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DISCLAIMER
The following is a fan-based FICTION
All Installations of Star Wars are owned by Lucasfilm and Disney. All Installations of Dune belong to Herbert Properties, Legendary Entertainment, and Warner Bros. And any other references to other works all belong to their respective authors/companies and whatnot.
Chapter 5:
Sharls: Mine 099
"Talking"
'Thoughts'
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Location: Atreides Center of Military Research
Year: 32 BBY
Time: 5:11 P.M
Cade stood at rigid attention inside one of the training and testing facilities on the research center's grounds, his posture straight and unmoving. The room around them was stark and utilitarian, built for function rather than comfort, with durasteel walls scarred by old impact marks and scorched training simulations. Pacing back and forth in front of him was his teacher and mentor, Kellan Moone, boots striking the floor in a steady, deliberate rhythm.
"So repeat back to me what your exact strategy was," Kellan ordered, never breaking his stride.
"My forces were split into three pelicans, so I organized each one into its own unit," Cade replied. Kellan gave a short nod, signaling for him to continue. "Once we landed, I sent one team to serve as a distractionary force, another unit to locate and secure the queen, and my unit moved to capture the Viceroy."
"There," Kellan said sharply, coming to a halt. "What did you do wrong?"
"Uhhh…" Cade frowned, genuinely confused. He ran the operation through his head again, step by step, but nothing immediately stood out. "I don't know."
Kellan's eyes narrowed. "This is why I referred to you as a foundling," he said flatly. "A warrior knows what he did wrong, especially one I taught myself." His voice hardened. "What did I tell you about splitting your forces and attacking from multiple angles?"
"That it only works in surprise attacks," Cade answered quickly, then added with frustration creeping into his voice, "but we were launching a surprise attack."
"The foundling I taught isn't that stupid," Kellan snapped. "Are you that stupid?"
"No," Cade ground out, jaw tightening.
"Good," Kellan said. "So why didn't it work?"
Cade hesitated, then slowly answered, "…Because by the time we engaged, the palace was already acting as the Viceroy's fortress."
"Exactly." Kellan nodded once. "If this had been an open field and you baited them into committing their forces, then struck from the flank or rear, that would be a different situation. Instead, you assaulted a heavily fortified palace crawling with droids. Splitting your forces was not the mistake." He fixed Cade with a sharp look. "You split them too thin."
Cade nodded, the edge of his confidence fading as he absorbed the lesson. After a moment, he asked, "Then what should I have done?"
"Split your forces into two instead of three," Kellan said. "You send one unit to act as the distractionary force, while you personally lead the second to capture the Viceroy."
"But what about the Queen?" Cade asked.
"From the reports I read," Kellan replied evenly, "it seemed she had her situation well in hand and didn't actually need our help." He stopped pacing and turned fully toward Cade. "Besides, I reviewed the casualty reports. The distractionary unit was the force with the most surviving members after the battle. The unit you sent to support the Queen? Wiped out. The unit you personally led to capture the Viceroy? Only two survivors."
"That's not my fault," Cade argued, though the words lacked conviction even as he said them.
"It is," Kellan said immediately. "And you know it." His tone was firm, not angry, but it hit harder than shouting ever could. Cade flinched. "Now that you know it, you can learn from it."
Cade nodded reluctantly, his shoulders tightening.
"Because you tried to rush toward the Viceroy and the throne room to reinforce the second unit," Kellan continued, "you walked straight into a prepared ambush and ended up trapped between four droidekas. If you'd had even half of that second unit with you, you likely would have lost a few men, but you would've broken through instead of being captured."
"I see," Cade said quietly, the words heavy. The realization settled in his chest like lead, leaving him feeling small, exposed, and painfully aware of his own mistakes.
"You will get your chance to prove yourself a warrior in the future. There is no shortage of conflict in the galaxy, no matter how the Republic likes to talk about its thousand-year peace," Kellan said, attempting to soothe his foundling's wounded spirit. "I want you to go over the Al'verde bajur section of the Supercommando Codex and study it again."
"But, Mentor—"
"No. You obviously missed something, just as I did with your training." Kellan's tone left no room for negotiation. "So before you begin whatever research you had planned, you will study. And afterward, you will contact me on your comlink, and we will spar until either you beat me or you drop unconscious."
Kellan fixed him with an unyielding stare through the T-visor. "There will be no arguments. This is your punishment for losing the lives of the men under your command. And if you have any shred of the honor and dignity I tried to impart to you, then you will accept this duty with humility."
Cade stood in silence for several long seconds before finally lifting his gaze to meet the black slit of his mentor's visor. A deathly calm settled in his eyes.
He nodded.
"Then go. I expect your call within the next few hours, and you will bring detailed notes as well," Kellan said before turning and making his way out of the training facility.
————
Three Hours Later...
Clad in simple black sweatpants and a dark green T-shirt bearing the silver falcon of House Atreides on his left breast, Cade walked back into the training and testing facility. A notebook was tucked under his arm, several pages inside filled edge to edge with tightly written notes.
Kellan Moone stood alone in the center of the facility, waiting. He was unarmored, dressed in a plain white T-shirt marked with a single red stripe and the fabled Mythosaur skull, combined with a dagger, emblazoned across the chest, paired with black sweats and dark brown combat boots worn smooth with age.
"Hand them over," Kellan ordered, extending his hand without ceremony.
Cade complied, passing over the notebook. He shifted his weight from foot to foot as the minutes dragged on, the sound of pages flipping echoing softly through the open space while Kellan read in silence, one page after another.
Finally, Kellan stopped.
"You wrote here that during the Battle of Dxun in 3951 BBY, you would have launched a forward assault on the Jedi General leading the attack instead of remaining behind defensive lines, as the Mandalorians did at the time," Kellan said, lifting his eyes to Cade. "Why?"
"Because her forces were already shattered," Cade replied. "By staying behind their fortifications, the Mandalorians gave her time to regroup and, more importantly, time to receive reinforcements."
Kellan nodded once. "Then what would you have done?"
Cade straightened slightly, confidence creeping into his posture. "I would have deployed scouts capable of surviving and evading Dxun's jungle and its wildlife to locate the Jedi General's position. Once confirmed, I'd assemble a small, platoon-sized task force made up of my most capable warriors and send them in. Eliminate her and whatever forces she had left."
He continued without hesitation. "Afterward, I'd seed their former outpost or base with mines. That way, if the Republic ever tried to reestablish a foothold there, they'd walk straight into a kill zone."
Kellan studied him for a moment before nodding in approval.
"Good," he said. "That's the explanation I was hoping to hear when I first taught you about that battle over a year ago. Not 'I don't think they did anything wrong.'"
Cade exhaled slowly, tension easing from his shoulders at his mentor's response.
"Now, before we get started," Kellan began as he shut the notebook and tossed it aside, "I want you to tell me what you would have done if you were Jaster Mereel when he was ambushed by the Death Watch on Korda Six."
Cade hesitated. "You sure, Mentor Moone?" he asked carefully. "I mean… you were there."
"I was," Kellan replied with a slow nod, his expression hard and unmoving. "And I watched as my Mand'alor and my fellow Aka'liit were slaughtered. Now I'll ask again. If you were Jaster Mereel in that situation, what would you have done?"
Cade studied his mentor for a moment, then lowered his head, thinking. "I would have sought more information," he said at last. "All Mereel was told was that a team of rookie security personnel was pinned down by local hostiles. I would have asked what kind of hostiles they were, how many there were, and what they were armed with."
He paused, then continued. "Even then, despite the fact that the True Mandalorians hadn't encountered the Death Watch in years, I wouldn't have assumed they were gone like Mereel did. I would have researched the planet itself, its population, and any ongoing disputes or unusual activity. After that, I would have conducted my own reconnaissance of the area, either with a probe droid or a flyover using one of the Meteor-class drop ships available to him."
As Cade spoke, Kellan listened in silence, offering only the occasional nod or low hum of acknowledgment.
"If that reconnaissance exposed the Death Watch," Cade went on, "then I would either withdraw entirely or launch a surprise attack. I would have used the drop ship's twin blaster cannons to hit their position before they had the chance to react."
"And the Kordans who were involved?" Kellan asked.
"I'd treat them the same way," Cade answered without hesitation. "Either pull out or strike first. Eliminate them before they get the chance to turn on me."
"Good," Kellan said, his tone firm but no longer sharp. "Then it truly was not a waste of time to teach you the Resol'nare and Mandalorian history, foundling."
Cade bristled at the word, his jaw tightening as it always did when his mentor used it as both title and reminder.
"Now," Kellan continued, squaring his shoulders, "are you ready? Because the only way you are leaving this room is if you knock me unconscious, or you are unconscious yourself."
Cade nodded once, slow and deliberate, drawing a steady breath as he centered himself. He knew the outcome was likely not in his favor. Kellan Moone was faster, stronger, and far more experienced. But to hold back would be unforgivable. To hesitate would make him a failure, not just as the future Duke of House Atreides, but as a Mandalorian.
"Then come," Kellan said, lifting one hand and curling his fingers in a silent challenge. "Let me see what you have learned from my teachings, foundling."
Cade planted his feet, felt the solid floor beneath him, and moved forward.
He closed the distance fast, leading with a sharp jab meant more to test than to land cleanly. Kellan shifted his head a fraction to the side, letting the strike pass close enough that Cade felt the slip rather than saw it. Before Cade could follow up, Kellan's hand snapped out and clipped Cade's wrist, redirecting his balance just enough to throw him off rhythm.
Cade adjusted, stepping in with a low kick aimed at Kellan's lead leg. This time it landed, shin to thigh, solid and clean. Kellan grunted but did not give ground. Instead, he caught Cade's leg under his arm and drove forward, forcing Cade to hop back awkwardly before wrenching his leg free and shoving him away.
Cade hit the mat with a skid, rolled, and came back up quickly. His heart was already pounding, adrenaline burning hot in his chest. He circled, hands up, breathing measured. Kellan barely moved, conserving energy, eyes locked on Cade with the calm patience of a predator that knew its prey would make another mistake.
Cade feinted high, then shot low, going for a double leg takedown. His timing was good. His form was clean. For a split second, he thought he had it.
Kellan sprawled hard.
The impact drove Cade's shoulders down, Kellan's weight crashing onto his upper back as one hand slid to the back of Cade's neck. Cade tried to push up, but Kellan shifted his hips and applied pressure with brutal efficiency. Cade felt the air leave his lungs in a sharp exhale.
"Base," Kellan said calmly, as if teaching in the middle of punishment.
Cade forced his knee under himself, twisting his torso and slipping out just enough to break the hold. He scrambled to his feet, narrowly avoiding a knee strike that skimmed past his ribs. He countered with a quick hook that caught Kellan on the jaw.
It landed. Solid.
Kellan's head snapped to the side. Cade felt a flash of triumph.
Then Kellan smiled.
The counter came instantly. A short elbow cracked into Cade's cheekbone, followed by a knee into his midsection that folded him forward. Cade barely had time to register the pain before Kellan wrapped an arm around his neck and wrenched him into a standing clinch.
Cade fought it, driving his forearm into Kellan's hip, twisting his shoulders, refusing to panic. He stomped down on Kellan's foot and shoved off, breaking free just long enough to throw a flurry of punches. Two connected. One grazed. One was caught.
Kellan stepped inside Cade's reach and slammed a palm strike into his chest, knocking the wind out of him again. Cade staggered back, vision swimming, but forced himself upright.
Sweat slicked Cade's palms. His arms already felt heavier than they should. Kellan looked untouched, breathing steady, posture relaxed.
Cade charged again, anger bleeding into his technique. He threw a spinning backfist that Kellan ducked under, then overcommitted on a follow-up kick. Kellan caught it, turned, and dumped Cade onto the mat with a bone-jarring throw.
Cade hit hard, pain exploding across his shoulder. Before he could roll away, Kellan was on him, knee pressed into Cade's abdomen, pinning him.
Cade buckled, bridging with everything he had. He managed to trap Kellan's arm and twist, rolling them both. For a heartbeat, Cade was on top.
Kellan let it happen.
As Cade raised his arm to strike, Kellan shifted his hips, hooked Cade's leg, and swept him effortlessly. Cade was slammed back down, this time flat on his back. Kellan followed him down, transitioning smoothly into side control.
Pressure. Relentless and crushing.
Cade tried to shrimp out, but Kellan anticipated it, sliding into a mount. Cade's chest burned. His lungs screamed. He threw punches upward, weak and desperate, but Kellan caught his wrists and pinned them.
"Think," Kellan said quietly. "Do not thrash."
Cade snarled and headbutted upward, catching Kellan's chin. It stunned him just enough.
Cade took the opening, bucking hard and rolling to the side. He scrambled free and staggered to his feet, blood trickling from his nose. His legs trembled, but his eyes burned with defiance.
He attacked again, more controlled this time. Jab. Cross. Low kick. Another jab. He forced Kellan back a step, then another. He drove a knee into Kellan's ribs that made the older man grunt again.
For a moment, Cade felt like he belonged here, in the heat of the action, in the call for battle.
Then Kellan adjusted.
He slipped inside Cade's guard and unloaded. A body shot. Another. An uppercut that snapped Cade's head back. Cade tried to retreat, but Kellan cut him off, herding him like an animal.
A sweep took Cade's legs out. He hit the mat and rolled instinctively, but Kellan was already there. A choke locked in from behind, arm tight around Cade's neck.
Cade clawed at it, fingers slipping. His vision darkened at the edges. He fought, twisting, straining, refusing to tap.
"Enough," Kellan said, and tightened.
Cade's eyes faded shut, his body falling limp as he was forced unconscious.
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Location: Sharls Mine Entrance 099
Year: 32 BBY
Time: 8:01 P.M
Lieutenant James Stacker held his A270 firmly, peering down its sights from behind the repulsor tank as he waited for the signal. The barricaded cave entrance stood ahead of them, explosives already planted and ready to tear it open at a moment's notice.
Icestorms rolled across the distant horizon, and a steady wind pushed loose frost and snow across the mining site, coating his dull gray armor in a frozen layer. Around him, the Atreides soldiers under his command crouched behind deactivated hovercarts and mining equipment, weapons ready, breaths steady as they prepared for the assault about to begin.
"On your command, Lieutenant," the demolitions expert reported over the comm, the sharp clack of his scattergun's forend sliding into place audible over the channel.
Stacker switched his commlink to broadcast across the platoon's frequency. "Get ready, men! You all know what to expect! These rebels will fight for every foot, every single yard of ground! Do not yield! We are an onslaught! We are unstoppable! We are the Talons of the Atreides Dynasty! For House Atreides!"
"For House Atreides!" the soldiers roared back in unison, their voices filled with fierce conviction.
Switching his channel back to the demolition team, Stacker gave the final order. "Blow it."
A heartbeat later, the charges detonated in a thunderous chain of explosions. Dust, smoke, and shattered rock and ice blasted outward as the ground trembled beneath their boots.
Without hesitation, Stacker surged forward, his helmet visor filtering out the swirling debris and smoke so the ruined entrance remained clear in his view. Behind him, the platoon charged in formation, boots pounding against the ground as they followed their lieutenant straight into the breached mine.
As Stacker pushed deeper into the tunnels, he began noticing the smaller details, the silent clues left behind that told the story of what had happened here. Mining equipment lay scattered across the rocky floor, abandoned as though dropped in sudden panic. Splatters of dried blood marked sections of the walls and the sides of overturned hovercarts, grim evidence of resistance and the violence that followed.
"Some of the miners must've resisted the rebels and paid the price for it," Stacker muttered, his pace slowing as caution replaced momentum. His helmet HUD informed him they were nearly four hundred meters into the mine. According to the briefing, the tunnels stretched nearly a mile underground, and the excavation was still relatively new.
"Means we should be encountering these bastards soon," he murmured, voice low over the comm. "There should be well over two hundred of them, but if my hunch is right and some miners fought back, then that number should be smaller."
He moved to round a bend in the tunnel, only to recoil in alarm as red blaster fire suddenly tore through the darkness, bolts slamming into a turned-over hovercart near the corner.
"Are you alright, Stacker?"
Stacker glanced back to see Staff Sergeant Crisdan Bourne pushing up behind him, the platoon's sergeant already scanning the tunnel with practiced alertness.
"Yeah, thanks, Bourne. That was close."
Bourne advanced cautiously, keeping low before leaning just enough to peek down the tunnel. At its far end, mounted atop a stack of cargo crates was an AH-57 auto blaster turret.
The weapon was a common defensive fixture on Sharls, typically stationed outside mines to ward off bandits, pirates, or the many dangerous creatures that prowled the harsh world. Now, however, it had been turned inward, guarding the rebels' stolen stronghold.
Bourne had to quickly pull his head back as crimson blaster fire erupted from the turret's barrel, streaking past where his head had been just a second earlier. "The only way we'll be able to take that thing out is under continuous fire. It was made to see through sandstorms, so smoke won't work, and it was built to fend off bandits and such, so it'll take more than a few blaster bolts to bring it down. And we don't have the luxury of using explosives in here," Bourne quickly analyzed. Turning toward Stacker, he asked, "So what's the plan?"
"…I'm not sure," Stacker admitted, annoyance creeping into his voice.
"Well, why don't we just have the demolitions specialist get up here with his scattergun and knock over the crates the turret is placed on?" a third voice suggested.
Both Stacker and Bourne looked over to see Sergeant Kirean Pritchett peeking down the tunnel. He swiftly pulled back just in time as several dozen blaster bolts streamed past, slamming into the overturned hovercart and scorching the far wall.
"They're cargo crates, yes, but small ones. His scattergun should be able to shove those things around with a good shot or two, even from this range," Pritchett added.
"Hm. It could work," Stacker muttered, then nodded, settling on the plan. "Good idea, Sergeant." He switched his comlink channel. "Specialist Eldrel, get up here."
There was a brief pause before a voice crackled back through the comm. "Copy that, sir."
Jogging up through the tight mass of Talon soldiers filling the tunnel, Eldrel skidded to a stop a foot away, scattergun clutched in both hands, chest heaving slightly from the sprint.
"Good," Stacker said, pointing toward the overturned hovercart down the tunnel. "I'll rush out and take cover behind that hovercart. That's when you peek out and use your scattergun to knock the turret off those crates."
"Sir?" Eldrel asked, confusion written plainly in his voice.
"Look, I'm not letting you get turned into a scorching mess," Stacker replied. "I'll provide the distraction. All I need is for you to do your job."
"I… uh… yes, sir," Eldrel finally answered, stumbling through the response before nodding firmly.
Stacker readied himself to sprint, muscles tightening, but two Talons suddenly stepped forward.
"We'll serve as the distraction, sir," one of them said.
Stacker blinked. "You will?"
"Yes, sir," both soldiers confirmed, helmets dipping in unison.
Stacker hesitated only a moment, weighing the risk, then stepped back. "Go on my signal."
The two Talons pressed themselves against the rock wall at the bend, ready to break into the open.
Stacker raised his hand, counting down.
"Three… two… one! Go!"
Both soldiers burst into the tunnel at full speed. Instantly, the passage lit up with crimson blaster fire as the turret snapped toward them, its barrel roaring as it tracked the moving targets.
One Talon took a hit to the shoulder plate and stumbled, nearly losing his footing, but he forced himself onward and dove behind the overturned hovercart beside his partner.
"Eldrel! Now!" Stacker barked, spinning toward the demolitions specialist and shoving him into motion before fear could lock him in place.
Smoothly stepping around the rock and into the open, Eldrel moved without hesitation. He braced the scattergun against his shoulder and fired. A thunderous boom filled the tunnel, followed by a second and then a third, each blast echoing violently off the stone walls.
Downrange, the stacked cargo crates shuddered under the impacts before finally toppling, the turret mounted atop them tipping sideways and crashing hard onto the rocky floor.
Smoke curled from Eldrel's weapon as he lowered it, his voice faint beneath his helmet. "It's done."
Stacker moved past him, giving the specialist a firm pat on the shoulder. "Well done."
Without slowing, Stacker rushed up the tunnel with Bourne and Pritchett close behind. The fallen turret lay on its side, its legs twitching as internal servos struggled to right the weapon. Kneeling beside it, Stacker popped open the rear control panel and quickly disabled the power feed.
The turret gave one final mechanical twitch before going completely still.
The two Talons who had drawn its fire arrived moments later, armor scorched but intact.
"Thank you both," Stacker said, nodding to them.
"We live to serve, sir," one replied instantly, the other giving a firm nod in agreement.
The zealous intensity in the young soldier's voice nearly made Stacker step back, but he kept his composure and returned a simple nod. "Let's move. These rebels won't kill themselves."
"Actually, sir… they may have."
Pritchett's voice came from farther down the tunnel. He was already crouched several meters ahead, examining something on the ground.
"What do you mean?" Bourne asked as he, Stacker, and the rest of the unit advanced carefully, rifles raised, every movement tense and deliberate as they approached the sergeant's position.
"There's blood. And lots of it," Pritchett said, rubbing dried flakes between his gloved fingers before letting them fall back to the tunnel floor. "No bodies, though."
Stacker's jaw tightened. He switched to the platoon-wide frequency, his tone sharpening instantly. "Lock up, Besh Platoon. Eyes open and stay alert."
A chorus of acknowledgments crackled back through the comm.
"Let's move."
Rifle raised, Stacker advanced, boots crunching softly against loose gravel and stone. The platoon followed in tight formation, weapons trained on every bend and shadow. Minutes dragged by in heavy silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of armored footsteps and the faint hum of equipment.
Then came the smell.
Iron thickened in the air, metallic and overwhelming, strong enough that even their helmet filters couldn't scrub it completely away. There was blood. And it was everywhere. On the walls. On the floor. Inside hovercarts. On the outside of the hovercarts. Power drills, power picks, and all sorts of other mining equipment coated in a thin, sometimes thick, layer of dried blood.
"Hey… what's that up ahead?" One of the Talons pointed down the tunnel. Every weapon swung forward as confusion replaced tension.
Lying ahead was a heavy mining power drill embedded deep into the tunnel floor. Something writhed beneath it, or rather, what was left of something. A long, worm-like creature had been impaled by the spinning head before it powered down. Thick orange blood pooled around the wound, staining rock and scattered mining debris.
Lance Corporal Rix Sarden pushed through the formation, kneeling beside the corpse with professional urgency. The medic and self-proclaimed platoon biologist leaned close, scanning the body with his visor optics.
"Any idea what it is, Sarden?" Stacker asked.
No answer.
Bourne smirked slightly. "What is it, huh, Bowspritz?" he teased, using the platoon nickname inspired by the legendary Jedi biologist and beast master.
Still nothing.
Nearly a full minute passed, and Stacker's patience began to fray. "Sarden. What is it? Some kind of worm?"
"…It looks like it," Sarden finally said, his voice uneven.
"What do you mean it looks like it?" another Talon called. "You know everything about animals and wildlife."
Sarden didn't move. His gaze stayed locked on the corpse.
"It means… I have no idea what this thing is," he whispered.
Silence settled over the platoon.
"I know every single animal and fauna in the entire Atreides System," Sarden continued, his voice rising with disbelief. "Every. single. one. But this… I've never seen this before!"
His last words came out in a strained shout, equal parts horror, excitement, and confusion, echoing down the tunnel.
"Ignore it," Stacker said firmly, drawing the platoon's attention back to him. "Worms aren't our concern. The rebels are. Once they're dealt with, then we can deal with whatever else is down here. Clear?"
"Sir!" the Talons answered in unison.
"Good. Let's move."
Stacker turned and resumed their advance, his rifle held steady as every sense sharpened. He scanned the tunnel ahead, eyes flicking between shadows and corners, listening for anything out of place. Not only did he have to worry about armed rebels in these tight mine tunnels, but now there was the added thought of unknown creatures lurking beneath the rock. The idea settled unpleasantly in the back of his mind, but he forced it aside and focused on the mission.
As they moved deeper, the environment began to change. The dried red blood they had first encountered gave way to fresher stains, thick and dark where it had pooled along the walls and floor. Soon, streaks of orange blood joined it, smeared across stone and equipment alike. The air shifted with it, the sharp metallic tang mixing with something sour and rotten that slipped through their helmet filters and made several Talons swallow hard.
What unsettled Stacker most was how recent it all looked. The blood no longer crumbled beneath their boots, but smeared and glistened, clinging to the stone as they passed. Every step told him the same thing. Whatever had happened here had not been long ago.
Stacker raised a clenched fist, and the platoon slowed immediately. Weapons came up as they rounded a bend in the tunnel, their movements controlled and deliberate. Roughly a hundred meters ahead, the narrow passage opened into a massive cavern illuminated by harsh floodlights suspended from overhead rigging. Mining drills, loaders, and cargo platforms sat abandoned across the floor, while prefab structures lined one side of the chamber. The shelters had been designed as rest stops for miners, complete with bunks and medical cots, but now they stood empty and silent.
The cavern should have been alive with activity. Instead, it felt wrong. Too quiet. Too still.
Stacker opened his mouth to issue orders when a scream ripped through the chamber. It was raw and unmistakably human, filled with blind panic, and it echoed violently off the cavern walls. Every Talon froze as the sound sent a chill through them, raising the hairs on their necks beneath their armor. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the scream cut off, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating silence.
"Forward. Prioritize caution. We still don't know what we're dealing with or what we're walking into," Stacker ordered as he led the platoon toward the cavern where the scream had echoed.
They stepped out beneath the harsh white glare of the floodlights, and the sight that greeted them nearly stopped them in their tracks. Bodies were scattered across the cavern floor in grotesque disarray. Dozens of miners lay among shattered equipment and overturned carts, their clothes and flesh punctured by golf ball-sized holes. Some were missing limbs entirely, torn away with brutal force. Mixed in among them were the remains of countless worms, split open or crushed, their orange blood smeared across the stone and machinery alike.
"What in the fuck happened here?" one Talon muttered, nudging the limp body of a dead worm with his boot. "There are hundreds of these things all over the place, mixed in with the miners."
"Whatever these worms are, they certainly aren't friendly," Bourne said grimly, his voice tight beneath his helmet as he glanced toward Stacker.
"No. No, they're not," Stacker replied quietly, his gaze sweeping over the carnage.
Another scream tore through the cavern, sharper and closer this time, coming from somewhere to their left.
Every soldier snapped toward the sound. At Stacker's forward hand signal, the platoon advanced, weaving through deactivated hovercarts, abandoned mining drills, loaders, and stacked cargo crates. As they moved, a dark tunnel entrance came into view. Unlike the rest of the cavern, it was swallowed in complete darkness. A mining drill sat just beside the opening, its drill bit thickly coated in drying orange blood.
"Flashlights on," Stacker ordered over the unit-wide comlink as he activated the underbarrel light on his rifle. "Get me eyes on that tunnel."
Twenty-five beams of white light cut through the darkness at once, flooding the tunnel and revealing a sight that would be burned into their memories forever. A towering behemoth stood within, easily twelve feet tall, its form a mass of shifting movement. One massive arm hung at its side, while the other was wrapped around a miner's throat, lifting him helplessly off the ground. Its grip was tight and deliberate, fingers cinched like a noose as the miner's legs kicked weakly.
"Wait…" Pritchett breathed, horror flooding his voice. "That's not muscle and tissue. Those are worms."
The thing before them was not a single creature at all. Its body was composed of thousands of writhing worms, coiling and sliding over one another in constant motion. Embedded throughout its form were chunks of rock and ore, fused together as anchors that gave the monstrous shape structure and weight. The creature shifted slightly, and the worms rippled in response, tightening their grip around the screaming miner.
Silence fell over the platoon as they stared, every Talon realizing at once that whatever rebellion they had come to suppress had become something far worse.
The miner's bloodshot eyes locked onto the soldiers of House Atreides, desperation etched into every inch of his face. In a ragged whisper, barely audible over the hum of weapons and floodlights, he choked out, "H-H-Help… m-mee…!" The plea never finished. A sharp crack echoed through the tunnel as his neck snapped violently to one side. The worm creature released him without warning, and the miner's body hit the rock floor with a sickening thud, crumpling like a discarded sack.
Stacker staggered back in shock as the monster slowly turned its misshapen head toward them. For a long, suffocating moment, man and monstrosity stared at one another in silence, the air thick with dread. Then the creature took a single step forward.
"OPEN FIRE!" Stacker screamed.
Crimson blaster fire erupted instantly, flooding the tunnel as disciplined volleys slammed into the towering mass. Worms burst apart under the impacts, their bodies falling to the ground in scorched heaps as the rocks embedded within the creature shattered and cracked. Dozens, then hundreds of worms dropped lifelessly to the stone. The brief sense of success vanished almost immediately as fresh worms began to pour out from deeper within the tunnel, slithering over one another in writhing waves.
"They keep coming!" a Talon shouted, panic creeping into his voice.
"Keep formation and keep firing!" Stacker ordered, forcing control back into the line.
The command did little to slow the creature's advance. The giant continued forward, its form constantly shifting as new worms replaced those being blasted apart. Then the cavern seemed to grow darker as two more towering shapes emerged from the tunnel behind it. Thousands more worms spilled out across the ground, rapidly coalescing into towering humanoid forms identical to the first.
"Shit! Fall back! Fall back!" Stacker yelled, retreating step by step while firing his A270 blaster rifle into the oncoming mass.
Eldrel stepped forward and unleashed a thunderous blast from his scattergun. The shot tore into the lead monster's chest, obliterating several of the embedded rocks and killing hundreds of worms at once. The creature collapsed instantly, its remaining worms and stones dropping to the floor in a lifeless heap.
"Hold!" Stacker shouted, hope flaring for just a moment as he realized what Eldrel's weapon could do.
The hope died almost as quickly as it appeared. The fallen worms began to writhe again, pulling themselves together as the rocks shifted and locked into place. Another giant rose where the first had fallen. Worse still, four more massive shapes began marching out of the tunnel behind it.
"Belay that order!" Stacker barked. "All soldiers withdraw! Withdraw! Fall back!"
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A/N: Welcome to the fifth chapter of my fic: Star Wars: House Atreides! Any guesses on who our mysterious worm friends could be? And while my partial boxing and MMA training are to thank for putting that fight scene together, I would mainly like to thank Scenic Fights! They're a channel that breaks down martial arts in movies, anime, and shows, and help educate viewers on what they would do differently or whether the move was perfectly executed. Anyway, see ya'll in the next one! Peace!