Deep in space, in a galaxy far far away, there was a planet. At first glance all that could be seen were vast forests, host to all manner of exotic flora and fauna, bright oceans and seas, brimming with small creatures hidden within the waves, and gigantic mountains and gorges, each stone and rock masterfully carved by the elements.
Yet despite the serene views from up above, once you find yourself within the foliage, surrounded by any manner of eldritch abomination you begin to wonder, "Why the Kriff was deployed upon this force-forsaken rock?"
Well... funnily enough as I run through plant after toxic kriffing plant, dehydrated and with nothing but my trusty shovel and armor, I begin to wonder that myself. After a bit of dehydration induced haphazard running I look behind myself, thinking I may have lost my pursuers. I crouch low next to some nearby shrubbery and behind a rotten stump and begin to slowly scan from right to left, my busted rebreather giving a low hiss with each and every rushed intake of breathe.
After a moment of waiting I give out a small sigh, lamenting my situation. I look down to inspect my equipment and armor, thankful that my shovel is still there, wrapped in a makeshift holster, and although a standard durasteel shovel, it was an old friend. Taking a moment to check my utility belt I then moved on to my gritty mud covered armor. Probably some of my finest work, after all gleaming white armor doesn't work in a forest environment so some mud on the ground worked wonders to at least try to conceal myself.
I look down and lean into the stump, briefly closing my eyes, hoping for a brief momemt of respite in my quest to survive, and after what feels like only seconds I am brought back to what happened that seemed like an eternity ago.
....
2 Cycles Prior
CT 713496 or simply "Trench", wasn't exactly the most stable of clone troopers. While nearly identical to his brothers, his mannerisms were what truly set him apart from the rest. Whether it was digging himself a sleeping hole, or raising new fortifications he was the fastest whipping himself into a self induced fervor, and when close enough to an enemy he would forgo any ranged weapon in favor of his trusty durasteel shovel, and all this without uttering a single word most days, using simple hand signals to communicate and talking only rarely on special occasions.
On this particular day Trench was tasked with assisting the