There was little left to say (and Fel hated hearing his voice through Imperial vocoders... felt like the past catching up with him, and he didn't need the reminder) so he simply took a heading, sighted in his T-21 and digitally connected it to the helmet's tac readout, checked the area at the bottom of the ramp for any signs of movement or life, and went back to button up the ship. Jet looked like he had been poured into the uniform, it fit like a glove. Whether he'd ever admit it or not, his physique made being a Stormtrooper look good. And Aellyn? ...Fel stifled the urge to make a joke about needing to run the plastoid plating through the cleaners' a couple more times, gave the thumbs-up, and moved out. 

There was an ever-present wind that sand blasted the armour with anything that Lotho could whip up. Fel kept them on their main heading, deviating only to avoid mounds of refuse that looked more like trouble than actual traversable geography. All things being equal, they made good time. More than once, either Fel or Jet spotted something that the UA could possibly use in the future (or six weeks ago...) but they did their level best to not look like kids in a candy-shop, instead marking locations with transponders for retrieval later, keeping on task. Still, it wasn't every day you were faced with a you-pull parts lot that covers a whole planet, and actually has parts for an 150+ year old vessel. Fel was occasionally lazy, often cash-strapped... but mostly, the main reason the UA was always in need of something was that the parts were hard to find, or that more efficient, newer components needed heavy modification (thank you, Jet.)

As they fell into routine (checking heat signatures, moving in formation, double-checking headings, checking the tight spots and possible threats...) Fel thought of the task at hand, Abelene and her people, the promise of credits filling their fuel tanks and bellies. It gave him focus, determination. Time counted on, and keeps countin'. They had covered better than four of the five kilometers in a little over an hour. The terrain was deceptively troublesome, and they were taking every precaution to not be seen, especially as they neared the settlement, and the greater concentration of Imps.

There was as many variations of Stormie helmet as there were hot meals in a month. Most looked indistinguishable from the outside, aside from the obvious snow trooper, and scout troopers, and the paint and unit insignia of individual squads, mostly added in the field. Luckily, most variants did not include a target reticule. (heh.) The helmets Fel had acquired were pretty stripped-down, no datapad uplinks, no vacuum capability... just the standard issue polarized lenses and toxin scrubbers. It wasn't unlike Fel's pilot's helmet. Images of Dantooine flashed through Fel's mind. The fire... always the fire... 

Galdaart shook his head to clear the images, steadying his breathing. Calling a halt to the group, he took another bearing and called the others forward. [color=f7941d]"Settlement's just over that rise, I make it a little over 500 meters. ImpStar is on the far side of the settlement, drydocked in a valley to the East. Fastest route, and best chance of getting our hands on an Imp uniform is to move straight through town. Game faces, folks. Don't feel like you need to quote Imperial regs here... just act like you own the place."[/color] Fel checked the load in the T-21, its near-3" bore more than a little intimidating for anyone unlucky enough to be on the receiving end, and moved off toward Derrivan's Point.