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Star Wars: Republic Commandos

by Deathstroke 0 reviews

A story based off of the Star Wars game Republic Commandos. Delta Squad has found two survivors of Tiger Squad, Tiger 19 and her brother Tiger 55, but both are severely wounded.

Category: Star Wars - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Sci-fi - Warnings: [V] - Published: 2016-04-14 - 552 words

Tiger 19 clutched her chest in desperation. Her breaths were gasps and her armor was beginning to melt. She had no strength to pry the armor off of her body, her legs trembled with exhaustion from the recent fight with the Trandosians. She barely had enough breath to cry out for her brother, let alone allow herself to sink to the blood stained ground. She threw her head back, letting out a strangled cry as the melting armor reached her under armor, then her skin. She tried to pry the tiger printed armor off of her chest but had no avail, the smell of her burning flesh making her want to vomit. She used her left hand to brace herself against the wall, howling in agony.

“One nine,” her brother called from down the hallway. He rushed over to her, throwing his gun to the floor and crouching beside her. She weakly reached up and pointed to her chest plates, still gasping. He nodded, shuffling over to her front side, and getting on one knee to look closely at her wound. He gripped her chest plates, ripping them off of her body before the burnt her even more. He gently pull her off of the wall she was using as support, despite her moans of protest. “Come on, little sis. We need to get you medical attention.” He picked her up in his arms, carrying her past the dead Trandosians that she had killed with a heavy limp. She weakly gripped his arm, squeezing it to get his attention. He looked down at her cracked light blue visor, the blood trickling out from underneath it. She was hurt bad, she needed medical attention and fast.

“Savage,” she whimpered. “You’re hurt. You need…medical attention.” Her voice sounded pitiful, like a wounded animal that was dying slowly. He frowned behind his striped helmet, but he pressed forward, ignoring the sharp pains that shot up through his leg.
“No,” he told her firmly. “You need medical attention imminently, more than I do. Those Trando Mercs melted your armor and you seem to have third degree burns on your chest. Not to mention, you’re bleeding.”

She gasped, then flinched violently. “I’ve…felt…a lot…worse.” He chuckled with his deep voice, careful not to move her around too much. He trudged past the bodies of Trandosians and Clones, heading towards their squad.

“Shouldn’t have gone out like that,” he growled to her. “You should of commed me and I would have helped. But, you’re so stubborn that you refused out help. Storm, you’re our Squad leader. We need you here, unharmed and less hardheaded.” He paused as one of his squadmates opened their link to him. “This is Five five.”

“Sir, it’s Nine Oh,” one of his squadmates called. “We’ve encountered heavy Trandosian resistance at our position. Sir, where are you?’

“I’m coming to you, Doc,” he told him. “I’ve found One nine, but she’s severely hurt and is in need of imminent medical attention.”

“Are you hurt?” Doc asked over the sound of blaster fire.

“I broke a bone in my leg, but I’ll suck it up for Storm’s sake.” He proceeded forward, his limp growing heavier and the pain grew worse.
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