501st--Traitor

Chapter 1: "Give no Quarter"

Star Destroyer Reprisal, creeping through space

Jordal Neglus, Unit number C-647-923, poked the rag's tip into his modified E-11, swabbing out junk from the cool metal barrel. The long sniper rifle had seen a lot of use in the past months, what with Rebels constantly pulling off skirmishes. They had become much bolder since the Death Star's destruction--and far more dangerous. Jordal almost admired the blind courage of the Alliance to fight the greatest power in the galaxy--the Empire.
All around him, stormtroopers cleaned their armor and weaponry, wiping off dirt and dust from the gleaming white plastoid. The 501st Legion, a.k.a. Vader's Fist, were the elite, designated by the deep blue stripes on their armor. These guys were the best trained and best equipped, a force that could not be stopped. Jordal was proud to be one of them and retain peace in the galaxy.
His friend Marcus Drofen, from Dantooine like himself, sat beside him. "Where do you think we'll be headed next, Jordal?"
The young man shrugged without looking up. "Oh, probably Imperial Center. You know, always minor revolts there, outside the Rebels. Lots of drunks deciding they want to start a brawl. Gather a gang and storm the Senate, yada yada yada."
Marcus nodded in agreement. "Well I just heard from Captain Nidel that we're moving any time now. Good thing too; I'm sick of sitting here in the middle of nowhere. He doesn't know where we're going though."
As if on cue, the speaker in the ceiling blared out with the steely voice of an Imperial admiral. "Stormtroopers, put away your gear and buckle in. We enter hyperspace in five, en route to Dantooine." Jordal's heart lurched. Dantooine! He quickly hung up his gear and strapped in, feeling the belt constrict around his body, waiting for that gut-wrenching leap.
Marcus sat beside him. "Dantooine? What could be happening there?"
Jordal couldn't shrug--the belt was too tight. "Dunno. Hope it's not anywhere near our home. Blast those Rebels! They're tearing apart the galaxy. Almost as bad as Hutts."
"Agreed."
Captain Nidel, the wiry, muscular C.O. of C Company, stood at the center of the room with his armor on, E-11 strapped on his back and helmet in one hand. "Buckle up, stormtroopers. We're moving out." He sat and pressed the seat belt button. Four straps leaped like dark tentacles from the seat and thwacked together. Ten seconds later, there was a jerk. Jordal could not see it, but he imagined the stars elongating into millions of bright lines as the Reprisal shot into hyperspace.

Jordal woke with a jerk. He could instantly tell that they had left hyperspace. Again the admiral's voice emanated from the speaker. "Stormtroopers, unbuckle and armor up. Prepare to unload."
Unit C-647-923 felt a tug of apprehension in his gut. Again they were going into action, into the blood and chaos of battle. He shook such childish thoughts from his head. Buck up! You're a stormtrooper, right? He unstrapped and took his armor from its rack.
The ebony body glove and cool white armor felt good and fresh as he stepped into it. He was proud of his armor. It had few scratches or dings, and the blue stripes were untarnished. Jordal saw Marcus donning the white helmet and grinned. They were warriors. He hung his rifle over one shoulder and stuck a BlasTech DC-15 pistol into his utility belt. He was ready.
Minutes later, C Company filed down the great gangplank out onto the dusty street of a backwater town. Good old Captain Nidel was speaking into the company's private frequency. "All right, stormtroopers, brace yourselves. These Rebels are pretty smart, for Rebels. They're armed with traditional weaponry, but they've gotten their grubby paws on a few landspeeders and freight trucks. Do your best not to get run over by those fanatics.
"Here we go, C Company. Show 'em no quarter."

Pretty good.