Preface:
I am not a writer of fan fiction. It feels too much like playing with someone else’s toys. However, as far as writing exercises, I don’t mind a personal jog down such a route. For instance, while showering, perhaps contemplate a better way to handle a messy storyline in a popular film, or waiting at the deli counter for the mumble mouthed idiot to figure out what they want (even though we’ve been in line twenty minutes already), compose concise dialogue to make something more complete (i.e. a quick conversation between Robin and the older police officer in The Dark Knight Rises about how rumors of Batman fighting crime persisted for years after Dent’s death until the full enactment of the Dent act resulted in an end to such tales). It’s like replaying famous chess games. The outcome is set, so no amount of writing on my part will change anything, but it does help strengthen my own set of skills. As such, when I recently received a certain lighthearted challenge, I felt obliged to take the plunge. To that end, I present, A Stormtrooper’s Monologue.
“The trooper in front drops. Keep moving. The trooper next to you drops. Keep moving. We carry the Empire forward but only if we keep moving.
“You hear about it in cantinas. Whispered jokes about the worthlessness of stormtroopers—useless armor; can’t shoot straight. That armor may not seem effective, but it’s about more than blocking blaster bolts. It makes it seem like none of us have fallen. The onslaught of an unstoppable, innumberable horde. And it doesn’t matter how accurate someone can shoot if their bolt is one of hundreds in the air. We are the Emperor’s storm, and one of us doesn’t matter. No one can look out the port of a starship into the vastness of space and think an individual matters. There’s a bigger picture to consider.
“The galaxy is chaos. A billion ways to die in the blink of an eye. Yet, the Empire brings order.
“The mess of democracy under the Old Republic resulted in a catastrophic war. How many died waiting for diplomats to do the right thing? No more. The Empire sees a situation and reacts. No decades of debate. No waiting for space wizards to conjure peace. Send in the troopers and the chaos is quelled.
“Enough victories, and there won’t even be a need for violence. The mere presence of stormtroopers will be implication enough. With every win we make it less likely someone will shoot. That’s why victory at any cost—sacrifice for a more peaceful tomorrow.
“No, I don’t aspire to die. None of us do. They say the disposable mentality came with the clones. Lose one, simply grow another. However, though the tactics haven’t changed much since the Clone Wars, I have seen the victories.
“The Ghorman insurrectionists subdued, the pacification of Mimban, the Rebels driven from Hoth, the defeated terrorists on Bespin. Think about it. The Rebels rarely show themselves going down. It’s always us falling in propaganda reels. How many of them die? I know I’ve shot dozens. Yet their loses are made heroic while ours are shown to be fools racing towards death. A death they inflict.
“Anything except a straight shot. That’s what the instructors said. The armor stops anything except a straight shot. So, the thinking is if a trooper just keeps zigzagging, no worries. Except, how am I supposed to run serpentine in the narrow halls of a starship, space station—we’re charging straight at the shooters. It seems pretty guaranteed a direct hit is coming. Perhaps that’s why we learn to keep moving.
“The trooper in front drops. Keep moving. The trooper next to you drops. Keep moving. We carry the Empire forward but only if we keep moving.
“Sometimes it feels like I’m running from the past. I suppose we’re never far from where we were. It’s called conscription, but I call it salvation. Lifted out of the gutter on a lawless world. The only choices: starvation or becoming ruthlessly feral. I know others among us who’ve escaped slavery through the salvation of imperial conscription. The Empire gave us a chance to be something noble. I still see that terrible past as it haunts my dreams, so I keep moving hoping to leave it behind. With every victory, more planets brought into the arms of the Empire, I know others will see it less. Some won’t even have to wake up in such worlds. They’ll only ever know the safety and security of the Galactic Empire.
“That brighter tomorrow is worth any risk, any sacrifice, and I will bring the storm down on any who oppose that peaceful promise of the Empire. If I die in the process, it is an honor to serve. What would my life, my death, have mattered dying, fighting tooth and claw over gutter trash scraps? At least now, I am making the galaxy a better place. If that’s not worth dying for, what is?”
I am not a writer of fan fiction. It feels too much like playing with someone else’s toys. However, as far as writing exercises, I don’t mind a personal jog down such a route. For instance, while showering, perhaps contemplate a better way to handle a messy storyline in a popular film, or waiting at the deli counter for the mumble mouthed idiot to figure out what they want (even though we’ve been in line twenty minutes already), compose concise dialogue to make something more complete (i.e. a quick conversation between Robin and the older police officer in The Dark Knight Rises about how rumors of Batman fighting crime persisted for years after Dent’s death until the full enactment of the Dent act resulted in an end to such tales). It’s like replaying famous chess games. The outcome is set, so no amount of writing on my part will change anything, but it does help strengthen my own set of skills. As such, when I recently received a certain lighthearted challenge, I felt obliged to take the plunge. To that end, I present, A Stormtrooper’s Monologue.
“The trooper in front drops. Keep moving. The trooper next to you drops. Keep moving. We carry the Empire forward but only if we keep moving.
“You hear about it in cantinas. Whispered jokes about the worthlessness of stormtroopers—useless armor; can’t shoot straight. That armor may not seem effective, but it’s about more than blocking blaster bolts. It makes it seem like none of us have fallen. The onslaught of an unstoppable, innumberable horde. And it doesn’t matter how accurate someone can shoot if their bolt is one of hundreds in the air. We are the Emperor’s storm, and one of us doesn’t matter. No one can look out the port of a starship into the vastness of space and think an individual matters. There’s a bigger picture to consider.
“The galaxy is chaos. A billion ways to die in the blink of an eye. Yet, the Empire brings order.
“The mess of democracy under the Old Republic resulted in a catastrophic war. How many died waiting for diplomats to do the right thing? No more. The Empire sees a situation and reacts. No decades of debate. No waiting for space wizards to conjure peace. Send in the troopers and the chaos is quelled.
“Enough victories, and there won’t even be a need for violence. The mere presence of stormtroopers will be implication enough. With every win we make it less likely someone will shoot. That’s why victory at any cost—sacrifice for a more peaceful tomorrow.
“No, I don’t aspire to die. None of us do. They say the disposable mentality came with the clones. Lose one, simply grow another. However, though the tactics haven’t changed much since the Clone Wars, I have seen the victories.
“The Ghorman insurrectionists subdued, the pacification of Mimban, the Rebels driven from Hoth, the defeated terrorists on Bespin. Think about it. The Rebels rarely show themselves going down. It’s always us falling in propaganda reels. How many of them die? I know I’ve shot dozens. Yet their loses are made heroic while ours are shown to be fools racing towards death. A death they inflict.
“Anything except a straight shot. That’s what the instructors said. The armor stops anything except a straight shot. So, the thinking is if a trooper just keeps zigzagging, no worries. Except, how am I supposed to run serpentine in the narrow halls of a starship, space station—we’re charging straight at the shooters. It seems pretty guaranteed a direct hit is coming. Perhaps that’s why we learn to keep moving.
“The trooper in front drops. Keep moving. The trooper next to you drops. Keep moving. We carry the Empire forward but only if we keep moving.
“Sometimes it feels like I’m running from the past. I suppose we’re never far from where we were. It’s called conscription, but I call it salvation. Lifted out of the gutter on a lawless world. The only choices: starvation or becoming ruthlessly feral. I know others among us who’ve escaped slavery through the salvation of imperial conscription. The Empire gave us a chance to be something noble. I still see that terrible past as it haunts my dreams, so I keep moving hoping to leave it behind. With every victory, more planets brought into the arms of the Empire, I know others will see it less. Some won’t even have to wake up in such worlds. They’ll only ever know the safety and security of the Galactic Empire.
“That brighter tomorrow is worth any risk, any sacrifice, and I will bring the storm down on any who oppose that peaceful promise of the Empire. If I die in the process, it is an honor to serve. What would my life, my death, have mattered dying, fighting tooth and claw over gutter trash scraps? At least now, I am making the galaxy a better place. If that’s not worth dying for, what is?”
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