Chapter Text
The Corries were slowly and surely falling behind.
Wolffe scoffed under his breath. He knew it’d happen. Pencil pushers, the lot of them. Hadn’t had to go on any kind of real battlefield since Geonosis.
The first time.
Why they were even here was beyond him. Orders damned, they were going to blow this mission if they didn’t pick up their speed. His men could not slow down to compensate for them.
They were all fighting the same knee high snow, pushing through the same buffeting winds of freezing ice and sleet.
They were halfway to base, and they needed to pick up the pace, or they were going to get hit with the worst of the storm coming straight at them.
If the Corries were struggling this much, with this, how much more would they fall behind with what was coming?
He flicked a message. No one would be able to hear if he tried to call. He could barely hear himself think over the howling and screaming ripping around his helmet.
His foot tangled in something in the snow, and he stumbled, barely recovering enough to not fall to his knee.
Snarling, he pushed forward, keeping his eyes on the front.
No more looking back. They could keep up or they couldn’t, but Wolffe had his own men to worry about right now.
Wolffe trudged on. A couple of his own men were starting to flag.
A rare few were powering through.
He didn’t need to question if Sinker was one of them, that bastard probably thought this was a challenge and a fun one at that.
Wolffe grit his teeth, and kept dragging himself through the pile up.
The wind was starting to break up, to an extent. It went from screaming to yowling, though the lesser volume didn’t mean much when he still felt like he was deafened.
Something kept catching his attention though, in those breaks. Over the still severe wind, something else pricked at his ears.
Not often. Not nearly enough for him ot even try work out where it was coming from, but enough to raise his hackles.
He flicked another message, this time to Boost.
C.W: Ears open. I can hear something over the wind.
He stumbled over a deeper patch of snow, hiding the dip between rocks, and fell to a knee with a curse. Grunting in frustration, he yanked at his leg, where the foot had gone back and under something, pulling it free to shove his way forward.
Huffing, he glared at the disturbed patch of snow. He could feel it where it had slid between his thermals and leg guards and was starting to melt. Just what he needed.
He glanced up, back now to the sleet, and stared, eyes narrowing, nose crinkling in frustration.
He could barely make out red Corrie armour. They were too far behind.
“Fuck,” he ground out, turning to check where his own men were.
Making a hell of a lot better ground that was for sure.
“Fucking, fucking, fuck-” He growled, grinding his teeth, before flicking yet another message.
C.W: Get everyone to base. I’ve got to wait for the CG.
He didn’t wait to see the reply, dismissing it immediately when it came, and debated the merits of staying where he was, and walking back just to have to walk forward again.
His ankle ached where it had caught and the snow had melted into his skin.
It was incredibly unpleasant, and the Corries were moving so Prime-fucked slowly.
He started to pace slowly, shoving and kicking the snow out of the way until it was only ankle deep and he could stride mostly uninhibited a couple steps each side. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
Were they trying to get hit by the storm?
The wind was picking back up again.
His men would probably be nearing the base.
Back and forth.
He was going to get back to Coruscant and shake Fox for what he was worth. What the hell kind of training were they doing that his men couldn’t even march in shit weather.
Back and forth.
They’d be lucky if he didn’t throw them all around at least once when they wer eout of this fucking wind.
Back and forth.
They were going slower.
Was this a game? Was this funny? Or were they just that useless?
At least he could see the red now, laid out in neat rows.
If they were taking so long because they were staying in formation, by the grace of his General who’d be the only thing stopping Wolffe from killing them, he was going to beat them.
Three rows.
They weren’t quite staying in line though.
Wolffe snorted.
That would have been a whole other problem if it had turned out they were keeping pace on top of matching formation.
Sleet and snow beat into his back.
The first knock against his head was light, but it was the first sign of the hail on its way.
They should have been in the base by now.
He turned and walked on.
They could catch up or not. It wasn’t his problem anymore.
He hunkered down into himself as the hail fell.
He muted the audio feedback on his helmet. Not that it did much, when the ice was slamming directly into his bucket.
Growling and snarling under his breath, he moved on.
The sleet, and whatever wet had fallen down with the wind, made the ice a thick frozen sludge he had to yank his legs through, instead of the powder he’d had to kick and wade through earlier. It wet his blacks and thermals to a whole new level, a lot quicker.
Wolffe was fucking furious.
If he got bite in his toes because those fucking Corries couldn’t keep their damn speed-
He clenched his jaw, fists tight, head lowered against the shower of ice, and moved on.
His ears were ringing with the weight of the sound. Wolffe knew he’d have a migraine after this. At least General Koon had told them they would have a pick-up after their mission was done.
They wouldn’t have to wade back out into the cold to leave the planet.
He turned back to check on the Corries, and found nothing.
Granted, he couldn’t see far, but they were fucking gone. No sign of red, no sign of movement, not even a sign of heat when he filtered his helmet.
That wasn’t good.
Wolffe debated just marching on.
They couldn’t be this useless. Even based at the Core, they could not be this fucking useless.
Snarling out his next breath of air, he stalked back the way he’d come. It wasn’t any easier, going through the trial he’d left behind. It was still just as sludged up and frozen.
He was going to throw them for rounds for this shit.
Then he’d get to Coruscant, and throw Fox for several more for his distinct lack of any form of training or up-keep.
He caught a flash of red.
Still no sign of heat.
Groaning through grit teeth, Wolffe went for it.
It was only when he got within a couple feet, that he slowed down.
The red wasn’t from armour.
The snow and sleet and sludge was stained.
The armour-
There was a hole in the armour, similar to the one Wolffe made when he tripped.
Deeper snow.
“Shit,” he forced his way forward, and plunged a hand into the ice.
His head bowed forward with the movement, and a lucky piece of hail slammed right into the unprotected black at the top of his spine.
Grounding down on a curse, Wolffe slammed his head back into the ice, fingers coming into contact with something smooth.
Vambrace.
He found a hand, and heaved.
The Corrie was dead weight.
“Shit. Fuck-”
He yanked and pulled, dragging the weight backwards, out of the deeper pit, the now wet snow fighting against the movement, trying to suck the trooper back in.
Red spilled off of red, and the dirty white of snow and sleet was slowly turning a streaked pink where it mixed.
“Fuck-”
He didn’t have a hand free to loose another message.
He kept dragging, hoping he’d hit slightly higher or firmer ground.
The Corrie didn’t make a move to help. Not a single indication he was awake.
The only thing Wolffe knew about the group of Guard that had joined them on this mission is that none of them were in Command positions.
There were fourteen.
Where the fuck were the other thirteen.
He dragged, and dragged, and lost sight of how long he dragged for, until a hand slammed into his shoulder.
He turned, but his moves were sluggish and too slow. His fist and elbow were caught in clawed hands, and General Koon signed to stand down.
Wolffe stood down, and let his men take hold of the body.
The trooper couldn’t possibly have made it.
More men filtered past him, back in the direction he’d come.
‘Go’ ‘Find’ ‘You’ ‘Come’ ‘Rest’.
He didn’t fight when the General took hold of his arm, and led him away.
He lost track of the time it took until they stepped into a space wind no longer slammed into him.
It tripped him up, sending him off balance, no longer needing to fight to stay on his feet. Arms wrapped around him.
“I have you Commander. Rest now. There will be time to get to the bottom of this later.”
The last thing he saw was the blood, slick and wet, coating his armour.
He was getting chilled through the melted snow on his blacks.