Theron had mentioned Havoc Squad. Dan’ielle hadn’t known what to expect; her only knowledge of Havoc had been through Imperial reports. The former Dark Council Member had not had dealings with the Republic’s elite personally. Not in this case. The voice over the comms was male, sure of himself and she sensed no deceit in the threat. But the reveal was a little bit different. Battered green armor (she could tell parts of it used to be white) rose from the swamps, flora sliding off with the extra water and the mud. Dark hair tied in a tight bun, a few awry strands framing a tattooed face.
A mirialan, and an experienced one at that, if Dan interpreted the markings on the other’s face correctly.
“You’re the Imperial, sorry, ex-Imperial that we were hinted at, huh?” Gloved hands adjust the strap that held an assault cannon to the soldier’s side. “Funny, I didn’t expect someone like you to trudge through Zakuul’s swamps.”
“I could say the same about you, Havoc. You’re hardly the Republic military’s idea of an ideal soldier.” Blue eyes rake the surroundings, picking out several other figures hidden in the swamps. “May as well tell your men to come out of hiding.” A pause, then, nodding in the vague direction of a decent sniper perch, “Him too.”
Havoc no longer looked like the tightly knit group that Dan had heard so much about. It looked like a mishmash of soldiers, with only the cathar sharpshooter and the mirialan commando looking like they could handle themselves in a nasty situation.
“Mind telling me why the Republic’s best would suddenly up and leave?”
“Long story.” And not one Nystaha felt like telling.
