I have integrated myself in this company of Stormtroopers. They are a truly fascinating people to witness. Despite popular opinion, these are not family men. Their indoctrination includes no attachments outside the Empire lest they are called up to raze a home town to the ground. And on that point I have been amazed to see how the induction wipes away the memory of relevant families. Any that initially wash out are left with broken minds for the trouble; unsuitable for another vocation.
I have avoided such measures by assuming the identity of one of their comrades. The poor fellow fell in battle while I had been waiting for some opportunity to study this community up close. And not only had they forsaken their friend (which here I will use the term loosely) but then all I had to do was attend to the serial numbers on my newly acquired uniform and they thought me the same man.
They were only slightly amazed to see "me" still alive and I received congratulatory swats on the back for the trouble. This turned out to be a cursory comradery, which I shall speak more on later.
Suffice to say that I chose my timing well. The barbarity had ended by the time I reported for duty to them, and we adjourned to the landing craft in which we could be transported to the Star Destroyer.
Now this vessel is a marvelous feat in engineering considering the savage society it represents.
That a dozen such undertakings should be laudable enough, but the Empire possesses at least one of these ships for a dozen star systems and perhaps more still after that.
This is the lot of unpopular government, but the tangible resistance to the regime appears so minimal that I cannot imagine why the Empire would commission so many. Except, for the fact that to successfully press the citizenry into service in concert with the aforementioned conditioning serves to reduce the pool of upstarts that can make waves in the galaxy.
And there has seldom been a defection, which brings me to the topic of friendship. Confidences are not made nor kept. As stated, rare, desertions are an obsession and frequently checked for. Had I directly asked about them, the taboo is such to have likely landed me under the pain of torture for information. Rather, I quickly surmised that the way to these men's minds is to pose my questions in the form of complaints; away from the officers. But such discussions must keep to other individual's competence and never infringe upon the good of the Empire.
I have seen a handful of times where one Stormtrooper
challenged another if whether he was questioning the Empire.
This generally spells an end to any conversation that was taking place.
Occasionally, I have even witnessed a superior officer
cowed by such a response from a Stormtrooper.
Their faces are uniform in and of themselves. I was terrified at the first time removing our helmets. Every head shaved clean, and stone expressions, with only the business of equipment maintenance about them. I feigned the fatigue I imagined one would have after being shot and patched together and excused myself for the purpose of shaving clean. I had already assumed that there would be no beards permitted, but these men are kept so without character that I'm amazed the Empire bothers with the formality of the helmet.
In keeping with my hypothesis, the Empire must be loath to reveal the living droids they have created. Certainly, the helmets herald a certain degree of intimidation, but I would argue that these men's naked expressions would serve far better. The upshot would be if whether the truth would prove so revolting that every last star system with a conscience at its center couldn't abstain from revolution any longer.
This may be a mute point after all. It turns out the rebellion is already far larger than I had been led to believe. What is intriguing from my study is that the Stormtrooper holds no concept of an organized opposition. I think such a notion cuts too much against the grain in their training.
Instead, every landing to take a rebel base, every boarding party, each action is treated as an isolated incident in their minds. Far more than the commitment of the average soldier, the enemy is forbidden to be coordinated, to so much as exist between battles, until the unit is informed that they do.
This affords a remarkable degree of focus since there is never any question in the Stormtrooper's mind of a groundswell large enough to overwhelm the Empire. A Stormtrooper does not track the trend if his enemy is becoming weaker or stronger over time. That is the business of the officers.
To that, the officers are obeyed, not respected. There is no room for the Stormtrooper to have divided loyalties from the Empire. Any order that appears too far against the Empire will be met with retribution. And in such cases if after review the action is deemed appropriate then the Stormtrooper is never commended, which would bear the threat of suggesting he could have done anything other than act on behalf of the good of the Empire.
So I have been in the company of these men along a series of campaigns and gotten away with intentionally missing the enemy, thus far. And this additional time with them has revealed a phenomenon which was obscured by my, shall we say, miraculous resurrection.
Their apparent callous regard for one of their fallen overturns once the battle has ended. No one may order them off the battlefield before all the bodies are recovered. This is an opportunity to discover wounded, but the Stormtrooper does not set out with this hope. Over each body they have assumed the role of his honor guard and carry each fellow with ceremony. Any hand lent from a non-trooper is always rebuffed. And then they speak over them.
They do this reciting the promise to each man that their sacrifice has advanced the will of the Empire. So I wonder, that if this is what they have come to expect from one another then, if any Stormtrooper were to forget his training to go retrieve his comrade in the middle of an engagement and his friend were still alive if the rescued man would not kill his savior for considering it a betrayal.
I have yet to see such a break in discipline.
Indeed, as I said, confidences are not kept. And while each man is self-assured of that final advancement he expects to be spoken over him in the end, the Stormtrooper is constantly on the lookout for signs of treachery to fill the loyalty check reports with. It should be impossible for any of us to become close, except, for the fact in my case they have saved my life on numerous occasions.
I am undergoing the emotional attachment that likely was intentionally trained out of them: gratitude.
Without the proper training and closet pacifist I am, I am lucky to be alive after these many missions due in no small part to the unit. Despite it all, I think I am liked. In the chaos of battle they do not know that I have not taken the life of the enemy. I do not know for certain. But in turn I perform what is denied them. I mourn when the unit is broken.
I can remember no greater loss than at the Death Star's destruction. This was when a small band managed to thwart the culmination of the Emperor's reign. And after that, an increasing number of rebel ships answered the call. I noticed the trend in more and more boarding parties. I tried to hint at the danger to my unit, but they would not heed the threat.
Every ship would be taken with minimal resistance, always by the numbers. I came to relax when the time would come for these operations. Though, the casualties whittled us down. I can recognize so little in the men around me that I'm not sure if I'm still serving in the same unit anymore.
So I have resolved not to lose another man, to preserve the unit. Now we have been assigned to the forest moon of Endor. Here, the savages make us bury uniforms. Little tree demons who will come night or day, they don't care. They remain impossible for us to see either way. There are no dead until we find some armor, empty.
But morning or night I could see our avenging angel there in the sky. Little did I know that one day it would flare like the sun. And for us the Empire might as well have died. There were no barricks to fall back to. We fought from caves, but the beasts always found other ways in. At least I never had a qualm about killing them.
We began to turn on each other as beards grew beneath the helmets. We were as Endor's demons.
Then I was alone. I shed the armor and had only the body glove beneath. The Empire was still looking out for me then. The glove prevented the need for a fire at night.
What I need most is to find some game.
One day I heard some rustling in the bushes and fired blindly. I discovered one of the furry savages, dead. He (I presume) wore the bones and regalia of a shaman. Next, his clan members came upon me wearing his attire and I presented something of a curiosity. I doubt I shall be leaving Endor any time soon. For my part there is another opportunity for study.
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