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Boil grumbles to himself as he pokes at the innards of their portable heating lamp. Its power has been sputtering off and on since they arrived at their watch post. Since their current shelter doesn’t have great ventilation, they can’t start a fire, so it’s been their main heat source. The darn thing finally quit sometime before Boil’s watch shift ended, while Waxer was still sleeping.
When Boil finally came in from his shift, not only was the inside of their shelter a lot colder than he was hoping, but Waxer—who should’ve been plenty warmed up—was already shivering again before he even left for his shift.
Determined not to let that happen again, Boil has spent most of his break fiddling with wires to try and fix it. It’s not unlivable in their shelter without the lamp, but the extra heat makes it a lot more bearable on this frozen rock.
The Republic has just barely managed to keep a foothold on Nelvaan, which Boil hasn’t been to but has heard is mostly snow and ice. They do, however, have control of the several icy moons orbiting the planet, and have managed to blockade the Separatists on the planet’s surface. Of course, the Seps have sent a bunch of clankers up to the moons to try and oust the GAR forces, which has… not worked out well for them so far.
The moons are incredibly inhospitable. In their current location in the northern hemisphere, the short fourteen-hour day consists of eight hours of daylight followed by six hours of darkness. Those few hours of darkness invariably feature violent storms with heavy winds, blinding snow, and hail the size of a clone’s head. (It’s supposedly far worse in the southern hemisphere).
Extreme cold usually wouldn’t be an advantage for the GAR over the droid forces, since cold doesn’t deter them the same way. Despite the environment, though, the GAR has held onto the moons. Unlike the Republic forces, the Separatists didn’t get any tips from the locals on how to deal with the weather, or where to find the sturdy underground shelters left over from the moon’s mining installations—and even droids are affected by low temps and snow eventually. The giant, destructive hail probably has a lot to do with it, too.
Waxer and Boil are currently using one of those underground shelters as a base to monitor the laughably slow progress of several squads of clankers trying to make their way across the distant landscape in search of enemies. They’ve been placing bets on how many droids will get taken out in each night’s hailstorm—through their binocs they can always spot a few that got pulverized by the huge chunks of ice the night before. It would be very entertaining, if it weren’t so kriffing cold.
They spend their watch shifts in a small tower above the shelter that has a decent view of the nearby snow plain, and its durasteel walls protect from the wind… kind of. But even with their snow gear and thermoregulation, and even though their watch shifts are only four hours each, they’re still chilled all the way down by the time they return to the shelter.
“Karking finally,” Boil mutters as the lamp flickers to life. It quickly starts radiating heat, which is a welcome addition to the emergency blanket and sleeping bag Boil is already wrapped in. The shelter isn’t terribly large—about the size of a command tent—so hopefully he can get the ambient temperature a bit warmer before Waxer gets back.
With the lamp finally taken care of, Boil starts rooting around in their rations. Since the night is so dangerous here, they only stay on watch during the day and take shelter until dawn. Normally being blind to enemy advances through the night would be a terrible idea, but the nightly hailstorm makes it basically impossible to make any progress during the night, so they’re not worried about any clankers sneaking up on them. Plus, getting crushed by giant hail isn’t exactly productive.
After some deliberation, Boil pulls out a couple of their nicer rations. None of their food supplies require heating in order to eat, but a few come with tiny heating gel canisters that can be used to warm them up. It doesn’t warm them quite as evenly as an open fire would, but it’s better than nothing. Plus, rations aren’t the only thing they can heat up.
A few minutes later, the hatch to the underground shelter whooshes open, along with a burst of cold air. It’s quickly cut off as Waxer slides down the ladder and the door shuts behind him. He stamps his feet a few times to get the ice off of his boots before turning to Boil.
“I swear it’s c-colder out there every t-time,” Waxer grumbles as he starts shedding the outer layers of his snow gear. It’s better to remove it near the door, so they don’t get melting ice and snow everywhere. Even with most of Waxer’s armor still on, Boil can tell that he’s shivering.
“Get over here before you freeze solid, then,” Boil replies, nudging their other emergency blanket towards him. “No changes, I take it?”
“N-not really,” Waxer replies as he shucks his bucket. “They’re moving, but at a sea snail’s p-pace still. I think you’re right that they’re getting ice in their joints and it’s slowing everything d-down.” He knocks his boots against the wall to remove any remaining snow, then rushes to grab the survival blanket so he can drape it over his head like a hood before crouching down next to Boil.
“Why are you still—-oh! You f-fixed the heating lamp!”
Scooting closer to the lamp’s reddish glow, Waxer holds out his gloved hands towards it and sighs in relief. After a few moments, he turns a critical look at Boil.
“Is th-that why you’re still in your armor? D-did you get any sleep at all?”
Boil just shrugs. “Wasn’t tired. Here, sit down.”
Waxer sits down fully, crossing his legs, and keeps holding his hands out to the heating lamp and rubbing them together. His blanket is still crinkling with the movement of his full body shivers, though.
Pouring the water he heated into Waxer’s cup and giving it a stir, Boil turns and holds it out to him. Waxer blinks in surprise before taking it.
“Is this caf? I thought we were out of the instant packets?”
“I held on to a few. For, uh, emergencies.”
When Boil glances over, Waxer has his hands wrapped around the cup, leaning down to breathe in the smell of the steaming liquid. Boil can’t help the smile that quirks at his lips.
There’s an echoing thud somewhere above them, causing both of them to look up reflexively. It’s quickly followed by a staccato of similar thuds, the sound of hundreds of chunks of ice raining down from the sky as the nightly storm starts right on time. If the past several nights have been any indication, it’ll keep up like this until shortly before morning. It’s not exactly the most relaxing background noise, but Boil’s slept through worse.
Extinguishing the heating canister, Boil grasps the hot ration tray by its edges and carefully passes it towards Waxer.
“Caf and a hot ration?” Waxer says in disbelief, hurrying to set his cup aside in order to take the tray from Boil. He sends a bright grin Boil’s way. “When did you get so sweet?”
Fighting the blush building in his cheeks, Boil shrugs again. “Just trying to get your reptile constitution warmed up. Otherwise your teeth chattering is gonna be louder than this storm.”
Taking his own ration, Boil digs in quickly before it cools off, and Waxer does the same. They watch the waves of heat come off the lamp as they eat in silence—well, except for the rhythmic thundering of the ice storm above.
With his ration tray scraped clean, Waxer wraps his blanket tighter around him and sighs, leaning his shoulder against Boil’s. His shivering has mostly subsided.
“Mm, that’s so much better,” he says, then turns to look at Boil. “Thanks.”
Boil huffs to cover up the blush that’s definitely not on his face. “‘S nothing,” he mutters.
Waxer gives him an amused look, but all he does is lean his shoulder more firmly against Boil’s. It’s a nice feeling.
Coughing, Boil busies himself cleaning up their ration trays before making a shooing motion at Waxer. “Alright, hurry up and get in the sleeping bag, before you freeze again.”
Waxer doesn’t need any convincing—being able to bed down together for part of the night in a place like this has been a big help with staying warm, and it seems to be Waxer’s favorite part of this miserable mission. He quickly starts removing his armor before changing into a dry bodyglove. With the trays discarded, Boil follows suit before joining Waxer in their zipped-together sleeping bags.
“Ugh, how are you still this cold,” Boil mutters, rubbing his hands rapidly over Waxer’s arms and shoulders.
“Sitting outside in freezing temps for four hours will do that,” Waxer replies wryly, but he’s still smiling as he says, “Feel a lot better now, though, thanks to you.”
And Boil is definitely blushing now. “Hmph, well… maybe we can get some feeling back in our toes before daybreak. C’mere.”
Waxer happily snuggles up close to Boil, and they both relax into their little pocket of warmth. The storm continues to rage outside, but somehow it doesn’t overtake the gentle thump of Waxer’s heartbeat as Boil drifts off to sleep.