Chapter 4: Thrust Lever (The Tale of TA-2633 aka “Bulwark”)
Writer / Co-Creator: Elly Hazel
Art / Co-Creator: Marietta Ivanova
The story of Bulwark is part of the stormtrooper stories "The Shadow that hides us from Death" and a prequel to the illustrated story "Bishop’s Hand".
TA-2633 lived his life following three basic principles: Obey orders, stay safe, and blow things up.
And as an AT-AT pilot, life had never been better.
The mission on Wobani was supposed to be a simple one: Storm the labor camp overrun by Rebels, or destroy the camp if it could not be reclaimed.
TA-2633 drove the Imperial Walker known as “Crusher”, through a narrow canyon, leading a garrison of a dozen tanks, two dozen AT-STs, and a hundred stormtroopers on foot.
They had not gone far before a distant roar sounded in the distance.
“What is that?” Compass, his co-pilot, asked.
“It sounds like rushing water,” TA-2633 replied, looking at the scanners, but...no that couldn’t have been right. There was nothing but mud and stagnant ponds for miles around.
TA-2633’s focus snapped to the viewport.
His heart dropped.
A dozen kilometers away and too close for comfort, mud poured into the canyon like an endless waterfall, the gray sludge rushing forward like a nightmarish monster set on devouring everything in its path.
He glanced back to his commander, who stared out the viewport blankly.
“Empire preserve us...” Colonel Starck breathed. He picked up his comm broadcasting to the garrison. “Fall back! Retreat!”
TA-2633 released the thrust lever, flipped switches and turned dials to begin turning the AT-AT around. Far below, tanks backed up at full speed, stormtroopers scattered, and AT-STs stumbled over each other to flee.
Everyone was moving too slow. And the mudslide was moving too fast.
“We’ll be safe up here,” the colonel said, grimly.
“We have to do something ,” TA-2633 protested, his hands reaching uselessly for the main laser cannon’s trigger.
“It’s a loss, pilot,” Colonel Starck replied. “We can’t do anything for them now.”
TA-2633 gritted his teeth. For the first time in his career, he met a problem he couldn’t blast his way out of. Obey orders. Stay safe. Blow things up. TA-2633 sighed, realizing what he needed to do. Life was going so well too.
“Sir,” TA-2633 said, rising from his pilot’s chair. “You have to leave.”
Colonel Starck arched an eyebrow. “No one’s going anywhere. Sit down, pilot. We are safe here.”
TA-2633 nodded to his co-pilot. “You too, Compass. Get out of here. Both of you.”
“Are you mad? We are not leaving, pilot,” Starck stormed towards TA-2633, who shrank reflexively as the colonel loomed over him. “Now, sit down and be quiet.”
TA-2633’s knees knocked together. He always obeyed orders, always. Life was so much easier when he did.
“I’m sorry, sir.” TA-2633 lunged forward and plucked the blaster from Starck’s holster. He leapt back and pointed it shakily between Starck and Compass.
“ P-please, go!”
Compass ran out of the cockpit. Starck did not move.
“This is treason, pilot,” Starck snarled. “You best hope I do not survive that mudslide.”
TA-2633 wished he could have explained. He wished he had time. Instead he charged the blaster. “Go, sir!”
Starck’s murderous glare lasted until he was out of the cockpit and TA-2633 shut the door in his face.
Several agonizing minutes later, TA-2633 spied Starck and Compass’ heat signatures on his radar, emerging from the emergency hatch and joining the rest of the fleeing troopers.
TA-2633 breathed a sigh of relief, then jumped back into his chair, casting the blaster aside.
“Kriff...This is really gonna hurt. Sorry, Crusher,” he said, giving the AT-AT’s dash an affectionate pat.
Drawing in a deep breath, he slammed his fist into the largest of the many side panel controlling the walker’s legs. The cockpit rocked violently. Sparks flew as the control panel hissed and smoked. The walker’s right front and hind leg staggered.
Bracing a boot against the dash, and planting the other firmly on the ground, TA-2633 yanked the thrust lever hard towards him. The walker groaned as it tried to turn around, but its right side failed to comply.
The walker leaned, then leaned farther, legs buckling beneath it.
“C’mon, Crush. Lay down, girl.” TA-2633 glanced out the viewport. The flood of gray muck was less than a kilometer away.
With a strained growl, TA-2633 pulled the lever hard, willing the mighty behemoth to fall.
And with a loud snap, the lever broke free entirely.
“Aw, kriff,” TA-2633 groaned looking at the frayed wires where the lever was once installed.
There was nothing more he could do. He was at the mercy of gravity now.
“Maybe it’ll be quick.” The ground seemed to come up slowly. Mud splashed against the viewport. “Maybe...it won’t hurt. Mayb-”
The walker fell with a violent shudder. TA-2633 was hurled across the cockpit, slamming hard against a far wall. Lights exploded, shrapnel bashed against his helmet, ozone filled his nose through his cracked filter.
When the mud came, it crashed uselessly against the AT-AT’s hull, but it came at the viewport like a herd of stampeding dewbacks, shattering it entirely.
Mud rose around TA-2633, and he struggled desperately to keep his helmet afloat, silt seeping through his fractured vocoder.
When the mudslide finally quieted, the thick sludge had filled most of the cockpit, and TA-2633 found himself clawing desperately at the one wall where a small air pocket still existed. He clung to the interior, heart pounding in his ears, mud slowly pushing through the cracks in his helmet.
A crackle of activity sounded within TA-2633’s helmet. At first he feared it was the screams of his fellow troopers, that maybe his defensive wall had failed.
No...not screams...they were cheering!
Cheers of a hundred fellow troopers, of drivers and troopers and officers, modulated and naked voices alike celebrating the wall that saved them.
“W-whoo…” AT-2633 cheered weakly. The channel crackled and hissed and he knew his voice would not carry beyond his own helmet. Gritty sludge began to coat his chin, rise over his mouth. He breathed hard through his nose.
The cheers echoing through the speakers suddenly broke and died away, replaced with shouts.
“What was that?”
“Did you hear that?”
“I heard it too.”
Footsteps thundered over TA-2633. He heard Compass’ voice. “He’s still in there! Crash! Get that blowtorch.”
“Got it, Compass! Hey pilot, if you can hear us, hang in there, buddy! We’re comin’!”
Tears stung AT-2633’s eyes. They wouldn’t make it in time. He knew that blowtorch was going to take more than the few minutes he had left.
He wished he could thank them. He wished he could say goodbye.
He sank...and wished he could blow something up one last time.
As if to answer his wish, a muffled explosion shook TA-2633. Metal shrieked around him, mud sloshed around his helmet, his ears rang, his ribs screamed, and he felt himself being dragged out of the cockpit into the cold night air.
No...not dragged... TA-2633 corrected looking down and realizing he was floating a half-meter over a scorched hole on Crusher’s cheek.
It was raining. The mud and dirt washed away from his helmet, revealing gray skies, a pale fallen walker, and a dozen stormtroopers surrounding the being who was keeping TA-2633 afloat.
“You were safe within the cockpit, pilot.”
To say Darth Vader was fearsome was an understatement. TA-2633 couldn’t remember the last time he had seen anything more terrifying. And here he was, dark lord of the Sith, just standing there with his arms folded.
Kriff, he’s talking to you, pilot! Say somethin’!
“Yeah, I was,” was all TA-2633 could think to say.
Vader tilted his helmet ever so slightly. The rain began to lighten. Somehow it fell around the floating pilot and the Sith lord, coming down heavily on the rest of the troopers.
“You sacrificed safety to create a bulwark.”
TA-2633 shrugged and dropped his gaze to the ground, half a meter below him. “Yeah, but...why should I be safe over everyone else?”
Vader’s bulbous dark lenses were unreadable. “Why, indeed.” He turned and leapt down from the AT-AT’s head.
TA-2633 dropped to the ground moments later, his legs nearly giving out beneath him.
Crash and Compass ran forward to catch him.
“Hey, we got ya, pilot.” Crash said, patting his back. “Pilot...you got a name?”
“TA-2633,” Compass said.
Crash’s scoff came out staticky through his vocoder. “Nope, not good enough. Vader said ya made a bulwark, we’re callin’ ya Bulwark now. You good with that?”
TA-2633, now Bulwark, looked up at the trooper. A name. He never really needed one before, being safe, obedient and the faceless hand behind an Imperial walker’s gun.
“Y-yeah...yeah I’m good with that.”
“Hey what’s that?” Compass asked.
Bulwark looked down at his hand.
His fingers were locked tight around his walker’s broken thrust lever.
“Lucky charm, I’m thinkin’,” Crash said, clapping a hand on the pilot’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” Bulwark replied. “I guess it is.”