tripod-mounted repeating blaster cut through the din. A knifing pain shot up the lieutenant’s right leg and into his stomach. Then the lieutenant felt nothing, couldn’t move. Dying , he thought, probably lasered my leg off. Can’t feel, can’t hardly swallow. So cold . “Arvee! Your command now! Get the men out of here!”

    He didn’t hear the toadlike quadruped’s reply. The lieutenant was beyond hearing anything.
    “Fall back!” Arvee hollered. “Might be fewer in front of us, but it’s suicide heading toward the base.” He slung his blaster rifle over his back and scuttled toward the bulk of his men, moving faster without having to hold onto his weapon. He leapt over the body of a Devaronian, registered that at least a third of his fellow Rebels were littering the dusty ground. Should have brought more men, more shuttles. But this was supposed to be a small operation, he thought. Where did all the Imps come from? Must’ve been monitoring our descent. Waited till we were easy pickings.
    Just ahead to his left, three Corellians were squeezed together in a niche under a rocky overhang. They were taking turns poking their heads out and shooting at the white helmets on the opposite ridge.
    “Too many of them!” Arvee called as he scampered toward the trio. “Fighting retreat!” He paused when he reached the overhang, slung his blaster rifle off his back again and took aim at a stormtrooper descending the opposite slope. His webbed finger pumped the trigger, sending light-blue bolts of energy kzinging off the dirt and rocks, finally finding a mark on the trooper’s torso. The stormtrooper fell. But there were more coming over the ridge now. “Leave me one of your rifles!” he barked. One of the Corellians complied, then the three took off running.
    “Fall back!” Arvee shouted at more Rebel soldiers as he wedged himself into the niche vacated by the three Corellians. He hunkered as close to the ground as he could, and his webbed fingers flew over his own blaster rifle, tugging at the stock, opening the compartment where the packs that powered the rifle were held, yanking the packs out. He grabbed his spare packs from his belt and held them all together. Then he fumbled with the rifle strap, used it to bind the packs tight. He grimaced when he saw a half-dozen more of his fellows fall to blaster fire.
    “See how you like this,” he cursed softly. He heaved the bundled blaster packs toward the slope the stormtroopers were climbing down, picked up the borrowed rifle, and fired at the bundle.
    The explosion rocked the gap. Dirt and gravel showered the stormtroopers and Arvee. Barely over the rumble, the toadlike quadruped heard the screams of dying Imperials. He hoisted the rifle and waited, intending to shoot at the first glint of white he could spot when the dust settled.

    “Settled in for the evening, sir?” the scout droid flipped up the “closed” sign on Amalk’s shop and glanced around to make sure everything was secure. The only light inside was over a worktable where several tools were carefully laid out. Most of the droids had shut themselves down. A few were in the back room taking an oil bath and watching the R2 units