Prologue

Admiral Ulan Hasses, commanding officer of the Fondor Shipyards and surrounding sector of space, stood at rigid attention as he waited for the doors before him to open, but while his arms, legs, torso, and even his head remained focused in precise military stance, his eyes were wondering around his surroundings. This was the first time he had been to Imperial Center since before the debacle of Endor, and while much of the city itself had not changed, there were subtle differences in the way the government was being operated, almost as if with a colder and deadlier fashion than when the Emperor and Lord Vader were alive.

The waiting area to which he had been escorted to was nothing more than an archway, standing between the door to which he had been summoned to and the lift car that had taken him there. He could see no visible windows, no electronic devices, no monitoring equipment, and no defensive technology, but he knew that he was being watched. Subtle, with no overt motion from their direction, they had been watching him since the moment he arrived, and he had no doubt that they could cut him down within two seconds were he to try anything.

His eyes darted to the two Royal Guardsmen flanking the door, searching to see if he could detect any kind of expression behind their black faceplates. He had heard stories about their ferocity, their abilities, and especially their unwavering loyalty, but had never had the experience of having seen them in person before. They were, indeed, intimidating, for which they had been made to do so, and for the briefest of moments Hasse wondered how anyone could command their devotion the way the past and present masters of the Galactic Empire had done so.

"Admiral Hasse," came a very low and even voice, the doors opening slightly. "Come in, Admiral, we have much to talk about."

Giving the two Guardsmen one more look, Hasse pulled slightly on his uniform tunic and stepped through the doorway and into the most expansive office he had ever seen on Imperial Center. Because of the enormous population in the planet-wide city, space was at a premium, even more so than that of a ship cosigned to war, and to see such lavish and expanse in the heart of clutter made his heart skip a half a beat. Briefly, he wondered how such an office could even exist on this planet, but concluded that such was the way with ultimate power: once you had it, there was no one who would dare to attempt to take it away.

Unless, of course, they were Rebels.

Before him, behind a large fijisi wood desk, sat a strikingly handsome woman with flowing black hair augmented by two white streaks. She wore an Imperial military uniform with the rank of a full admiral, but instead of it being gray it was a blood red, and there were no code cylinders present. Her face was lean and stern, and one would almost dare to call it beautiful if not for the mismatched eyes she had, one being a molten red, the other an icy blue.

She was, of course, Ysanne Isard, Director of Imperial Intelligence and the de facto ruler of the Galactic Empire.

And she did not seem to be pleased.

"Have a seat, Admiral," she said in a cold, pleasant tone, gesturing to a chair in front of her desk.

Hasse did so, his expression as neutral as he could make it, and he dearly hoped that he had not in some way displeased her. While it was true that Isard was a gifted tactician and strategist, she was also known as being very deadly when things did not go the way she had envisioned. In fact, he mused to himself, had she been fully in control of the Empire at the time when his forces came under attack by the Rebels at Fondor instead of still consolidating her newly gained power, he had no doubt that she would have dealt with him in an excruciatingly violent and horrendous fashion for his failure in the battle. Perhaps that's why I'm here now, he thought to himself.

As if she could sense his thoughts, Isard leaned forward and peered down at the man, despite the fact that he was a good ten centimeters taller than her. "You are not here to be punished, Admiral Hasse. In fact, you're being rewarded."

"Rewarded?" he said in disbelief.

"Yes, rewarded. Rewarded with the chance to both placate your own vengeful pride and to eliminate a growing obstacle in my plans for the future. You are, no doubt, familiar with who Vice Admiral Corben Ull is, and his Third Fleet?"

Hasse stiffened in his seat and did his best not let the resentment show. "I am, Madam Director."

"Have you been keeping up to date on his actions of late?"

He paused cautiously, forming the words in his mind before he responded to her; an incorrect response could be just as deadly for him as an error in military judgment. "I know that his forces made a successful capture of the Anaxes Shipyards, as well as a few, but mostly erroneous, subsequent operations around the same sector of space. I'm afraid I don't know much beyond that, Madam Director."

"Honesty is good, Admiral," she said with a cold smile. "It has come to my attention that the Imperial forces in that sector are not having much success is dissuading Ull's incursions. In fact, I've recently learned that besides a single task force and some static defenses, the rest of his fleet is constantly probing the various systems around Anaxes for any sign of Imperial decline. This brings about a rather interesting notion for me."

Hasse waited patiently, knowing full well from his own experience as being a flag officer, that when a superior was explaining things to a subordinate, they did not usually offer open-ended invitations for comments or suggestions. In fact, he rarely heard of any military commander who did, and had often considered it a universal rule for military forces.

"I'm sending you to that sector, Admiral, to take command of all Imperial operations and to, for once and for all, put an end to the Rebel presence in the area. I take it you would not be averse to smashing Ull's fleet out from under him?"

"Not at all, Madam Director," replied Hasse with complete honesty. "However, what will become of Fondor in my absence, if I might inquire?"

"It will be left in the capable hands of another admiral, you need not worry about your little military empire out there." She folded her hands on the desk and continued to peer down at him. "Now then, before I send you on your way, I wanted to inform you that you'll be given a senior subordinate, your main operations person. I want you to utilize this person because he has a reputation for being ruthless when needed, and docile when wanted. He'll be able to put forth any operation you have planned with the best of his abilities."

"If I may inquire as to whom this person is, Madam Director?"

"Vice Admiral Orlando West."

The name was like a vibroblade in Hasse's gut, twisting in such a fashion that it would never close clean. Everyone above the rank of commodore knew about West and his rise within the hierarchy of the Navy, but only a select few knew just how ruthless and unmerciful he was capable of displaying. The man made Krennel look good, and that was a stretch. "West, Madam Director?"

"Yes. He's had mild success in dealing with elements of Ull's Third Fleet, and, like you, he has a personal score to settle with them. Surely you would not begrudge having a man of his talents part of your command?"

Hasse knew he was being tested, and despite the dangers he knew he would find himself in, he wanted very much to give an honest answer to Isard's question. However, he also knew that he would more likely than not end up dead by doing so. "No, Madam Director. He's a fine and capable officer, and I look forward to working with him."

"Excellent," she said, a false cheerfulness coming across her face. "Then I shall not keep you any longer; your official orders, of course, will be relayed to you through the proper chain of command, but I wanted to let you know about this personally."

"Thank you, Madam Director," Hasse managed, his mind still reeling with the twist this assignment had just given him. "How else may I please you?"

"By destroying the Rebel's Third Fleet and returning victorious, Admiral," she said, standing behind her desk. "That is all I have for you."

"Thank you, Madam Director," Hasse said, standing and giving a sharp salute in her direction, despite the fact that he knew it would not be returned. He waiting two seconds, then withdrew his salute, turned, and walked towards the doors, which opened as if sensing his approach. He continued through, not bothering to even subtly look at the Guardsmen this time, and strode right into the lift car, the doors sliding shut behind him and the car beginning to move downward.

It took only a matter of minutes for the car to stop, and the doors opened once again, this time on the secondary shuttle bay that he had arrived in earlier. Looking around he spotted his personal pilot, standing patiently beside the Lambda-class Shuttle that they had arrived in and started walking towards them both. It didn't take long before he had greeted his pilot, walked up the ramp of the shuttle, and settled himself into the VIP crash chair inside the inner cabin.

A few minutes later he heard the engines start up, and soon after the small, almost undetectable movement as the shuttle lifted off the deck and moved forward. It was several minutes more until he felt the slight inertia as the craft went through the atmosphere, past the planetary shield openings, and out into the vastness of space. It was even several more minutes until he felt the lurch of the vessel making the jump to lightspeed as it flew towards Fondor.

It was only then, nearly an hour after the meeting had ended with Isard, that Hasse felt comfortable enough to even think about how very much he was up to his hips in Bantha droppings.

Captain Leucas Miller stood in front of the main landing pad, his hands behind his back and legs slightly spread in a standard parade rest formation. He looked up and saw the Dx-9 Stormtrooper Transport descending towards the pad and felt his throat tighten in brief anticipation. He had known for nearly four months that this day was coming, that he would finally be held accountable for the actions of what happened...and yet, he was almost calm and indifferent to the situation.

The plan was simple, and for the most part worked: he and others had believed that if they were to leak the supposed location of an important scientist–one who was believed to have been responsible for the creation of the Death Star battle stations–then the Rebels would send in a special operations team to retrieve him. The team would then be ambushed by Imperial forces and terminated on the spot, depriving the Rebels of a highly valuable unit, and, indeed, the majority of the operatives were killed, but not all of them.

Thanks to the actions of a squadron of X-wings and the surprise intervention by a pair of Headhunters and a YT-2400, the special operations unit was not completely wiped out, and Miller had no doubt that they had already began rebuilding and training. Perhaps they were already engaged in new operations, but all of his contacts within Imperial Intelligence did not know for certain one way or the other–either that or they were under strict orders not to tell him. However, while the entire unit had not been killed, he was able to capture one of the pilots from the X-wing squadron.

Miller's right hand instinctively went up to the scar on his head that he had received due to dealing with that prisoner. He gave a slight frown as he remembered being foolish enough to allow him to escape, and in doing so, Miller had assured his eventual destruction at the hands of Director Isard.

He returned to his parade rest formation as the transport began its final touchdown procedures on the pad, his mind reeling from the ramifications of its arrival. It was a scheduled arrival, to bring relief troops and supplies to the Esseles System's garrison, but Miller knew, almost instinctively, that they had also arrived because of him. In that spirit, he also knew that either he would die soon on the planet, or be taken to Imperial Center to see Isard herself; and yet, he still felt no fear from that realization.

The transport eased onto the pad and began it's shutdown procedure, Miller waiting patiently nearby. It wasn't long until the rear hatchway opened and out walked a quintet of Humans, four Stormtroopers in a box formation with an Imperial Naval officer in the center. The officer was about the same age as Miller, perhaps slightly younger, and also held the rank of a captain, and was also carrying a black case in his left hand.

The quintet walked towards him and the officer in the center came to attention and saluted. "Captain Joehansin, on orders from Command, here to relieve you of your command of the Esseles System garrison."

Miller returned the salute. "I stand relieved, sir. Do you have orders for me?"

"Yes, sir," said the officer, as he opened the case and took out a datapad, handing it to Miller. "I'm sure you'll find them...intriguing."

Miller eyed the man for a moment, not sure what he meant by the comment, and then took the datapad. He looked at it intently, reading carefully to make sure he didn't mistake anything, and felt the corners of his mouth tug into a smile. He had expected the orders to contain a description of his impending death, but instead they outlined his new assignment; command of the Imperator-class Star Destroyer Conflagration , flagship of the Sixteenth Imperial Fleet.

He had cheated death again, although he was not happy finding out that the Sixteenth had been recently put under the command of Admiral Hasse. The man was a competent enough flag officer, but the battle at Fondor had eroded popular support for him amongst his subordinates. Nevertheless, Miller was getting a second chance to prove he was of some worth to Isard. And this time, I won't let someone as misguided as that nurse get in my way.

He placed the datapad in his pocket and saluted Joehansin once again. "Thank you, Captain. I assume that the transport and these escorts are for me?"

"That they are, sir." He returned the salute. "Good luck, sir."

"And to you, sir." Miller turned slightly and walked towards the transport, the Stormtroopers falling into step around him. He walked up the ramp and headed for the cockpit while the hatchway closed behind him. And so begins a new chapter.

Chapter One

Vice Admiral Corben Ull frowned slightly as he sat at the conference table, the hologram of Admiral Ackbar standing before him and two of his task force commanders. "Sir, with all due respect," said Corben, "I realize the need to maintain security around this installation, but we've been here for six months. Surely if the Imperials were going to strike back at us with enough force to attempt to recapture Anaxes, they would have done so by now. We can't afford to limit ourselves to this one area."

"I agree with you, Admiral," came the grave voice of Ackbar, "but the fact remains that we cannot afford to leave the shipyards undefended while the Sixteenth Imperial Fleet is still in operation throughout the Azure Sector. Can you give me an update on your progress against the Imperials in that regard?"

Corben turned to the two task force commanders and gave a brief nod in their direction. "That's why I asked Rear Admirals Maxe and Joon to sit in on this meeting, sir. Their task forces have been the ones who've had direct contact with routing the Imperial forces from this sector. Admiral Maxe, if you would, please."

A lean woman in her late forties with a crisscrossed scar on her left cheek cleared her throat slightly before leaning forward in her seat. "While we've engaged several ships throughout the sector on various occasions, we have had little success in destroying their forces. We have, however, had some victories; the destruction of a supply convoy, the capture of a Victory-class Star Destroyer, and so on, but those are relatively small victories compared to the overall abilities of the Sixteenth Imperial Fleet. Despite those setbacks, however, we have in comparison lost little in the way of our own forces. We're in a standoff, tactically speaking."

"I would have to concur with that assessment," said Rear Admiral Ulec Joon, a Sullustian. "I've likewise encountered many situations such as the ones that Admiral Maxe has outlined. To be frank, sir, the Imperial forces in this sector are not well coordinated, and they're a bit more fractured then one would see this close to the Core worlds, but they're still competent."

"Unfortunately , their abilities have most likely just jumped up a notch or two," said Ackbar, his bulbous eyes blinking. "NRI has just communicated that the Sixteenth is getting some new additions to their order of battle, as well as their command structure. The Wisdom of the Emperor is being sent to take command of one of their task forces under the command of Vice Admiral Orlando West, which I am sure you have read about."

"Yes, sir," said Corben. "The Morning Star had several encounters with him during their escort of Councilor Organa months ago. However, I, personally, have never had to deal with the man."

"No, but you have dealt with the new commanding officer of the fleet. Admiral Ulan Hasse has been given command of the Sixteenth, aboard the Conflagration. NRI contacts have been able to find out that he has been charged with pushing us out of the sector at all costs; I'm afraid, gentlemen, that your encounters with the Imperials are about to escalate drastically."

Corben frowned visibly towards Ackbar. "Hasse? I thought he was in command of the Fondor defenses? And considering what happened during the battle there, I'm still surprised that Isard hasn't booted him out of an airlock. She's not exactly known for being forgiving of failure."

"Yes, our analysts have come to much the same conclusion, but I can only surmise that she's using his desire for vengeance against your assault on Fondor to help him in his operations within the sector. He's likely going to start with a scouting mission of the Anaxes system to see about the possibilities of a direct assault against your forces. I'd suggest that you begin preparing appropriate defenses."

Corben thought for a moment before replying. Normally, he kept at least two of his four task forces on a station keeping defense of the shipyards while the other two were split up into smaller flotillas and single ship scouting units to patrol the nearby systems. However, for a full defense of the shipyards, his entire fleet would have to be present, which would severely hinder his offensive abilities in the region.

Unless...we make Hasse think we're too weak to warrant his complete force.

"Admiral, if it is alright with you, I'd like to confer with my officers and staff and see if we can come up with a defensive measure that wouldn't require us to put too much in the way of firepower. I've fought Hasse, sir, and I can say for certain that he is not the most brilliant of tacticians. We can fool him, I am certain of it."

"Be careful about pride, Admiral Ull, lest it bring forth a fall you are not capable of surviving."

Corben felt his cheeks redden at the rebuke, but knew that the Mon Calamari admiral was speaking from extensive experience, having seen Grand Moff Tarkin take immense pride in his accomplishments before he fell into death and destruction aboard the first Death Star. "Of course, sir. I would never let my personal feelings get in the way of my duty and ability to discharge them for the New Republic. I was merely stating that I believe Hasse will let his own assessments of the situation win out against the logic of the situation; he did that at Fondor, and from what I've been able to ascertain from his dossier, he has a predictable pattern of doing so."

"Very well then, Admiral, meet with you people, and let me know what you plan."

Captain Devin Tremmel looked out the forward viewport of the Nebulon-B-class Frigate Vendetta, staring at the various starships rendezvousing in deep space, far away from the peering eyes of the Rebels and their damnable spies. And, sadly, far away from civilization, too. He took one more look at the starships, several of them Star Destroyers of varying classes, and gave a wistful inner sigh before turning away.

Nearly a year ago, he had been in the command of a Star Destroyer; in fact, he had been in command of a small flotilla of starships, until the Rebels came and ruined everything. He could still remember the lashing that Director Isard had given him, and he continued to dislike the idea of the Empire being under the command of the Director of Imperial Intelligence, but he dared not voice that opinion outside of his own thoughts; the woman had a penchant for spies amongst the military.

A brief flash caught his eye and he turned to see the silhouette of an ISD passing by him as the ship decelerated from hyperspace. For a moment, he couldn't recognize the starship, but then noticed the subtle changes in design than that of a standard ISD and gave a curse under his breath. He had known that the Wisdom of the Emperor was going to be coming, and had known that West would be one of his direct superiors, but knowing did little to placate the feelings he was experiencing. To him, West was a ruthless, merciless man who cared for little else than his own desires; sadly, much the way many in the Imperial military were following the death of the Emperor.

Tremmel turned away from the viewport and walked towards the command chair on the cramped bridge. The Nebulon-Bs were not built for space; indeed, they were not even built to be a longstanding ship of war, but due to the way the war was going, they had become a often-seen vessel throughout the galaxy. The fact that Tremmel himself had come to be in command of one was a situation that still made his blood boil, and knew that he would get his revenge eventually.

"Captain."

Tremmel looked up at his communications officer with a slight annoyed expression on his face whenever he heard that rank being uttered to him. "Lieutenant."

"Sir, we've just received a communiqué from the Wisdom. Admiral West sends his compliments, and wishes you to attend dinner aboard his ship this evening."

He frowned slightly and then nodded his head. "Yes, I'll attend." I won't like it, but I'll attend.

Hasse sat down at the head of the long dinning table aboard the Wisdom and grunted to himself. Traditionally, he would hold such a function aboard his own flagship, but Admiral West had been the first to invite him–and several others–aboard his starship for a dinner amongst the various commanders of the fleet, the most junior of which was Captain Devin Tremmel of the Vendetta, a somewhat minor and comparatively unimportant starship within Hasse's main task force. He had, of course, accepted the invitation, and had turned it into his own gathering.

He smiled and took the glass of Corellian ale in his right hand, holding it up above the surface of the tabletop. "A toast," he spoke softly, though his voice was loud enough to be carried all the way down the table. "To the day when we have finally routed the Rebels from the galaxy, and order will once again be returned to the Empire. To order!"

"To order!" shouted the various officers along the sides of the table, though Hasse took note that West, sitting at the other end, did not seem to share his sentiments.

"A problem, Admiral?"

All eyes shifted to the other end of the table and Hasse felt a slight sympathy for the man; no one liked to be addressed to in such a casual fashion, and hardly an admiral in the Imperial Navy. But, apparently West was able to take it all in stride. "I would just like to remind the admiral that even the Emperor was unable to rout the Rebels, and he died because of such a mistake on his part. One would be foolish to believe that they are so easily defeated, and one would be even more foolish to think that they had the power to do so while everyone before were unable to do so."

The room was a deadly silence, even the stewards not daring to move after the statement made. To word such open defiance towards the Empire's leadership, past and present, was to invite a sudden and often deadly response from a superior, perhaps even from the highest echelon of leadership. Clearly, everyone was waiting for Hasse to make a response to what West had said.

However, Hasse knew that West was not just acting on his own volition. After doing some more digging into the man's file, he had been able to discover that West was very loyal to the Empire, to the its ideals of a New Order throughout the galaxy, and to the slain Emperor Palpatine himself; if he had made a statement like the one he had just made, he did so knowing that it would bring about a response from the others around him, and he would do a somewhat census on just who was loyal Empire and who didn't care.

Because of this, Hasse chose his words carefully. "I will agree that the Rebels have been surprisingly effective against our forces, both at present and in the past, but what the Emperor failed to do was crush them when he had the chance. I am not disloyal to him or to the Empire, but His Imperial Majesty lured the Rebels into a trap and waited a bit too long to spring it on them. Had he done so earlier, I doubt that the Rebels would have survived the encounter, or at the very least only a small portion of them would have."

Everyone seemed to nod at his response and Hasse could sense that West believed it to be alright as well. "As you say, Admiral."

Hasse eyed him once again, but didn't give it much more thought; he had much more important things to deal with at the moment. "Gentlemen," he said, once again addressing the various officers seated at the table. "I just want to say that I hope to make this command an example throughout the Empire, a model to show that we are still here and we are to be dealt with. We'll deal with the Rebels; and in doing so, I wish to announce my intention to send two squadrons of deep-space fighters to do a reconnoiter of the Anaxes System, to determine the strengths and capabilities of their defenses."

Several of the officers around him spoke with approval, but, again, West seemed not to be one of them. "Begging the admiral's pardon, sir, but wouldn't that be tipping our hand? Alerting them that we're taking an interest in their placement?"

"Perhaps, Admiral, but I doubt that the Rebels have the ability to adequately defend against an invasion force; the reconnoiter is just a measure to determine what appropriate force to send to take the facilities away from them. After all, it is much easier to invade than it is to defend."

"Very well, sir, then I recommend the Black Twelve and Viper Squadron, they're two of the best Gunboat units in the fleet."

Hasse looked at him with a surprised expression on his face. "Apparently you've been doing some late night reading, Admiral West."

"One should be well prepared for one's new posting, Admiral. I assume you were equally as vigilant in your preparation for this command?"

He bit back a harsh response and simply nodded. "But of course. And I will take your recommendations into consideration when I make my final selection tomorrow. Until then, however, I suggest we enjoy the dinner. After all, it's not that often that I get a chance to dine with my fellow officers, and on the eve of such a momentous occasion. So," he continued, bringing his glass up once again, "I toast once more; to order!"

"To order!"

Corben looked at the tactical hologram of the Anaxes shipyards and surrounding starships, his mind focused on one of the three primary transit routes that freighters and haulers tended to use as they entered the area. Each of the three vectors were defended by a friend-or-foe ion minefield, insuring that even if some spacer was slow in sending his recognition signal, they would only be disabled instead of destroyed. A cruiser and its compliment of starfighters also defended them each, but that was nowhere near the force that had previously defended the vectors.

On the advice of his NRI liaison, and after going over the plan via a secure HoloNet transmission with Admiral Ackbar, Corben had ordered all but nine starships to vacate the Anaxes System, under a pretext of patrolling the surrounding systems for possible Imperial incursions. However, what they were really doing was sweetening the Anaxes System itself for a strike by a small portion of the Sixteenth Imperial Fleet instead of a large portion of it.

Corben looked over in the direction of said NRI liaison and asked him, once again, "Are you sure this will work? I mean, I know Hasse is overconfident to a fault, but this might be tempting fate just a little too much, you know?"

The black furred Wookiee gave a long "Waaaarrrr!" in response to Corben's question and looked as if he were about to come over and pull the admiral's arms right out of their sockets. If there was one thing a Wookiee hated, it was having their honor put into question, and, despite the fact that Elebacca was acting on behalf of New Republic Intelligence, he tended to take his duties as a personal quest.

I guess that can be said about ALL Wookiees and their charges.

"Okay, okay," responded Corben, his hands out in front in a calming gesture. "I was only asking, because if this doesn't work, we lose our best chance at taking those Imperials. Remember, they're better armed and have a much better numerical ratio compared to us."

"Sir," came the voice of the Maria's tactical officer, cutting off any response the massive Wookiee was going to make. "I'm picking up a hyper footprint at the edge of the system, Transit Vector Alpha. Signature suggests Imperial Assault Gunboats. Count is twenty-four, repeat two-four, and they're move in at a standard reconnoiter profile. No indication that there are any starships following."

"No surprise there," came Corben's reply. "Hasse would want to know exactly what he's up against before he were to send in a larger force. Who's stationed at TVA?"

"The Morning Star, sir."

"Comm," he said, turning towards the Bothan woman sitting at the communications console, "inform Captain Ru'kaart to intercept those Guns, but to make sure he allows at least one of them survive. We want them to return to their base, after all, and tell Hasse how badly undermanned we are."

"Aye, sir," said the Bothan, already turning in her chair towards the console.

"I hope this works, Ele," Corben said once more as he turned his focus back towards the tactical hologram, enlarging the area marked Transit Vector Alpha.

"Alright, Reds," said Rob into his headset as he maneuvered his A-wing into a standard box formation with the rest of his unit, "make sure you don't play this hand too much. We want at least one of those ‘boats to make it back to their base, so remember, shoot like you mean it, but don't follow through too hard if you see the number of red dots dwindle on your sensors."

There were a number of acknowledgements and then came the voice of Chris Layne spoke up. "Lead, what about Blue?"

"Blue's flying CAP for the Star in X-wings, just in case any of those ‘boats break through and attempt to make a run on the cruiser. If Intel is correct, this is just a recon mission to see how much in the way of firepower Third Fleet has positioned here, so the chances of the ‘boats being armed with torps or rockets are low, but the universe has a way of changing the rules on us."

"Understood, Lead."

Rob looked at his forward sensor screen and focused on the two dozen red dots growing brighter by the second. He ran through his targeting computer and brought up the profile of the lead gunboat, noticing it was still almost eight klicks away. He frowned at the sensors and tried his best to understand their tactic. If it were a simple recon mission like suggested, the gunboats would have jumped in closer to the transit vector, catching any defenders by surprise; but, by coming in almost twenty klicks away, it gave the defending forces ample time to respond. It was not the best decision that could have been made, and Rob found himself wondering about the tactical abilities of the commanding Imperial admiral.

"Four, Lead," he spoke into the headset. "Coordinate your missile fire control with mine, single fire, aim at the exact spot I am; when I say ‘now,' turn off your targeting computer."

"I'm going to need Initial telemetry, Lead," responded Jamie.

"Sending to you now, Four," said Rob as he punched a series of commands into his CMD computer. "Fire when I fire, then follow me as I break."

"Understood."

"Squadron, Lead. Choose your targets at your discretion. Make it look good."

Rob began a slow and steady stream of banking his A-wing back and forth to get a good angle on the approaching gunboat, and then, just as the distance indicator reached two point five zero kilometers, Rob shut off his targeting computer and hit the fire button on his flight stick. "Now!"

Jamie's single red missile moved past Rob's A-wing and raced through space towards its target, flying dumb, but not blind. The two A-wings pulled back towards port and swung around the incoming fighters as the two missiles struck the engines of the lead gunboat. Reactivating his targeting computer, Rob sighted on the damaged starfighter and sprayed a volley of red light into it, Jamie following suit. In a matter of moments the gunboat blew apart and Rob moved on to his next target.

He took a brief moment to check on the progress of the other Reds and was pleased to see that two more gunboats had been destroyed in as quick a fashion as his. "Morning Star Control, Three bandits down, twenty-one more to go," he said into his headset.

"Copy that, Red Leader, we're monitoring your progress," came the voice of Jack Uoart.

He brought his A-wing around to sight on his targeted starfighter and let loose a deadly spray of laser fire, the impacts illuminating against the shields of the gunboat. Had it not been for the superior maneuverability and agility that the A-wing had over the gunboat, Rob knew that the superior weapons of the gunboat would have outmatched him. Comparable to that of the New Republic's B-wing Heavy Assault Fighter-Bomber, the Assault Gunboat was just as deadly, and not quite as lagging in design equality.

"Four ‘boats are breaking formation and making for the Star," commented Chelsey over Rob's headset.

"We see them," came Andew Dobson's voice. "Moving to intercept."

Rob watched as four of the Imperial fighters moved towards the massive Mon Calamari starcruiser and winced—almost against his own will—when the X-wings of Blue Squadron suddenly pounced on them. "Good work, Blue Leader, I'll buy you a drink when we get back."

"Anytime, Red Leader."

Rob checked his tactical display and grinned when he saw only six Gunboats were left. "Okay, people, time to slow down. If you're able to tag one of them, do so, but coordinate so you don't go after different ones." A series of double-clicks answered him as he brought his fighter around to focus on the nearest enemy starfighter, frowning slightly as he tried to move his arms in the small confines of the cockpit. The A-wing, while exceptional in its role as a high-speed interceptor and short range reconnoiter, was little more than a seat with engines. I miss my X-wing.

He came in close behind his target and didn't even bother to turn on his targeting computer; instead, he switched over to dual warhead control and let two red flares fly out on a dumbfire mode, but then gave a loud curse in Sy Bisti as the Gunboat did a hard dive, letting the missiles overshoot by mere meters. "Okay, time to get serious," he muttered, diving after the heavy assault fighter.

He switched on his targeting computer and changed the fire control mode over to lasers, single use. Despite the tonnage and size of the Gunboat, it was maneuvering with advanced agility, and for a moment Rob was wondering why the starfighter wasn't as widely used as the TIE series. He pondered on it for a few more moments as he opened fire on the Imperial ship, pouring red laces of energy into the shield and then into the hull, stripping away the plating. Finally, as if to punctuate his progress, Rob fired off a single concussion missile and broke hard to the right, his shields flickering as they absorbed some of the backlash from the Gunboat's explosion.

"MSC to all units," came Uoart's voice again," sensors show only three Gunboats left, bugging out. You are instructed to return to ship for debriefing."

"Copy that, MSC. You heard the man, Reds, form up and head for the hanger bay. Red Leader to Blue Leader."

"Blue Leader here, Red."

"I'll see you in the FishTank for that drink."

"Don't worry, Biggs, we haven't forgotten. Blue Squadron, head for home, CAP is officially over."

Hasse stood on the bridge of Conflagration, waiting patiently for the return of the scouting mission. Normally, he would not be so interested in a lowly type of mission, but because of the ramifications of what the scouts would bring back, he awaited in anticipation. He hoped, desperately hoped, that they would bring him good news, that he could use his a portion of his fleet to quickly snuff Ull out and return to his command in Fondor, and more so to the point so he could appease Isard with his victory.

However, what he did not anticipate was the presence of West aboard his flagship, there under the pretense of attending a "staff meeting" with various command level officers. In truth, he knew that the admiral was aboard ship to spy on Hasse and to "offer his advice" at times in the hopes of maneuvering himself closer to the credit. At present, the man was hovering at the edge of the bridge's security foyer, his gaze alternating between the tactical readouts and Hasse himself.

"We're picking up three new contacts," came the voice of the tactical officer. "They're from the Black Twelve, sir."

"Where are the rest?"

There was a brief pause and then the communications officer next to the tactical station turned in Hasse's direction. "They report that they're all that survived, but that the system defenses are not as high as our worst projections estimated. They're uploading their data to our systems now, sir."

Hasse turned towards the security foyer and walked over to it's tactical readout station, forgetting that West was there as well. He cursed himself inwardly when he had to come stand next to the man in order to view the sensor readings; however, it was well worth it when he saw what was on the screen. Apparently he was right in their assessment that the Rebels didn't have the firepower needed to maintain hold of the shipyards and maintain their defensive patrols of the surrounding systems. "Excellent," he said as he reviewed the data a second time, noting specifically how the defenses were set up and the main approach vectors. He turned to Captain Miller and gave a nod in his direction. "Signal all ships in First Task Force that I expect their captains and tactical officers aboard ship within one hour for a strategic planning session."

Miller gave a salute and headed over to the main communications console while Hasse turned and was about to head to his office to go over the details with a little more speculation when he nearly bumped into West. The other admiral stood at a casual parade rest fashion and his eyes darted between the tactical readouts and Hasse once more. "Might I inquire as to what you are planning, sir?"

"I should think it would be obvious, Admiral. I plan on taking the First Task Force to Anaxes and pummeling the Rebels into dust, then call in for the remainder of the fleet to come in and secure the system."

"You plan on taking only a single task force to strike against the Rebels? You're walking into a trap, Admiral, and you would be foolish enough to allow your pride and wonton desire for vengeance to influence your tactical decisions. Take at least two task forces with you, maybe three, that way there can be no doubt that you can retake Anaxes and lay waste to the Rebel forces. The fear of the Emperor will be in their eyes when they spot three full task forces converging on their pathetic little defenses, and they will know that they have been on the wrong side of this war from the beginning."

Hasse just looked at the man for a moment before shaking his head. "The decision is mine, Admiral West. And to show that I have no fear of the Rebels, I am personally leading the attack. You," he continued, jabbing a finger in West's direction, "will remain here and command the rest of the fleet in my absence, short-lived though it may be. And furthermore, Admiral, you will stop with this constant questioning of my orders and my competence, or I will have you brought up on charges of insubordination and mutiny towards a superior officer. Is that clear?"

West snapped to and saluted briskly. "Yes, sir."

"Then I suggest you get back to your own flagship; I don't want you here. Dismissed."

West turned and began walking out of the bridge, but turned just once more and gave a gesture with his head in the opposite direction of where Hasse was standing. He continued forth out of the security foyer and into the lift car, waiting patiently until his companion arrived before activating it. "I take it you caught the exchange?"

Miller gave a nod in West's direction. "Yes, sir, it was a bit hard to miss. I am sure the majority of the bridge caught it as well. You play a dangerous game, Admiral; I've seen men killed for lesser offenses."

"I have my reasons, Captain, which I am sure you are well aware of, for defying Admiral Hasse." He turned towards Miller and glared at him. "You agree that sending in a single task force is foolish, considering the awesome firepower that we have at our disposal?"

"Yes," replied Miller. "It is arrogant and foolish to believe the Admiral Ull did not anticipate Hasse's arrival to this region. Despite Director Isard's best efforts, Rebel Intelligence has a knack for obtaining some valuable information. This is a trap, and he's walking right into it."

West nodded silently, thinking things over. There was no way he could stop Admiral Hasse, and it would take time before he could communicate with Isard to countermand his attack orders. Hasse was an tactical idiot, and because of his lack of abilities, he was going to sentence several men to die. "I'm afraid there is nothing I can do at this time. However," he said, turning towards Miller once again, "ensure that the admiral returns, so that he may face whatever comes from his actions. Is this understood, Captain?"

"It is understood," replied Miller softly, just as the lift car stopped and the doors opened to the secondary shuttle bay.

Major Chelsey Maxfield slowly walked through the various fighters on the flight deck until she saw the bulky and somewhat ugly outline of the YT-2400 that was common on the Morning Star for the last year. While she was still unsure as to why the captain allowed Rob to keep the craft onboard the starship, she knew that the colonel would almost always spend a great deal of time working on it, despite the fact that it was generally in usable conditions and couldn't be improved upon much.

She walked around the forward landing struts and worked her way towards the boarding ramp when she heard the faint sound of music coming from the interior of the craft. Tilting her head to one side, she listened closer and knew for certain that she was hearing some sort of heavy rock music. Grinning to herself, she walked softly up the ramp and into the interior of the Pride of Alderaan, searching for her commanding officer.

It didn't take her long, however, until she came upon Rob, sitting at the engineering console in the main hold, banging his head up and down like some sort of thrasher at a Dead Rebels concert. She tried to stifle the giggling that wanted to start in her, but couldn't contain it and thus let loose a large amount of laughing. Rob turned to her with a sudden jerk of his neck and, noticing who she was, fumbled with the controls on the console. Suddenly the heavy metal rock turned to an almost soothing operatic form of classical music that Chelsey had no doubt was from the world of Alderaan.

"Having fun, Rob?" she asked with a grin.

"Uh, yes," he stammered, gripping a hydrospanner in his right hand. "I was just, uh, testing the internal speakers to make sure they were aligned properly...according to the technical specifications, of course."

"Oh, of course," repeated Chelsey, the grin still on her face. "You know, it wouldn't be such a bad thing to admit that you have fun once in a while. That stoic selflessness of yours can be a bit, well, annoying after a while."

Rob looked at her with half a grin then turned back towards the engineering console. "Are you saying that I am a stoic, selfless person? Why, whatever gave you that idea? After all, if I were selfless and stoic, would I have become a pilot, destined to save the galaxy against the evil doings of the Galactic Empire, in a quest for peace and equality for all beings throughout the universe?"

"Yes."

"Sith, you got me."

She just shook her head and walked over to him. "However you may want to cast yourself, now is not the time. I've been asked to bring you to a strategy session that the captain is organizing, as part of the trap we'll be setting for the Imperials upon their return to Anaxes. He's like your tactical input."

"Chelsey, I am neither a strategist nor a tactician. I am a pilot and a transport craft engineer, and I doubt I could offer anything of substance to such a planning session. Besides which, we're relatively low ranked to be in on such a session; wouldn't that be more of a thing that ship commanders and their tactical officers should sit in on?"

"I wouldn't know, I'm relatively low ranked."

Rob smiled at her and then got up from his chair, placing the hydrospanner down on the console and turning fully towards her. "Okay, then, let's get going. We don't want to keep the captain waiting. I just hope this doesn't end up with me getting a court martial."

"That only happened once, and nothing actually came of it."

"Yes, well, I wish not to test the patience of the almighty Gods of the Stars too much."

Chelsey shook her head slightly with a grin. "An admiral is not a God of the Stars, Rob."

"Perhaps," he said as he started walking towards the ramp. "But they command the loyalty and devotion of many, so they might very well be one."

Chelsey just followed him out of the craft, stepping into line beside him as they walked towards the lift car. Several of the mechanics nearby watched the pair, pointing to them, and Chelsey frowned as she tried to understand why. She looked around and then understood as soon as she spotted the tattered and grease-slicked clothes that Rob was wearing. She hadn't really noticed them before, and the only reason she noticed now was because of how much they stood out on his duty uniform than they would have on working overalls.

"Er, Rob."

"Hmm?"

"You might want to change uniforms before we go see the captain."

"Ah. Yes, that might be a good idea. Let's just hope that the Imperials don't attack while I'm down to my skivvies." He stepped into the lift car gingerly.

"Thank you, Rob," said Chelsey as she stepped in after him. "I really needed that mental scaring image."

Captain Chris "Pip" Layne sat in the Fishtank with the most of the starfighter pilots aboard the Morning Star . Apart from the few either on patrol, in some meeting, the rest were all here. Next to him, on his right, sat his new wingman, as well as the newest addition to Red Squadron, Flight Officer Chris "Fist" Hart and to Pip's left was Flight Officer David "Wild Cat" Fate, a long standing friend within Red Squadron.

In front of him sat the last member of his flight, Second Lieutenant Iddo "Wire" Geva. Iddo was the member of Red who'd spent the most time in it. He'd known Wire to be a quiet man, but a good pilot. Also joining in their drink was Blue's Blue Six, Flight Officer Deanna "Dee" Hashi, and her friend in Red Squadron Second Lieutenant Jeni "Angel" Courtner.

The rest were scattered about—Red's Operations Officer, Second Lieutenant Jamie "Shadow" Wetherill with Captain Steve "Schmitty" Michadick, ex-Red Pilot and now Blue Squadron Operations Officer. They seemed engrossed in a conversation and drinking Hot Chocolate… if Chris remembered correctly, Shadow and Angel were set to fly Patrol next–Flight Officer Chad "Kulgon" Maxfield and Travis "Freqi" Morgan were out there right currently–and Steve just didn't drink alcohol.

Chris picked up his own mug of Ale and took a long drink from it, as if he'd offended the mug on the table in from of him.

At the table close by sat various blues… seemingly engrossed in a game of Sabacc. Flight Officers Hans "Lobo" Allen, Sara "Red" Ayana, Mike "Switch" Michadick, and Nuba "Sonic" Pek. From what he could see, Hans was starting to pay lots of rounds.

"I think that we shouldn't of let any of those gunboats escape today," said David out loud. Today's skirmish with Gunboats had left some of the pilots wishing that they had finished them all off. The less the enemy knew about the Fleet the better. "I mean, the Imps are going to come anyways."

"I suppose they are," Chris replied, a grin raising on his face. "But better to let them know how few ships we ‘have' at our disposition." He picked up his mug and took a long drink from it. "Survivors tell tales and the Imps might come with a weaker task force and we'll be able to fight them off easier, I suppose."

"And you left your Tactical Officer position, why, again?" Jeni asked with a laugh.

Chapter Two

Hasse looked out at the ships of the First Task Force as they assembled into their prearranged alignment for the upcoming assault. For a brief moment he reflected on West's suggestion, that perhaps they really should bring more than a single task force to Anaxes so they can be sure of their victory; but he quickly pushed away any such thoughts. He had more than enough firepower at his disposal to take on any sizable resistance, and, if he were honest with himself, he would enjoy employing such means against the Rebels.

There was a brief flash of light from the center of the viewport and Hasse turned to the tactical officer down in the crew pit with a questioning look on his face. Almost as if he were able to tell what Hasse was about to ask him, the young man cleared his throat and looked up. "Long range scout has returned from Anaxes, sir. Sensor readings indicate that the three vector points are abandoned and they ships that were protecting them are not in orbit around Anaxes' prime shipyard facilities. Strength is equivalent to that of a reinforced flotilla; my guess is they're waiting for us."

"I concur," Hasse stated, placing his left hand under his chin in a thoughtful gesture. "However, we still outnumber them almost with a two-to-one ratio, and we have more fighters. We'll proceed." He turned his head and looked over to the communications officer and gave a nod. "Signal the task force to prepare for the jump to lightspeed; the attack is a go."

"Aye-aye, sir, attack is a go."

He turned back to the viewport and looked off to the port, the silhouette of an ISD hanging against the blackness of space and allowed a vengeful smile to appear. West would be proven just how wrong he was when they returned with the hull of the Maria as a trophy to be displayed in the Imperial Grand Museum of History; and, more importantly, Hasse would be transferred back to Fondor where he could relax due to the relative safety of it's massive Imperial military presence.

"All ships report ready for hyperspace jump, Admiral."

"Very well, Comm, send the order: all ships, jump."

A moment later the stars in front of him sped towards him at blinding speed and then suddenly disappeared as a white spinning tunnel engulfed the Conflagration and the rest of the task force.

West watched the ships go and gave a grave sigh. He almost wished he was going with them, believing that if he were present he could forestall the trap that they were walking into; but, deep down, he knew that even his mere presence wouldn't be enough to tip the scales of balance in the Empire's favor. He knew himself to be arrogant and even self-centered, but he also knew that he was not the end-all problem solver for the Imperial Navy.

"Sir," said his communications officer softly as he walked up beside West. "I have Director Isard standing by on your private HoloNet channel, sir."

About time. "Transfer it to my ready room, Lieutenant, and make sure that I am not disturbed."

"It shall be done, Admiral."

West turned on his heels and walked over to the private ready room that he had had installed into the Wisdom's development planning; most Star Destroyers didn't have a private room for their captain near the bridge, and West considered that to be quite foolish and wasteful of time. If a captain or admiral had to view sensitive materials without the possibility of being overheard or seen, then it would be much wiser to have a private ready room nearby than to have to use the lift car to go to their personal quarters several decks down.

As he walked through the door the Holo-projector sense him and came to life, projecting a hologram of Ysanne Isard in her signature uniform, which was no doubt the same blood red it always was, despite the fact that the hologram gave no color schemes it. West stood in front of the projector and snapped to attention with all earnest. "Madam Director, thank you for returning my call."

"I'm not in the mood for pleasantries, Admiral, so you may dispense with them. Why have you disturbed me?"

The tone of her voice told West that he needed to be very careful with how he worded things; Isard's reputation for retribution was legendary. "I regret to inform you that, despite my best efforts to dissuade him, Admiral Hasse is on his way right now to what I believe to be a trap set specifically for him and his task force."

"And to which reasoning do you come to this conclusion."

West quickly relayed the recent events to her and he could tell immediately that she thought much as he did about the situation. "I contacted you immediately after I left the flagship, but I'm afraid it was not quick enough; his forces just left for the attack minutes before your transmission."

"It would seem that my expectations of Admiral Hasse were misplaced. Very well, Admiral West, you know what to do if he should return."

"Indeed I do, Madam Director. I thank you for taking the time to respond to my call."

Isard just scoffed at him and cut the transmission, the hologram disappearing quickly.

Tremmel bit his lip absently as he waited in the command chair, his eyes continuing to look at the chronometer every chance he got. This was the first actual offensive action he had been a part of since he was transferred here a year ago, and he was itching to give back to the Rebels what they had given him.

He closed his eyes gently and tried to calm himself, forcing his mind to relax and focus on the upcoming battle and not the ghosts of the past. True, he wanted revenge, and he knew he would stop at almost nothing in order to achieve that revenge, but he also had a duty to fulfill, and if he didn't, he would be transferred and demoted even more than his current position was. Isard might even deign to place him in the Unknown Regions, a thought that made Tremmel shiver with fear.

The white tunnel continued to shimmer and then the warning light came on, indicating that they were approaching a mass shadow. "All hands," he said as he straightened up in his chair, "prepare to return to normal space."

A moment later the white spinning tunnel of hyperspace melted away and Tremmel saw the outline of several shipyard facilities orbiting the massive planet of Anaxes, with a half a dozen or so starships in a standard patrol formation around them. He immediately recognized the Maria, but was surprised not to see the Morning Star. According to information brought back from the initial reconnoiter of the system, the Star was one of the ships defending the system, and had, in fact, been responsible for ninety-two percent casualties that the scouting units had sustained.

And, he thought with bitter amusement, I was looking forward to repaying them for their misdeeds against me.

He looked at the tactical display on the arm of his chair and saw the other ships of the First Task Force drop out from lightspeed around him and maneuver to begin a strike against the main cluster of ships, his own Vendetta taking up the lead. He might actually learn to enjoy this operation, the countless slaughter that he was about to bring before the Rebels whetting his appetite for appeasement.

"Message from the flag, sir," said his communications technician. "'Launch all fighters; don't let them have a chance.'"

"Very well, Senior Chief, relay our compliance and launch all fighters. Then, press forth and—"

His voice was cut off as an alarm klaxon sounded, blaring throughout the bridge. He turned to his tactical officer and gestured for him cut the annoying sound. When the bridge fell silent again he cleared his throat and spoke with determination. "What's going on?"

"Sir, sensors are picking up several ships leaving hyperspace all around us!" The mans fingers danced on his console and a holographic tactical display appeared in the center of the bridge, with blinking dots appearing in a spherical formation around the Imperial task force. "I'm picking up transponder codes from the Democracy, the Naboo's Pride, the Battle of Brentaal IV, and several more starships! We're being surrounded by what looks to be a task force and a reinforced flotilla!"

Tremmel peered at the hologram, his face twisted in disbelief, when suddenly several dozen dots appeared on the display. His face almost turned white as he looked back at the tactical officer, whose own face wasn't any better.

"Fighters! Fighters! Scores of them, from interceptors to bombers!"

Tremmel cursed loudly and was about to shout out an order when the tactical officer interrupted him once more.

"New contacts, right on top of us!" He stared at his console for a moment and then looked up at Tremmel, his face even more a ghostly expression than it was a minute ago. "It's the Morning Star, with X-wings and B-wings flying in formation; they're heading straight for us!"

Steve Michadick brought up his targeting computer and focused on the frigate right in front of him, the Imperial ship already turning in a vein attempt to engage the New Republic fighters. He almost grinned when he saw the transponder code of the frigate and let out a happy grunt. "Well, well, well; I remember you." He reached up and tapped his headset, turning it on to the shared squadron frequency in use by all of Blue. "This is Five, I've got a confirmed status on the frigate; it's our old friend, the Vendetta."

"The Vendetta?" came the confused voice of Han Allen in Steve's ear. "I thought we got rid of that ship back when we faced off with those Imps belonging to Admiral Whatshisname's forces."

"Tremmel," Steve clarified. "And we never had any visual confirmation about the Valiant or the Vendetta being destroyed. Isard must have split up the two following their failure; I wonder if Tremmel's dead."

"He's either dead or in a posting that makes him wish he were," commented Deanna Heshi. "In any event, let's focus a little more on the here and now, shall we?"

"Six is right," came the voice of Richie Vogel. "Break by flights and do some damage to that frigate; let's let them know that Blue is still around and kicking!"

Steve gave a slight grin as he brought up the fire control system of his B-wing, switching it over to warhead and letting the reticule drift over the bow of the frigate. The rectangular Heads Up Display started to flash yellow until it locked into a blood red, the matching "target locked" tone emanating from his monitor. "I've got two birds at the ready; Fox Two!"

He squeezed the trigger and two blue fiery arrows shot out from his tubes, racing through the blackness of space towards their target. A couple of moments later he was joined by eight more pairs of B-wings, their own warheads moving forward towards the frigate. It didn't take long for the torpedoes to impact the shields of the warship, and the status of the Vendetta dropped considerably on Steve's screen.

"Round two'' he said into his headset microphone. "Fox Four!"

Another wave of blue fire lanced through the dark before impacting the shields at first, and then ripping through the hull. Several sections of the frigate were aflame, its oxygen burning the fires into the vacuum of space and the vessel started to tilt to it's right before the long spine connecting the bow and stern split into two. A moment or two later, the remnants of the starship were engulfed in fire and an expanding cloud of ionized gas; once the gas cleared, the ship was gone and all that remained were scattered bits of hull floating in the void.

"Scratch one frigate!" shouted Andrew.

"We see it, Blue, good work," responded Uoart's voice over the main tactical channel. "Now get back to it; we've still got a few more Imps to take care of."

"As ordered."

Hasse was shouting orders at his officers, trying to maintain some sense of control in a desperate situation, but knew that he had lost even before the first shot had been fired against his forces. He turned towards the tactical station and rushed over, literally grabbing the on-duty officer by his neck collar. "Is there nothing you can do, man!?"

"I'm sorry, Admiral, but I can't make them disappear simply by wishing it were so!"

Hasse spat a curse and almost threw the man into his console as he turned back towards the holographic display. The trap he had walked into had already destroyed a frigate and two strike cruisers, and the remaining ships were not fairing well. Five were Star Destroyers, two being Imperator-class—including the Conflagration—while the other three were of the much older Victory-class design, and by all rights had the best chance of surviving the encounter, but only if they left right now.

He cursed inwardly as the realization hit him. In order to save himself—and, more importantly, the men under his command—he had to do the most distasteful thing he had ever thought of: abandoning the field of battle. He had never before done such a thing, and he knew of several commanders who faced a court martial—or worse—for having done so, and he had no desire to be a part of that list.

But he also knew he had no choice in the matter.

"Signal all ships! Retreat from the battle zone at best possible speed!"

There was an awed silence on the bridge as all eyes turned to him, surprise evident on their faces. They, too, must have realized just what such an order would mean for him.

He had not heard the confirmation from the communications technician, and knew that such a delay was not good for his authority. He pushed the thought of a court martial aside and stood as tall as he could project himself. "Comm! I gave you an order! Now carry it out or else I will have you relieved of your duties and someone more competent will take over; is that clear?"

The young man nodded and then spoke with a broken voice. "Y-yes, sir! Signal all ships, retreat from battle, aye, sir!"

Hasse turned to see if anyone else was looking at him and was gratified to see that they had all returned to their duties. Well, he thought to himself, I don't know how much longer I'm going to be at this post, but at least I know that they'll do their jobs.

Corben looked at the tactical display and forced a smile onto his face when he saw the remainder of the Imperial task force try and break free of the battle. The Star Destroyers—at least the two ImpStars—would surely be able to wedge past the New Republic forces surrounding them, but there was little chance of any of the others being able to. Their hulls were just not designed to take the constant punishment that the warheads and lasers were giving them in such concentrated doses.

A blinking red dot disappeared, and then two more, indicating the destruction of three more Imperial starships. He studied the display closely and focused on the lead ImpStar—most likely the flagship—as it finally broke through the lines and jumped into hyperspace, one of the Victorys following close suit. The remaining ImpStar likewise broke through, but just as it started to make the jump to lightspeed, its engines caught on fire, causing the starship to blow apart almost dramatically.

Soon the remaining starships likewise met their end, and the few surviving starfighters that had been able to launch during the battle either signaled their surrender or—if they were capable—entered hyperspace.

Corben turned from the display and cleared his throat. "Stand down from alert; secure all sectors and stations. Comm, signal Admiral Maxe to prepare to move out within two hours and to stand by for a conference transmission. Tactical, coordinate a trace upon the entry of the Imperial ships and the exit vector they took; triangulate a specific place and give your results to Admiral Maxe. I'll be in my office, in conference; let me know if there are any new developments."

"Sir!" came the simultaneous response from several people.

Corben walked to the lift car and slowly entered, giving a nod of approval in the direction of Captain Yuliese as the doors slid shut. He punched in the destination for his office and waited patiently as the lift descended to the appropriate deck, then got out and walked to his door. He slid a card into the access port and punched in a passcode, causing the door to slide open and allow him inside.

A blinking red light on his desk indicated that a transmission was waiting for him; he stepped over and cleared his throat. "Recognize Ull, Corben, Admiral, Third Fleet commanding officer, New Republic Armed Forces. Decode and begin transmission."

The Holo-Projector in the corner came to life and the slightly older, sterner face of Maxe appeared before him. "Admiral."

"Admiral," Corben said in response. "Are you ready to give them a run for their money?"

"Of course sir, but I don't think a single task force is going to be enough to deal with the remainder of the Sixteenth Imperial Fleet. They only sent one task force after us, there has got to be at least two, maybe three, more out there. I would prefer to have some backup if at all possible."

Corben shook his head with a frown. "I'm afraid that's not possible. We've tipped our hand in terms of just how well prepared we are to defend this system; if we send out more than a single task force, we're leaving ourselves open to a reprisal attack from the Imperials."

"How?"

"Tactics, Admiral Maxe." Corben folded his arms and habitually leaned back against the bulkhead. "If I were the enemy commander—despite the lack of competence thus far shown—and I had made the mistake of allowing them to track us back to their staging area, then I would evacuate the area, leaving a minimal of ships behind to deal with any pursuers while I took the majority of the fleet and either set up a new staging area or made a surprise attack on the shipyards, thus believing that they were now left undefended." He raised his right hand and let the index finger point out towards the hologram. "It's too much of a risk."

"I understand. When do you want us to get underway?"

"Within two hours. Currently the tacticians are going over the entry and exit vectors to triangulate the point of origin. I'm sure you can devise your overall strategy and plan by the time that's done, yes?"

"Of course. And we'll make you proud, Admiral."

"Of that I have no doubt; just be careful."

Andrew Dobson stood at the lectern and looked out at his assembled pilots, all of them still in their flight suits and looking either excited or tired. Those that were expressing their excitement tended to either keep tapping their feet or their fingertips, whereas those that looked tired had the look of wanting to crawl into bed and just sleep.

"Okay, I know that a lot of your are tired from the engagement; it's probably the most action we've seen since the Feint at Chandrila, but it's not going to be the last. Upon recommendation of captain Ru'kaart, Blue Squadron will be attached to the task force that is going after the escaping Imperials. Because we'll most likely be making strike attacks against enemy capital ships, we'll remain in the B-wings; in fact, our birds are being prepped and armed as we speak."

Andrew turned around and used his laser pointer to detail holographic image floating beside him. "The majority of the task force will be jumping into the system at this point," he stated, letting the laser dot drift over a specific area. "However, Blue and Amber Squadrons, along with Bantha Squadron and a pair of Corellian Gunships for support, will be arriving at this point." The laser moved over to an area that was several dozen kilometers further into the system than the first location. "The reason for this is to provide a tactical surprise for the Imperials, hoping to catch them off guard and allow us to soften them up a bit for the main force. Yes, Schmitty?"

Steve put down his hand. "We're only going in with two bomber squadrons, an A-wing squadron, and a pair of gunships? Does Command really think we can make a dent against a large enemy force with such a small strike group?"

"I do not presume to make assumptions about Command's tactical decisions, Captain; I live a lot longer that way. However, based on what intel I've been able to receive, we're not expecting a large welcoming reception and therefore will not be completely and overwhelmingly outmatched." He clicked a button on the pointer and the hologram changed to that of a spinning array of massive chunks of rock. "There are no worlds orbiting the massive Red Dwarf star in this system, but there is a rather large asteroid field that points to there once being at least one planet. We do not believe this to be the central operational staging area for the Imperials in this sector; such a position would be ideal for New Republic forces, but the Imperials prefer to make their presence a little more known and accessible to their ships. This is likely just the forward staging point for their assault against us."

Andrew clicked the switch one more time and a profile of an ISD Mark II appeared. "This is the Conflagration, Admiral Hasse's flagship. It was severely damaged in the engagement, but was still able to escape. We hope to be able to either destroy or capture it—and Admiral Hasse—but even doing that will not make that much of a difference in our fight against the Imperials in this sector. If you get a chance, however, to render this vessel useless to the Empire, take it."

He shut down the holographic display and turned to look at his pilots more fully. "Launch window is within the next hour; we're going to be deploying from here—the enemy already knows our location, and so hiding it would be useless—and will move into the system within our birds. Are there any questions?"

"Sir," commented Deanna, "why isn't Red Squadron a part of this operation?"

"I couldn't answer that, Dee, I'm not privy to the information that Command sees, nor do I sit in on the conversations that General Uve`lon and Admiral Ull have. My guess, however, is that since this is a strike mission, they're being left behind to deal with clean up and patrol. Any one else?" He waited a moment and then nodded. "Then get to your ships and prepare to disembark. Dismissed."

Hasse surveyed the officers around him, acutely aware that they all seemed to be watching him with a disdainful expression on their faces, disgust ever present in their profiles. And who could blame them, to be honest, for he had, indeed, done the unthinkable. To do so while under Imperial military command was in and of itself an unpleasant thing, but to do so while the cold-hearted and somewhat childlike Iceheart was in charge of things was to open himself up to reprisal of the worst—and most likely vicious—kind.

The one person who troubled him the most in the situation, however, was Captain Miller. Being the most senior of the officers, Hasse had expected him to be the most vocal and outspoken, to be the one everyone else would funnel their awe, furry, pain, frustration, and annoyance through. But the man had been almost civil, as if ordering the retreat was just another military order to which he was expected to carry out without exception or change. Perhaps he knew something that Hasse did not, an indication of what they would face upon their return? No, thought Hasse, he knows no more than I do of the fate that will befall us.

"Leaving hyperspace, Admiral," came the voice of the helmsman from behind him.

Hasse turned his head slightly to the left and saw the bleeding white tunnel evaporate slowly into single pinpricks of stars against a vast black ocean of space. His first reaction was a sigh of relief as he noticed that no ships were standing in a flanking position, ready to pounce on the Conflagration in order to punish him for his transgressions.

His second reaction, however, was to notice that only one starship was even visible within the asteroid belt, and that there were several new types of space rocks present.

He instantly turned towards the communications station, ready to bark and order to the technician present, but was interrupted when the technician said; "Admiral West is on the line for you sir, priority one."

"Pipe it into the security foyer holoprojector, Chief."

"I'm sorry, sir, West says that he must broadcast in front of the crew as well, as the transmission concerns them as well."

Hasse just stared at the man for a few moments, noting that the technician was neither afraid nor intimidated by the admiral's gaze. Sensing that he'd lost all of his credibility, and that trying to force the issue would only make things worse, he capitulated and nodded slightly. "Very well, Chief, run it on through."

"At once, sir."

A moment later the bluish, see-through image of Orlando West filled the center of the command walkway, his hands clasped behind his back in full uniform. Why he was in full uniform, Hasse couldn't figure out, but that was not exactly what was on his mind at the moment. "Admiral Hasse," West said pleasantly.

"Admiral West," Hasse returned with equal false pleasantness. "Admiral, might I inquire where the rest of the fleet is, and what the meaning is of these new contacts I am seeing on the sensor screen?"

"You may." There was a slight pause and then West let out a slow breath. "You see, Admiral, I was preparing for when you came back—and I knew that you would be back—so that we might at least inflict the pursuing Rebels some damage when they come to this place. And we're almost finished, too," he said as he looked off to the right for a moment before returning his gaze at Hasse. "It won't be long before they're all in position and ready to go."

"What are you talking about?"

"Admiral, I'm afraid I must be the bearer of some rather bad news. You see, your overconfidence has presented the Rebels the chance they needed to drive a spike through the heart of this fleet. You did not take my advice—and it's nice to know that I was, indeed, correct, too—about needing a more significant show of force against the Rebels, and you've ordered a retreat—a failed one at that, too, counting the ships that arrived with you. I would have hoped that perhaps I might have been wrong in my tactical analysis of the situation; however, I was not, and you are a fool to the end."

Hasse felt the anger rising in him like bile, a bittersweet taste forming on his lips. "Let me remind you, West, that I am in command of this fleet, that it is I who will make the decisions about what to do in response to the Rebels possible pursuit of our retreat. And because of your insubordinate attitude and display, I am placing you under arrest immediately!" Hasse raised his voice and leaned into the pickup of the holoprojector's transmitter. "This is Admiral Hasse to all personnel aboard the Wisdom of the Emperor; Admiral Orlando West is hereby to be placed under arrest and place within the brig until such a time that a tribunal can look into his actions."

There was a long pause, silence stretching it even more, while he waited for officers or crewmen to take West away in stun cuffs, but no one appeared to be coming towards the holographic figure and Hasse could not see any indication of West looking away from the projector.

Then, West gave a very sardonic, chilling smile at him. "I'm afraid, Admiral, that you no longer have the authority to give orders to anyone within the fleet, or the whole of the military. Because of your actions, several thousand Imperial crewers and pilots are dead or captive at the hands of the Rebels, and our ability to drive the Rebels from this sector is greatly diminished. Therefore, Admiral, you are relieved of command, per orders given by Ysanne Isard, Director of Imperial Intelligence."

Hasse's fists clenched as he tried to find something to say in response, and then his mind registered the rank insignia on West's uniform and snarled at him. "I see you've been promoted, Admiral."

"It was not my idea, but I welcome it nonetheless."

"Well, then," said Hasse, noticing that everyone on the bridge was looking at him, some with pity, but most with a sense of satisfaction on their faces. "What becomes of me now, hmm? Am I to stand before a tribunal and face my peers?"

"I'm afraid not, Admiral." West gave a short nod behind Hasse.

Hasse suddenly felt a sharp pain in his backside, and then a twisting pain. The admiral staggered forward slightly and fell to his knees, his right hand running along his lower back until he felt the telltale outline of a vibroblade with the power turned excessively high. He tried to turn around to see who had stuck him with the weapon, but the pain was just too great for him to manage.

"I'm sorry that it had to end this way, Admiral, but when you fail the Empire, you pay the price."

Hasse groaned and closed his eyes against the pain, trying to force it out of him. He fell onto his back, the blade jabbing more into him; he screamed out in excessive pain and blinked his eyes open just in time to see Miller salute him. And then, suddenly, everything stopped.

Chapter Three

Steve sat in the cockpit of his B-wing, waiting patiently until the pre-mission time clock finished its slow, almost crawling countdown. He was raring to go, ready to give the Imperials some payback for their attempt to attack the shipyards, eager to give them what they had coming to them just for being in existence, but he forced himself to calm down and let the relaxation techniques that Mark Hagues had taught him take hold of him.

He frowned as he checked over his status board once again; it was not like him to get overly excited like he was, but Sooli had told him just who the commanding officer of the Vendetta was, he couldn't help it. He was still in a sense of shock; Tremmel was dead, and he more of less was part of the reason why. Despite the fact that he welcomed the news, a part of him gnawed at the prospect of being the one who handed him his destiny.

He shook off the ghosts and shook his head slightly. There was a subtle, yet deadly, truth to war, no matter whose side you fought for: people die. Over the years he had seen his share of death—more than he hoped to have ever really seen in his entire lifetime—and he knew that he was far from seeing the end of it, and while he normally didn't give much thought to it due to most of them being faceless pilots flying enemy starfighters, occasionally the image of a specific person popped into his mind.

While he had not known Tremmel personally, he knew of him, and had fought against him in the past. Therefore, he felt as if he knew the man, knew much about him, his tactics, his history, and the like. Granted, most of the information came to him after he actually first dealt with the Imperial, but that didn't diminish it's impact on him.

"All forces, prepare to enter hyperspace on my mark," came the voice of Rear Admiral Maxe.

Steve shook himself back to the present and did another check of his systems once more. Everything was in the green, and he was fully loaded for assault. "This is Blue Five," he spoke into his headset, transmitting over the Blue Squadron frequency, "I'm good to go."

"Roger that, Five," responded Andrew in his ear. "Stand by."

It took only a few moments. "All forces…go!"

Steve pulled back on the lever and shot into a blindingly white tunnel.

Orlando West looked out at the slowly spinning chunks of rock around him and nodded in acceptance. The plan was risky, it was even foolhardy to some extent, but it was also the only way of allowing the remaining forces of the fleet to gather elsewhere while the Rebels came here to follow Hasse.

He looked over at the bridge's chronometer and then at the asteroid field. He had originally contemplated converting one of the larger rocks into a base of operations, but because of Hasse's idiotic attempt to strike at Anaxes, the idea was abandoned. Oh well, at least I'll be able to extract some sense of vengeance against the Rebels.

"Admiral," came the voice of his tactical officer. "We're picking up multiple contacts exiting from hyperspace near where the Conflagration arrived. Profile and numbers suggest a single Rebel task force with escorting fighter screen." There was a slight pause and then the man looked up again. "I'm also picking up a smaller number of contacts from the other side of the asteroid field; looks to be at least two squadrons of heavy assault fighter-bombers, and possibly some escorting corvettes."

"Hmm, better then I gave them credit for," West muttered to himself. "Secure all stations, bring us about, and prepare to enter hyperspace once we've reached the entry vector. Do not, I repeat, do not engage the Rebels, even if they fire upon us."

"Sir!" came the response of several officers and crewers around him.

West turned back to the viewport and watched as the ship turned towards port, and the slight vibration as the engines came alive and pushed the monstrous contraption forward. While he knew that Ull would not be quite as stupid enough to do the same that Hasse had, West wished he had been stupid enough to bring more than a task force into the engagement zone. The loss of so many ships would be a blow to the Rebels in the sector—and would please Isard to no end.

He watched the tactical hologram floating beside him, looking at the blinking dots that indicated enemy combatants. They came ever closer to the center of the hologram, which represented the Wisdom's position, and moved in a surrounding stance. Very wise, he commented in a thought; by spreading out and coming at us at different angles, the commander of those squadrons has effectively allowed it so that the defensive batteries will not be able to cover all possible vectors.

A flash began from one of the dots, then from another, and so on until all flashed. All had fired at least one salvo of warheads at the Imperial ship, yet that did not worry West in the least. He glanced up at the tactical positioning overlay with the hyperspace vector and grinned when it aligned perfectly.

The warheads began to approach within the minimal safe distance to which a laser battery could destroy them without inflicting blast damage on the ship itself. In two seconds, they would impact the shields and the hull of the huge triangular starship.

One second passed, and the Wisdom entered the deep white sea of hyperspace. There was no need to count the remaining second.

"Blast!" said Andrew as he pulled back on the flight stick, bringing his B-wing around on a new heading towards the exit vector of the now-gone Imperial starship. "Mission Command, this is Blue Leader, we have no joy on the target; she's bugged out, sir. Request instructions, over."

"Blue Leader, this is Admiral Maxe; our primary mission's been scrubbed, obviously. Form up on the last known trajectory of the Wisdom and await the rest of the task force as we maneuver through the asteroid field. Once through, we'll see if we can catch the Imperials, but don't get your hopes up. Stand by for our arrival, Mission Command, out."

Andrew cursed mentally and brought his B-wing to a gentle stop, the rest of the fighters and gunships doing likewise. "Okay, everyone, keep an eye out for any surprises; just because the Imps aren't here doesn't mean they didn't leave behind some sort of welcoming committee for us. They knew we were coming."

"How can you be so sure?" asked Hans.

"Wouldn't you expect the enemy to follow if you had cut and run from such an overwhelming force?" He shook his head at himself. "I'd have set up some sort of trap for the enemy, to take them down a notch or two from their overconfidence, and let's face it, we're a bit overconfident after smashing apart that task force."

"But there's nothing out here but floating rocks," countered Hans. "Granted, the iron ore deposits are interfering with the sensors to a certain degree, but you can't exactly hide something as big as a strike force in this asteroid field. About the only thing we really have to worry about are the rocks themselves."

Hans' comment jerked Andrew's head up and he looked out at the asteroid field with a sense of fear. "Oh, blast!" His left hand flew over the controls of the targeting computer and sensor board, running through the various floating, lifeless rocks within the asteroid field until something showed up out of the ordinary parameters. "Oh, Sith!" He switched back over to the command frequency and shouted into his headset. "Mission Command, break off, break off! It's a trap!"

As if attuned to his warning, several asteroids opened fire with turbolasers, impacting on the shields and hulls of the task force starships. One ship, a modified CEC corvette, came under continuous fire from multiple directions and blew apart like a fiery supernova. The rest of the task force began to come about, retreating to their previous entry vector, but because of the close proximity of the asteroid around them the maneuver would take time.

"Oh, this is not good. Blue, Amber, lock on to those weapons platforms and blow them apart! Be sure you get a solid lock if you're going to use torps, the field is pretty dense where they are. Break and attack!"

Andrew turned his craft around and hit the throttle to full speed, redirecting some of the power from lasers into the engines. He glanced at the sensors again and cursed, as several red dots were now visible on the monitors; apparently they had been programmed to remain dormant and shadowed from sensors until the pursuing New Republic ships had gotten within a certain range. Clever, he commented to himself, and altogether ruthless.

A bright explosion caught his attention and he looked up to see that another starship had just been destroyed, this time it was a Nebulon-B-class Frigate. His headset crackled to life as the stressed voice of Rear Admiral Maxe spoke in his ear.

"Blue, Amber, what's your status? It's starting to get a little lonely over here!"

"This is Blue Leader, we're moving in to attack the weapons platforms, Admiral. Stay tight, we're working on it."

"This is Amber Leader, we're close to the first set of platforms, but there's quite a bit of them. We'll do our best, sir."

"Please make it fast, we're losing good people out here!"

Andrew winced a little from Maxe's obvious panicked voice, but pushed the thought from his mind. The admiral's courage was the least of his worries at the moment. He watched his sensors once more and gave a satisfied grin as he came within range of one of the weapons platforms. He switched over to his targeting computer and painted a lock on the platform, a constant tone forming gently in the cockpit. "Two away!" he screamed as he pulled on the trigger.

Two blue streaks of proton warheads moved away from the center of his fuselage and towards the asteroid-like weapons platform. A few moments later, however, the weapons platform redirected its fire to his incoming warheads and shattered them apart. "Stang it!" He tapped his headset again to activate the microphone. "Blues, Ambers, heads up, the platforms have threat detection software. Go to blind fire mode, but try not to get too close if you can help it."

"Roger that, Blue Leader," came Richie's response.

Andrew did a circle approach, to come in on the platform again, and this time shut off his targeting computer. He pulled the trigger again and another pair of warheads moved forward. He watched with anticipation as they crawled closer and closer to their intended target until they finally impacted against the shields. The damage wasn't as extensive as it could have been, but at least it was a hit.

"This is Admiral Maxe to all ships: put it to the red line, people! We'll soon be clear of the field and able to get back to Anaxes! Krif the damage, we've got a shipyard that can repair us; they can't repair us if we're dead, however!"

Out of curiosity, Andrew punched up the Lexington on the targeting computer and noticed that the flagship was dangerously low on it's shields and hull integrity. "Oh, this is not good."

Another bright flash caught his eye and he noticed that one of the platforms had been destroyed, and then another one near it. Three more bright flashes on the other side of his cockpit drew his attention, but when he hoped to see that more of the platforms had been destroyed he was met with a display that chilled him to the core. The Lexington, having misjudged the room needed to maneuver, had collided with a light Mon Cal cruiser and a CEC corvette, causing all three to blow apart due to the extensive damage they had already sustained.

There was a brief moment of silence following the three-ship collision; even the static over the communications channel seemed to fall silent. Then, a very light, soft, and trembling female voice came across the channel. "This is Commodore Garret to all forces; I am now in temporary command of the task force. Continue to retreat; that is all."

Andrew gave another curse, not caring if it went over the channel, and redirected his attention on the weapons platforms. He fired another set of torps at the first one that he had attached and watched as it finally exploded, then moved his attention to two more nearby. He fired three at the first one, then three more at the second one, emptying his tubes, then switched to linked lasers and ions. Ignoring the safety protocols that had been established for strafing runs against such platforms, Andrew throttled up to full and began to fire indiscriminately at the first platform.

Sensing that it was in trouble, the platform began to target Andrew's B-wing and opened fire with a volley of green turbolaser fire. He jinked and juked to avoid the fire, all the while keeping the platform in his reticule and holding the trigger with his finger. It took a while compared to the damage that the torpedoes did, but finally the rock surface shattered and the internal structure of the platform blew apart. Andrew smiled savagely and turned his attention to the second platform, repeating the process.

"All forces," came Garret's voice again, "enter hyperspace as soon as you have cleared the field, don't wait for anyone else."

Andrew checked his sensors and noticed that what remained of the task force was near the outer edges of the asteroid field, but still within danger. Soon the assault frigate carrying Garret entered hyperspace, followed by a strike cruiser, and then a pair of Carrack-class cruiser. The last ship, a CEC corvette, was close to the edge, but didn't make it before she was blown apart by every single weapons platform nearby.

"Okay, that's everyone. Blues, Ambers, Banthas, and escorting gunships, make your jump immediately. This didn't turn out the way we liked it, but at least some of us can return home."

He broke off his attack on the platform and shunted all his available power into engines and shields, racing for the edge of the asteroid field. His sensors started to show green dots winking out of existence as the starfighters and gunships entered hyperspace. It wasn't long until he, too, reached the edge of the asteroid field and pulled back on the lever, his computations already entered into the navicomputer. The blackness of space disappeared as a shining light filled his view.

West sat in his quarters, looking at the data recovered from the ambush, his left hand gently stroking the stubble on his chin. While the ambush had, indeed, succeeded in destroying several Rebel starships, only the equivalent of a flotilla been denied to the Rebels; he was hoping for the entire task force to be destroyed, depriving Ull of almost one third of his forces, but he was still somewhat happy with the results.

He had actually contemplated making another strike against Anaxes, but had discarded the thought after careful planning. Ull was too clever to let his defenses fall or grow complacent, especially in the wake of the ambush, and would most likely keep at least one full task force on station to deal with any new assault, not to mention static defenses such as the shipyards, spacedock control, and gun emplacements. No, a direct assault would not be beneficial to the longevity of his men; better to take the Rebels at a piecemeal pace.

He put away the datapad and turned towards a stack of others. Picking one up, he thumbed it on and surveyed the data displayed. Hmmm, he thought to himself. Fleet internal repairs are starting to dwindle; no doubt as a result of shortage of manpower.

Manpower aboard ships on detached service was often a problem; there were, of course, several ways to counter the situation, but most of them involved the quartering of conscripts. Usually, when something like that was brought about, the Rebels always found a way of discovering them and liberating the majority of the convey, which not only gave a morale boost to the Rebels, but also provided them the chance to capture several freighters and transport craft as well.

West thought for a moment and then he suddenly came up with an idea that made him grin. Well, then, that is certainly something to attempt. He reached over his desk and hit a button; a moment later the voice of the communications officer-on-duty came back at him. "Communications, Ensign Liex speaking."

"Ensign, please make a transmission to Director Isard, top priority. I have something I wish to discuss with her."

Rob tugged at the tunic of his dress uniform and tried desperately to adjust the sash as best as he could. "I am going to kill the person who designed this blasted thing."

"I don't know," said Chris Layne with a grin, "I think it makes you look regal, almost… Imperial."

"Keep it up, Captain; just remember, I make up the roster."

"Yes, sir."

Rob shot Chris one more glance before turning around and boarding the Lambda-class shuttle that was sitting idle on the flight deck. He made his way through the passenger cabin until he found an open seat next to Andrew Dobson and plopped himself down into it. He glanced over at his comrade and cleared his throat gently. "How bad?" he asked.

"Bad enough," was all that Andrew would answer with.

Deciding not to press the issue, Rob settled in his chair and surveyed the cabin. He noticed Captain Ru'kaart conversing with Lieutenant Colonel Nosnern, but Sooli Kitz seemed to be starring out of the viewport with an almost eerie detachment from her surroundings. Figuring that she was contemplating something that had to do with Steve, he opted to leave her alone; even if she wasn't thinking of Steve, this was hardly the appropriate time or place to discuss anything unrelated to their solemn duty.

The shuttle gently rose, the reverberations making it almost a soothing experience, and soon the brief jolt of momentum as the craft sped forward out of the hanger bay. The ride itself would not take long—a matter of minutes—but it was still enough time for Rob to contemplate things. He stared out the view port as the shuttle headed towards the rather large and imposing flagship of the Third Fleet, the Maria. He watched the many ships—some of which were undergoing emergency repairs in the shipyard facilities—as the tiny specs of ion exhaust indicating transport craft and the more faster and agile patrolling starfighters moved from the background of space to that of armor hull platting.

The shuttle began its landing procedure in the port hanger bay and Rob watched as the MagCon field passed before him, to be replaced by lines of starfighters and technicians in a uniform formation. He saw the images slow and then come to a complete stop, and then felt the shuttle settle gently down on its landing struts, the loud "bang!" of the ramp making contact with the deck plates reverberating throughout the cabin. He gave a sigh and stood up, smoothing out his uniform tunic before moving into the aisle, then walked up to the procession line forming at the front.

Per old Galactic Republic tradition—something that the Office of Military Protocol decided to adopt for the New Republic Armed Forces—the most junior officer would disembark a vehicle first, and the procession would continue upwards with the highest ranking officer disembarking last. In this instance, Sooli disembarked first, followed by Andrew, Rob, Nosnern, and finally Ru'kaart.

They were not alone in the hanger bay; several officers from all branches and commands of the military were present, taking up a rank and file position around a closed casket with a small dais in front of it. From what he could tell, there were command officers from every single unit assigned to Third Fleet, from the commanding officer of the Marine Expeditionary Unit on down to the resident Intelligence officer for each starship. Considering the mass of people who had died in the ambush, this was not a surprise; especially given that Rear Admiral Gail Maxe was among those lost.

There was a middle-aged man in dress uniform with the rank pips of a vice admiral standing between the dais and the casket, looking anything but happy with the situation. Rob knew the man well, as he was the overall commanding officer in this area, Corben Ull. He waited until the new arrivals took their places, and then gave a nod off to his right and the lights in the hanger bay began to dim considerably. He then took a step forward and stood at the dais, the microphone switched on and picking up his breathing.

"I wish we were here under better circumstances today, for the only time when people en masse gather is to celebrate a victory, or to mourn a defeat," began Ull with a solemn and calm voice. "This time we are here to mourn in the wake of an ambush that took from us the lives of so many souls aboard the Orion, the Crimson, the Judicial, the Pride of Corellia, the Battle of Brentaal IV, and the Lexington, along with the lives of many souls who fought so bravely in defense of their comrades." He paused a moment and swept his gaze across those gathered. "I only wish that their sacrifices meant more.

"We are gathered here today to pay our respects to these souls, our honored dead, who, just as many before them have, died in the pursuit of freedom and independence for the galaxy. Their specific reasons for joining the military might have been different in the beginning—the desire to avenge the death of a loved one, the personal obligation to see life brought back into their homeworld, the inability to continue living under the heel of Imperial oppression—but their reasons for staying with the military were uniform in design, if not in practical sense. For we are all here to bring about a change to the way life is for us; to bring about a change that will shatter the corrupt regime of the Galactic Empire and bring back a golden age of prosperity and freedom of expression that made the Republic grand."

Ull was silent for a moment and then cleared his throat with a light cough. "I pray to the Force that we never have to have such a ceremony again for as long as we all live, that we can find some way to bring about the desired change without the high costs that usually accompany it. And while it may seem foolish to believe such a thing is possible, it is nonetheless what makes us different than that of our enemies. Unlike the cold and calculating Imperial military war machine that produces a seemingly endless supply of troops, weapons, and vehicles, we strive to make every inch of ground, every kilometer of space, a victory for our future. And while we have shed blood in the progress of those goals, we are still united, strong, and resilient."

This time, as he looked out into the crowd, Rob could swear that the man's dark eyes looked directly at him, as if he was purposely seeing Rob and focusing on him. The contact made the pilot shiver slightly, and he was thankful for when the admiral turned his gaze onto someone else.

"Let us never forget that while we have lost comrades, friends, loved ones, even children, we are still strong and united in our task to break the crushing yoke of oppression that has been placed upon the galaxy. While the deaths of Emperor Palpatine and his chief servant, Darth Vader, have helped, the dark designs and cold calculations of those that have risen to power in their wake are still a force to be reckoned with. Let us avenge these souls by bringing about that which they fought and died for: freedom."

Ull stepped back from the dais and a Master Chief Petty Officer stepped towards the casket and sucked in his breath. "Ah-ten-shun!" Everyone on the flight deck snapped to military attention in uniform precision, but he wasn't done yet. He turned on his heel towards a line of six uniformed persons, one each from the Navy, Marine Corps, Starfighter Command, Army, Security Forces, and Intelligence. "Pre-zent… Arms!" The six individuals lifted up the rifles that were at their sides while the countless officers on the flight deck saluted. "Ready… Aim… Fire!" Red blaster bolts shot out through the MagCon field. "Fire!" Another round. "Fire!" And another. "Fire!" And finally, a fourth round break through into space.

Ull stepped back up to the dais after saluting the casket once more. "We commit these souls to the deep of space from whence we all came. May the Force watch over them as they make the transition from this world to the next." He hit a switch on the dais and the casket jetted forward and passed through the MagCon field with gentle precision.

The Master CPO who spoke moments ago turned on his heel again and faced the gathering of officers. "Company…. Dismissed!"

Rob broke from his posture and turned towards Sooli, but found that she was already making her way to the rather tall and imposing form of a Wookiee near the front of the dais. Hmmm, I guess she needs to talk to Colonel Elebacca… I'll talk to her later.

Ull looked at both Elebacca and Captain Kitz with a sense of horrified surprise on his face. "You're certain of this? This informant, he's reliable?"

"Aye, sir," said Kitz calmly, "I'd trust him with my life, and he's been an informant for many years. Normally the information he passes along is about the security of Imperial convoys carrying supplies through the sector of space—medical supplies, spare parts, things like that—but every now and then he comes across information such as this. I found out just before I left the Star, and figured that you and the Colonel would like to know immediately."

"I certainly appreciate the diligence in your work, Captain Kitz, and if, indeed, the information is right, then we've been handed a lightsaber likely to blow up in our faces."

Sooli Kitz sat at the small briefing table and looked back and forth between the three officers present. Normally it would have been just Rob and Chelsey, but because of the logistics of the operation that Sooli was presenting to Red Squadron, it also called for a Tactical Officer or Operations Officer to be present in the initial planning stages. While no replacement had been named for Chris Layne in the wake of his desire to no longer be the squadron's Tactical Officer, Jamie Wetherill had recently been promoted to the rank of second lieutenant and given the position of Operations Officer. Thus far he's been doing a fine job, but it was easy to deal with day-to-day operations when the unit wasn't planning a full-scale attack.

"Colonel, Major, Lieutenant," she began politely, "thank you for coming. I know that all of you have been busy the last couple of days since the memorial service, but the Admiral has decided that the information we have received—which has been verified at least twice—is of paramount importance. There's no easy way to say it, so I'll just come on out and say it: Admiral Hasse has been executed, the Sixteenth Imperial Fleet is no longer under his command."

Rob leaned forward in his chair and gave a shake of his head. "Let me guess; Iceheart was not exactly happy with the ambush we gave his forces when they tried to take Anaxes back."

"That's a fair assessment of the situation, yes, but it looks to be as though we're getting a short end of the stick as a result."

"How so?" asked Chelsey. "Without their commanding officer, whoever steps up to take the reigns will not be able to effectively combat us. And if they send someone to take over, it'll at least be a few days before they can arrive, in which case we can take advantage of the situation."

"Someone has, indeed, been promoted within the fleet to take over, and it's the worst possible outcome possible." Sooli sighed and let it out slowly. "Vice Admiral Orlando West has been promoted to full admiral and given complete command of the fleet and all Imperial forces in the sector."

A chilly silence was her response as she watched the expressions of her fellow officers. All of them were familiar with West, having faced him and his forces previously less than a year before, and they all knew that the man was as ruthless as they came, but the mere fact that he was Isard's choice to take over command of an entire Imperial fleet made every single one of them consider the man to be just that much more dangerous.

Finally, Rob swallowed and looked at Sooli with an expression of terror in his hazel eyes. "Please tell me you're joking, Captain Kitz."

"I'm afraid not, Colonel, it's been confirmed by independent and NRI sources. In fact, that ambush that Admiral Maxe's task force walked into was set up by him."

"He always did have a flare for the sneaky." The young man ran a hand through his hair and gave a sigh. "Okay, what's the other shoe?"

"Colonel?"

"You didn't pull us into this meeting just to tell us something that we would have been told eventually. So, why don't you go ahead and let the other shoe drop and let us know just what this has to do—specifically—with Red Squadron?"

Sooli gave him a lopsided grin. "You know me too well. Yes, there was another reason for this little gathering; you're being given a mission, along with a detachment of marines to help you in this regard. You see, the informant who first brought West's promotion to our attention did so in regards to an Imperial convoy that is being sent to the fleet. Normally this wouldn't exactly be a high priority; we'd send in a low-profile squadron to interdict the convoy, perhaps capture it, thus denying the Imperials of their supplies, but this is a somewhat special case." She hit a button on the conference table before her and a holographic representation of a world appeared in the center of the room. "I am sure that you all know what this world is."

"Kashyyyk," spoke Jamie, who had been silent up until now. "I do not like where this is going."

"Apparently, West does. Your suspicions are correction, Lieutenant; it's a conscription convoy carrying Wookiees."

Rob pounded a fist on the table. "Somehow I think I know what our mission is, and I agree to it one hundred percent."

"Easy there, Colonel, let me finish." She hit the button again and a profile of several different freighter craft appeared. "Due to their sheer physical strength and inability to reliably control under normal circumstances, all of the conscripted Wookiees are being transported in cargo holds with no access to them other than a docking port, to help prevent their ability to take over their ships. This actually works in our favor; we won't have to worry about facing an onboard fire-fight with internal security when we board the freighters."

"But eventually they'll have to be dealt with if we want to rescue all of the slaves; there's no way we can place all of them on boarding transports," pointed out Chelsey.

"I'm getting there, but first the mission outline. Red Squadron will be the starfighter contingent on this mission. We're not expecting much of an escort force, perhaps a couple of corvettes and some heavy assault fighters such as the Assault Gunboats, but that's it. They're even taking a little known transit route to try and keep off our sensors. Red will neutralize the enemy combatants and then interdict the convoy. If you have to, take out their engines, but don't destroy the craft itself—for obvious reasons. Once the convoy has been neutralized as well, the boarding transports will move in and dock, first securing the cargo holds and making sure the slaves healthy. Then, they will undock with the cargo holds and dock with the maintenance port on the ships and take command of the vessels. Granted, the point of entry will make for an effective defense against our teams, but this way no noncombatants will be caught in a firefight. The marines will be able to make do; I am sure we can all attest to that."

Rob nodded his approval and poked his finger at the hologram. "It's a solid plan. And during the boarding operation, Red will fly a perimeter defense, as well as having at least an element on standby to shake up any crew if they decide to be a little rambunctious in regards to our insertion teams. When's the operation?"

"Tomorrow morning, so make sure you brief your pilots and get a good night's sleep. With West now in charge, we're all going to need it."

Chapter Four

West looked over the various reports sitting on his desk and gave a slight sigh of exasperation. He knew that taking command of a sector fleet would bring about a lot of responsibility and bureaucracy to his life, but he never imagined that it would be quite this much. He had to approve every command decision made by every single one of his subordinate command officers, such as a task force commander straight on down to ship commander. It was tedious and repetitive, to say the least, but it was the way that such militaries functioned in the galaxy: no arbitrary decisions. It was mostly due to Director Isard taking the reigns of the Empire, as the intelligent woman believed foremost in making sure that no one was trying to break up any more of her galactic powerbase.

Idealy, it was a sound concept; it allowed her to keep tabs on everyone with a papertrail leading back to anyone who did not follow the proper procedure for something. In practice, however, it was a mixed blessing. West was certain he could achieve his goals that much more effectively if he had more of a free hand in things, but realized that such a thing could bring about his downfall if someone were to play politics with him. So, he continued to follow established protocol and did as he was supposed to.

A beep stirred him from his thoughts and he hit a button on his desk. "West."

"Sorry to bother you, sir, but you said you wanted to be told when the convoy was leaving Kashyyyk. It'll be here in twenty standard hours."

"Thank, you, Chief." He hit the button again and then settled back in his chair. In a few hours his trap will be sprung, and the Rebels will pay dearly for their insolence. Oh, how I do so love the taste of defeat.

Chris Layne looked at Rob for a brief moment, which gave him a nod in return, and then stepped up to the podium in the pilot's briefing room. He swore he would never do this again after he asked to no longer be the Tactical Officer, but a replacement still hadn't been named, and Rob had asked him personally to do this. He gave a small sigh and then tapped his knuckles on the surface of the podium. "Okay, let's get together; we've got quite a bit of work ahead of us."

All eyes in the room turned to him and Chris felt himself flinch from the attention. "Now then, first order of business is that we're being deployed on a mission in deep space; no planetary bodies, no lifeless chunks of rock, nothing, so we have no natural or artificial means in which to use as an observation post before we strike. We move in immediately after emerging from hyperspace and engage our targets."

"And those targets are?" asked Chris Hart, his wingmate.

"Freighters." He touched a key on the podium and a holographic representation of a standard bulk freighter with Type A containers floated in mid-air before him. "We're not entirely sure the exact composition and type of freighters, but we believe them to be anything from the standard bulk type to Mobquets. We're also not sure of the composition and number of an escort force, but standard Imperial doctrine dictates that a pair of CEC Corvettes and some long-range heavy assault starfighters, such as the standard Assault Gunboats, will accompany them. Yes, Angel?"

Jeni put down her hand and cleared her throat slightly. "What's the objective of the mission? Deep strike?"

"No, actually, it's capture and recovery." There was a slight murmur from the pilots assembled and Chris had to clear his throat in order to bring everyone back to attention. "The reason as to why it's a C&R mission is because of the cargo; conscripted slaves. We've been informed that the Empire, feeling that their manpower in the sector is low, has decided to bolster their workforce with conscripted Wookiees; the New Republic, to say the least, is not about to let it happen, and we've been selected to be the ones who'll take the Imperial slime running the convoy out."

Rob cleared his throat slightly to get Chris' attention and then gestured to the podium. Chris took the hint and brought his focus back onto the subject at hand. "Our mission is to interdict the freighters and to prevent them from entering hyperspace. To do this, we'll do flybys of the command section, letting them know we mean business, and, if need be, we'll blow out their sublight engines. We are not to destroy their hyperdrive unless it is a critical situation; the sublights can easily be repaired by field mechanics, but hyperdrives are something else entirely."

Chris took a step back form the podium and sat down as Rob came forward. "That's the basics of the operation. We're going in, suppressing any combatants, and then interdicting the convoy while boarding craft deal with the crews aboard the freighters. Elements of the Fifty-Third Marine Expeditionary Unit will oversee the capture operation while we maintain a perimeter defense. Oh, and one last thing to mention; this convoy was requested by the new commanding officer of the Sixteenth Imperial Fleet… Admiral Orlando West."

Chris snapped his head up instantly and stared at Rob's expression. Save for the newest members, everyone in the room had experience dealing with West. However, he was not a full admiral at the time, but apparently he had found a way to gain favor with Isard.

"I know that it must be a surprise to most of you, but please try to focus on the mission at hand. We leave tomorrow morning, Oh Four Hundred, so make sure all of you get a good night's sleep. Dismissed."

Chris stood up and thought about turning towards the doors at the rear, but instead walked towards Rob and snapped to attention. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Knock it off, Chris," responded Rob. "Say what you want and get on with it."

"Why didn't you inform me about West when you went over the details for the operation with me? Surely you don't think that this mission is exactly a cut-and-dry milk run, not if he's the one who specifically requested for the convoy. There has to be an angle."

"I agree that there is certainly an angle, but unless we know what that angle is, we cannot effectively combat it. So, instead of trying to come up with a solution to a problem that we don't know, I believe it is better to focus on the problems that we do know about." Rob sat down in a chair and propped his feet up on the holoprojector. "The result is, in any case, that we have to attempt to liberate those slaves. Abolition of slavery has always been one of the driving forces for the Rebellion and the Republic, and the fact that Empire considers non-humans to be inferior is one of the biggest reasons why we want to bring an end to their corruption."

Chris blinked for a moment as he took a seat himself. "I didn't know you were a philosopher, Colonel."

"I'm not; I find the whole thing to be rather skewed and a waste of time. I am, however, a man who stands true to his beliefs, and would do almost anything for them." He stopped for a moment and then took a good look at Chris. "You sure you don't want to be Tactical Officer anymore?"

"No, thank you. And next time, please, don't ask me to give another briefing."

"Just wait until I make you XO," said Rob with a grin.

"That's not even funny."

Rob pulled back on his lever and returned to normal space with a slight jerk, the white tunnel fading into single points of light against a black curtain. He swung his flight stick around and brought the X-wing to the port slightly, making sure to give enough clearance so the rest of the squadron could reenter normal space smoothly. Normally there wouldn't be need to worry about the proximity to one another, but during the ambush at Anaxes, one of the Reds had accidentally bumped Rob's craft after the microjump, and ever since Rob had made sure that they gave plenty of margin for error.

"Squadron, Lead. Flights One and Three, we'll be hitting the combatants as soon as they arrive. Flight Two, you're in charge of interdicting the convoy until we're finished with the combatants. Please try and be somewhat diplomatic, Six."

"I'm always diplomatic, Lead," replied Chris Layne.

"I'll be sure to note that in my report. Lead, out."

He surveyed the space around him again, noticing how utterly barren it looked without anything taking up residence, such as an asteroid field or a planetary body. He used to enjoy such emptiness when he was a cargo runner, but now he regarded such open space as a prefect place for a timed ambush; with no places to hide behind or weave in and out of, a dogfight could become a death sentence for one of his pilots.

Of course, it also levels the playing field; no Imp pilot can use cover, either.

A series of monotone beeps from Twitch drew his attention back to reality and he watched his sensor readouts register several new contacts, all of them with hostile IFF codes. He gave a sardonic grin to himself and then brought his fighter around to orient himself to the new targets. "Squadron, Lead," he said again into his headset. "New contact alert, reading two CEC corvettes, two CEC modified corvettes, and a full squadron of Assault Gunboats escorting twenty freighter craft of various classes and types. Break and attack. Lead, out."

It didn't take long for the Imperials to notice that they were not alone, and a full flight of gunboats broke off their escort and headed towards the New Republic fighters. Rob checked his threat display and saw that it wasn't registering any missiles from the enemy ships, but that didn't mean they didn't have any. He hoped they didn't, as dodging missiles tended to add to the time spent in combat—not to mention the mortality rate of his pilots—but he would just have to wait and see for himself.

He selected the lead gunboat as his target and swept his targeting reticule over it passively. The closing distance between the two groups was still at least two kilometers, but it was enough of a distance to actually be worried about the prospects of enemy fire.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, the two groups got within maximum fire range and a display of green laser lights lanced out towards the X-wings, who aptly dodged the incoming maelstrom. Rob grinned at the exchange, momentarily reliving one of Neill Magill's lectures about combat tactics. The man had stated—and quite correctly, Rob assessed—that it was best not to open up fire at long range, because the chance of hitting something substantial was virtually nonexistent; Instead, it was best for the enemy to waste their time with such a show of force while they got closer, making it much easier to score critical hits along their shields and hull.

The opposing forces finally came within what Rob considered "acceptable range" of one another and the X-wings opened up with a full salvo of red fire against the blackness of space. Several of the shots scored hits against the shields covering the wings of the gunboats, and at least one of the Imperials broke off in and effort to minimize the damage done to him.

Rob pulled back on his flight stick and came in behind the pilot, lancing the gunboat's aft shields with a heavy volley of laser fire. It didn't take long for the shields collapse in the rear quadrant, and Rob didn't waste any opportunities; he switched over to torpedoes, fired off one, and then broke off to get out of range. The gunboat soon exploded into an expanding cloud of metallic debris and the red dot disappeared from his sensor screen. "Scratch one."

"Make that two, Lead," came Jamie's voice over the squadron channel.

Rob glanced to his right and saw that his wingmate had, indeed, disposed another gunboat. Good; the Imperials are in bad shape today, and we're doing well.

A shrill beeping from Twitch brought his attention to the sensor screens and he noticed that the remaining gunboats had broken off their escort of the convoy and were headed towards the X-wings. "Heads up, people, we've got the rest of the welcoming committee coming to greet us. Six, give me a sit-rep."

Static came back over the channel, but soon he heard Chris' response. "They're being a bit uncooperative, Lead. I'm going to give them one more chance to stand down before I start blowing things up."

"Be sure not to blow up anything we absolutely need, Six. Remember; sublight only, no hyperdrives."

"I remember, sir."

The channel clicked off and Rob glanced in the direction of the convoy, watching the cumbersome forms of the freighters and the quartet of corvettes. He frowned slightly and brought up a detailed tactical overlay of the surrounding area, focusing on the available transit points out of the system and into hyperspace. There weren't that many due to the gravitational distortion of some of the nearby star systems—probably one of the reasons why this system had been picked as a transit point for the convoy—but there were more than enough for the Imperials to make use of should they get past Red Squadron.

He was about to click on his headset again when the flight stick was pulled back sharply, hitting him hard in the abdomen. The X-wing flipped end-over-end and Rob cursed loudly in Corellian dialect. "Twitch!" he grunted with exasperation. "This is not… the time!"

The flipping ended shortly, and he was about to launch into another series of expletives until he noticed that a pair of concussion missiles had flown through the area where he had just occupied. They must have been dumbfired, so my threat warning wouldn't pick them up. "Er… Thanks, Twitch, but next time, be a little more gentle."

The astromech responded with the equivalent of a snobbish "hmph!" but didn't attempt to make any more changes to the flight path of the starfighter. Rob gave a sigh and looked at his sensors to locate the gunboat that had shot at him, and found that Jamie was already engaging it. Sharp reaction, he commented to himself. He did a one-eighty flip and rolled to orient himself "relative" to the defined horizon of the operations area and throttled up towards the gunboat, but keeping it off his targeting sensors. "Four, target's status."

"Shields are weak in the port quarter; a few more shots and he'll be done for."

"Keep pounding away, I'm going to attempt to sneak up ‘blind' and help finish him off for his rudeness towards me." He switched his fire system over to a quad-linked pattern and made sure that they were all fully charged, but still didn't target the gunboat. "You're not the only one who can dumbfire, my little Imperial friend; let's see how you like being on the receiving end of things, eh?"

He let loose an endless volley of laser fire into the port quarter of the gunboat and watched as it exploded into cloud of debris.

"Lead," came Chelsey's voice over the channel, "we're down to just four gunboats. Fourteen and I can take care of them."

"Understood, Twelve. Flight One, regroup on me and head towards the corvettes. It's time we take out the big guns before they can do anything."

Three X-wings reformed on him as he brought his fighter around to focus on the lead corvette, one of the standard CEC types. He brought the targeting computer up on his CMD display and did a review of the characteristics of the class and noted that it didn't seem to have any of the special modifications that would have made it an Assassin corvette. Hmm, he thought to himself, this should be relatively easy.

"Flight One, switch to torpedoes and fire at long range, on my mark… mark!"

Four pairs of blue tailed warheads sped out from their launch points and towards the corvette. Because it was a standard corvette without any modifications, there were no early warning systems to make it able to detect the torpedoes that were now bearing in on it. The same—apparently—was also true of its sister ship, and Rob repeated the order again. Within moments, both of the standard CECs were rolling due to damage to their stabilization controls, and then exploded into debris clouds.

"This is going to be a little trickier," he said to himself as he targeted the first modified corvette. "Four, you're on me. Three, Eleven, approach from behind and fire your remaining torpedoes and then continue with lasers, but watch the defensive fire from the corvette; I don't have the time to fill out paperwork concerning your funeral service."

"You're all heart, Lead," came Chad's response.

Rob scoffed and began to weave in and out of the incoming defensive fire from the corvette, Jamie doing likewise. He fired off a shot every now and then, to draw their attention away from the other X-wings, but because of the intensity that the batteries maintained the damage didn't amount to much. However, he was pleasantly surprised when the ship suddenly exploded into an expanding field of metal.

"Good work! Okay, repeat performance on the remaining corvette."

"As ordered, Lead," came Jeni's response.

They did exactly the same as they had with the first modified corvette, except this time the crew of the Imperial ship was ready for them. The defensive fire focused on the aft of the ship in an attempt to dissuade the X-wings from attacking in the blind spot, but that, itself, backfired on them. Rob and Jamie took advantage of the situation and fired their remaining torpedoes into the ship's forward section and strafed the hull with countless laser hits. Between both the frontal and rear attacks, the shields on the corvette began to collapse and the hull started to take massive amounts of damage. It wasn't long before the ship–once a mighty and formidable vessel in the Imperial Navy–turned into a flaming debris cloud of twisted metal.

"Good work! That's it for the big guns. Twelve, give me a report."

"We've finished off the last of the gunboats, Lead," responded Chelsely.

"Excellent work. Six, your status?"

"All freighters have powered down and are awaiting to be boarded, Lead."

"Nice work, Six. Squadron, Lead, maintain a patrol around the area and make sure that we don't have any surprises ready to jump out at us." He switched his communications over to the shared military frequency designated for the mission and cleared his throat slightly. "Omega Command, this is Red Leader; area is secure. You may proceed."

A few moments later eight assault transports appeared as they finished their microjump from the edge of the system and took up a flanking position around the convoy. Soon a new voice came over the speakers in Rob's headset; "This is Able Team, we're moving in take the first inspection of the prisoners."

"Understood, Able Team, we'll keep an eye out."

Rob watched as the transport—Omega One—moved in towards the targeted freighter craft. He surveyed the area silently, running a continuous scan of the system to make sure there were no surprises in store for his forces, but he also focused on the transport as it smoothly docked with the cargo section of the freighter. Nothing seemed to happen for a few minutes, and then the crackle of static came over his headset.

"Able Team leader to Red Leader, over," game a deep and gruff voice.

"This is Red Leader, Able, go ahead, Lieutenant."

"Sir, we've just completed our scan of the cargo hold. Intel was right on the money with this one; no guards, no security systems, no way to get to the operations section of the ship via the connecting airlock. They appear to have physically torched the connecting airlock, and the entire compliment of emergency EVA suits has been removed. The Wooks seem pleased to see us, sir, but they also want to get out of this place."

"Understood, Lieutenant. Proceed with your undock and redock procedure."

"You've got it, sir. Able Team, out."

A few minutes later the transport lifted off the cargo section of the freighter and then moved forward to the operations section. It seemed to hover for a moment, and then gently settled over the docking hatch until the two ships once again were one. A couple of seconds went by, and then space exploded into a bright light of red as the transport and freighter blew apart.

Rob felt the shockwave hit his X-wing and he tried his best to compensate for the turbulence, but found that it was difficult to do so. He looked over and noticed that one of his stabilizers has been blown off and that he was having trouble maintaining his balance. "Twitch, get to work on rebalancing the ship! Someone give me a situation report; what the hell just happened?!"

"Sensors show that the transport had just docked with the freighter and something caused it to explode from the inside out," came the pilot of the second marine transport. "We can only guess that it was some sort of booby trap to prevent the ship from being captured."

"Son of a—!" Rob hit his fist against the canopy window with a frustrated expression. "Major Wielems," Rob said into the headset as his fighter began to finally balance itself out, "your assessment?"

It took about two seconds before the mission commander of the marines came back over the channel, her somber voice full of her own frustration. "Chances are that the other freighters are similarly booby trapped, sir. They seemed to be activated when we try to dock with the operations section of the freight craft. I would suggest that we bypass the attempt to capture the freighters and focus on the prisoners. We should attempt to rescue as many prisoners as we can and then…scuttle the ships."

"You can't be serious!" came Chris Layne's angry response. "There are hundreds of prisoners on those ships, and we don't have enough transports to even rescue a third of that number! We'll be killing innocent people!"

"That will be all, Six!" Rob shouted into the microphone. "Major, how many do you think we can fit into the transports?"

"If we squeeze every inch… about one hundred, maybe one hundred twenty, but no more than that."

Rob sighed and closed his eyes, deep in thought. He really didn't want to do this, but the orders that he had been given stipulated that they were to deny these conscripts to the 16th Imperial Fleet at all costs. Granted, the likelihood of that turning into a death sentence for the hundreds of Wookiees was not something that any of the mission planners had thought of, but the orders remained the same.

"Major," Rob spoke softly into his headset, "have another transport dock with one of the freighters—their cargo section only. We'll start getting out as many prisoners as we can and then we'll scuttle the ships to avoid their use by the Imperial fleet."

"Yes, sir."

One of the assault transports—the very same one that Major Wielems was himself aboard—throttled up from its station-keeping spot and advanced on a Mobquet-class freighter. It slowly moved towards the cargo section of the transport and then settled gently over the docking hatch. In a few seconds the transport had docked with the ship… and then the transport and freighter exploded, just like the one before.

This time, however, everyone had already been a relatively safe distance from the ship in fear of another booby trap, but that fact hadn't diminished the sense of shock and anger that swelled through Rob.

"Damnit! Someone explain that to me, please!"

"Checking, Colonel," came the response of one of the remaining transports. "Uh, sensor logs show that just before the first freighter exploded, an unidirectional transmission was sent. The contents appear to be encrypted, but if I had to guess, I would say that it was a failsafe code, transmitted to the other ships so that if we attempted to bypass the capture procedure—like we just did—and tried to rescue just the prisoners, the ships would still explode. I can't say for certain until we get back to Command and have the NRI techs look over it, but that would be my personal assessment, sir."

"Lead, we've got a situation," came Chelsey's voice over the channel. "The freighters are moving forward again, advancing on one of the exit vectors."

Still cursing, Rob punched up the universal "neutral" frequency and cleared his throat. "Imperial freighters, this is Lieutenant Colonel Baden of the New Republic Armed Forces. You are ordered to halt your activities and return to your previous state of station keeping. Repeat, halt your ships and power down."

"Sorry to disappoint, Colonel," said a nasal sounding male voice, "but I don't think you can't exactly stop us anymore."

"I will open fire if you do not comply."

"And kill the Wooks? I doubt it." The channel clicked off.

Rob frowned and turned his frequency back to the military channel assigned the operation. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before clearing his throat. "Red Squadron, Omega Command… prepare to destroy all Imperial craft on my command."

"This is insane," commented Chris Layne again. "They're innocent civilians, they haven't done anything wrong!"

"I'm inclined to agree with Six, Lead," said Chad. "They didn't sign up to be in the Armed Forces, they didn't ask to be a part of this war, and I certainly can't condone killing hundreds of innocent beings for the mere fact that they are a strategic source for our enemies."

"That is enough out of both of you!" yelled Rob over the channel. "I don't like this any more than you do, but we have our orders, and we have to realize that if the Imperials get their hands on this labor force, they will be able to employ them against us. So shut up and do your jobs, is that clear?!"

"Yes, sir," came the soft responses from both Chad and Chris.

"Good. Now then," he said sharply as he took another deep breath, "prepare to go weapons free, torps and lasers, on my order only."

"He switched back over to the neutral channel and cleared his throat. "Imperial vessels, this is your last warning; stand down at once or you will be destroyed. I have no wish to kill anyone, but I will if I have to."

Silence only greeted him, and Rob found himself offering a wishful hope. "Force help me," he said to himself as he switched back over. "Reds, Omegas… open fire."

There was a brief hesitation from everyone—one that Rob could not fault anyone given the circumstances—and then a slew of red laser fire and blue torpedoes shot out from the ten X-wings and six assault transports.

The first freighter quickly lost its shields and then exploded as the hull-damaging weapons impacted. The bright red-yellow ball of fire that engulfed the ship soon dissipated as the oxygen within was expended, and the fighters and transports moved on to their next target. The same procedure was repeated until all of the freighters were no more than a combination of twisted metal and wreckage, spinning lifelessly in the dead of space.

"Lead," came Chelsey's voice, "just before the last freighter was destroyed I recorded an encrypted transmission."

"Log it for review by NRI when we get back." Rob looked out at the massacre he had just ordered and a memory flashed before his eyes. He tried to choke back the pain in him, but knew that it couldn't go away quite so easily. He forced his mind to ignore it for the time being and spoke into his headset slowly, his voice threatening to break. "All forces… return to base."

He brought his X-wing around and ran the calculations for a jump to lightspeed, watching as those fighters and transports closer to the exit vector already made their jump. Force, what have I done? was all he could think to ask himself as he pulled back on the lever and entered the white, endless tunnel.

Corben looked at Elebacca with a severe expression of sorrow on his face, wondering what the Wookiee must be feeling in the wake of the mission. He surely was torn between the duties he had as an officer and the pain he felt for his slain brethren, but he showed no signs of it in his professionalism.

Captain Kitz was running through the relevant portions of the debriefing text while the last person in the room—Lieutenant Colonel Baden—sat in silence at the far end of the conference table. Corben didn't envy what the man must be going through, and hoped that the mission hadn't broken him, but he was forced to turn his attention back to Kitz when he heard West's name mentioned.

"And upon further analysis, we've determined that the transmissions that were observed following the first freighter's destruction was some sort of codeword. Receipt of it altered the safeguards surrounding the docking hatches all over the ship and tied them into the drive system, so whenever someone tried to open the hatch when docked the result was a detonation of the engines."

"Clever and ruthless, just what I would expect from West," said Corben. "What about the other transmission, the one that was sent just before the last freighter's destruction?"

"That, uh, turned out to be a personal message for you, sir, from West."

Corben turned his head to look at her with a puzzled expression. "Me?"

"Yes, sir," said the magenta-skinned woman. "I have it available if you wish to review it."

"Yes, play it."

Kitz placed a small disk into the holoprojector and hit a button. The disembodied upper form of Orlando West appeared in midair with what looked to be a sardonic grin on his face. "Vice Admiral Corben Ull. Although we have never had the mutual pleasure of meeting in battle—yet—I have followed your career with interest following your success at the Battle of Endor. If you are viewing this message—and no doubt after your Intelligence analysts had done so first—then that means my gambit has paid off. You were forced to have someone within your command more or less kill several hundred Wookiees in an effort to deny me the use of conscripted slaves for labor. While the labor loss, indeed, will prevent some things from happening from my end of this conflict, the sheer joy I will receive knowing that people under your command have precipitated in the wholesale slaughter of innocent beings will greatly outweigh it.

"By now you are aware that it was I who ordered the conscripted slaves in the first place, and you have certainly been able to surmise that the entire scenario was so that I could hurt you. The loss in morale for your forces when this mission becomes known—and it will become known, Admiral, I've made arrangements for it—will help to seal their fate. My only regret is that I was not able to be there to personally see the expression on your unwitting choice for an executioner's face when he knew what he had to do.

"Until the next time we face off, Admiral, I bid thee farewell."

The projector shut off and Kitz removed the disk and handed it over to Elebacca. "That's all there was, sir. I had my team triple-check it to make sure it wasn't some sort of virus or location beam, but nothing came up."

Corben nodded slightly. "Well, I can't say that this is a happy turn of events. Colonel Baden."

Baden shook his head and looked up at his fleet commander. "Sir?"

"Colonel, I deeply apologize for the situation that I have put you in. Whatever else you may think, you did the duty that you were sworn to do, and you followed your orders, even though they stunk." He saluted the younger man. "That will be all, Colonel."

Baden rose and returned the salute, and then walked out of the conference room.

Corben turned to the two Intelligence agents and shook his head gravely. "Well, we've got our work cut out for us. Let's get moving."

Chapter Five

"A devious plan to be sure, Admiral West," said the holographic image of Isard. Even though no color was being transmitted other than the normal grayish see-through tones of the hologram, her intensive and probing eyes seemed to obtain their original red and blue colors. "However, the loss of the convoy is still something to be taken seriously. The next time you set a trap, I do hope that it wouldn't be quite as expensive in terms of material and personnel."

"Of course, Madam Director," said West in a pleasant, subdued tone. "However, given the somewhat equal measure of force that we and the Rebels have in this sector, I have to use unorthodox methods to ensure victories. The losses that the Empire has had since the death of the Emperor have been the result of less than… pragmatic… commanding officers. I know that personnel and material are important, but being able to win is surely just as important, perhaps even more so, in the long run, yes?"

There was no noticeable change in Isard's hologram, but it seemed as if her eyes grew a bit brighter. "Careful, Admiral; I wouldn't want you to end up like your predecessor."

"I hardly think that that will occur, Madam Director."

"See that it doesn't." The image faded and the projector turned itself off.

West gave a grin to himself and then turned to look at his new flagship captain. Up until now he had always commanded the Wisdom himself, but with his ascension to commander of the fleet, he had more pressing matters to attend to. As such, he took one of the best-known officers in his chain of command and made him the "official" commanding officer of the star destroyer, and he still believed it to be a good choice. "Well, that went well."

Miller stood with his hands behind his back in the standard formation of an officer with training, and the fact that his face was nearly expressionless made him even more of a "standard" feature in the military. However, his eyebrows were slightly lifted, showing his curiosity at the comment that West had made.

"Well, then" continued West, not paying attention to Miller's quiet little inquiry, "what's next?"

"We've gotten some preliminary results from Vermillion Station, but nothing substantial yet. They haven't been able to come up with anything concrete yet, I'm afraid, and don't wish to make themselves known until they're able to do so." Miller cleared his throat lightly. "There is, however, advanced intelligence coming in from our sources in Third Fleet; apparently, the convoy was taken out by a rather young and junior squadron commanding officer. I believe you're familiar with the denizens of Red Squadron, sir?"

West focused on Miller slightly and gave a frown. "Yes, Red…at last count, they were attached to the Morning Star, I believe. Strange, I didn't know they were part of Third Fleet's order-of-battle." He gave a wicked grin in Miller's direction. "Isn't it somewhat strange how familiar faces tend to crop up in this campaign?" He paused for a second and then cocked his head to the side while he continued to look at Miller. "If I recall, didn't you cross paths with Red a few months ago?"

"Not directly, sir. One of their pilots was a P.O.W. of mine, but he wasn't there that long."

"Ah, yes, the prisoner who gave you the little feature on your face," said West, pointing slightly to the scar on Miller's face. "I hope that vengeance won't become a motive for you, Captain; I would hate to see a repeat of Admiral Hasse's downfall."

"It won't, sir, I'm able to focus on the objective at hand."

"Good!" He turned and walked towards the other end of his ready room, to where the strategic operations board had been installed. "Then let's get to work on our next little surprise for Ull."

Corben looked over the reports in his hand and sighed. Morale had dropped heavily in the wake of what was being called the "Wookiee Massacre," and he couldn't quite blame his personnel for feeling that way. He had done his best to assure them that there was nothing else that could have been done, but there was always that lingering question—even in his own mind—that there could have been something that was overlooked.

He pushed the reports to the side and took up one of the tactical and strategic reports that he really should have been focusing on. Morale was important, yes, but that wouldn't win the sector. He briefly gazed along the report, focusing more on the overall implications that it gave than the specific details it showed. Then, that report, too, he set aside and gave a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes in the process. They needed more intelligence, they needed to know just what West was up to, but the way he had covered his tracks since taking over command made it very difficult.

Corben frowned at himself, thinking hard about the situation. There was no clear cut way to physically find the Imperials in the sector, given its sheer size and the limitations to which he could expend his forces. There was always the option of scouting individual systems, but that would take a very long time to accomplish. What the Sith, he thought to himself, it's not as if we've got anything else to do.

Reaching over he switched a button on his communications panel and was greeted with the brisk, snappish voice of his CAG. "Uve`lon here."

"General," said Corben, "I think it's time we started doing some old fashioned ‘probing.'"

Chelsey quickly looked over the checklist of her flight operations before giving the thumbs up to Frask Yak`ney and closing the canopy of her A-wing interceptor. She settled her goggles around her helmet and did a final check of her engines before clicking on the communications and switching it over to Flight Control. "Morning Star Control, this is Red Twelve, requesting priority clearance to disembark, over."

There was a moment of silence and then the familiar, Alderaanian voice of Jack Uoart returned Chelsey's inquiry in a very professional fashion. "Roger that, Red Twelve, this is MSC, you are clear to disembark and proceed to a heading of Zero-Zero-Three by Five-One. Good hunting, Major."

"Copy that, MSC, Red Twelve, disembarking." She ignited her repulsor lift engines and gently lifted off the flight deck, and then throttled forward on her maneuvering thrusters until she was clear of the MagCon field. She banked the small craft to her port and turned towards the heading given by Uoart, where the rest of Flights Two and Three were waiting…all but Chris Layne.

Rob had asked Chris to remain behind to do some planning operations with Jamie and himself. Despite the fact that he was no longer the tactical officer for the unit, Rob continued to pull him in to ask for his input on such things. It certainly seemed to frustrate the pilot to no end, but when your CO says, "jump," you don't argue that you're not in the jumping mood.

She switched her communications over to the squadron frequency and cleared his throat slightly. "Okay, Reds, we're going to be reconnoitering the Galone system; it's fairly straight forward, no native population, no known artificial satellites or stations, and the single planet in the system has an asteroid ring around it. That's where we're going to be concentrating our search efforts, on that ring; if the Imps have anything hidden, it's most likely going to be in that location."

"Twelve, Fourteen," came Travis' voice. "Didn't Bantha Squadron reconnoiter that system a few days ago?"

"Yes, but they only did a preliminary scan of the area. You can't pick up much unless you actually focus on a specific area; space is somewhat big, you know."

"Thank you, O Wise Astronomical Instructor."

"That's ‘O Great and Wise Astronomical Instructor,' Fourteen, and don't you forget it."

"Of course, Twelve."

Chelsey lightly shook her head and then ran through the coordinates listed in the small navigation computer of the A-wing. "Okay, stand by to enter hyperspace on my mark… mark!"

She pulled back on the lever and watched as she was propelled into a massive tunnel of spinning white. Hmm, it's a good thing this isn't a long flight, I didn't bring a book with me.

Chris Layne looked over the holographic display of the various systems within the sector and started to pick off the ones that were obviously controlled by Imperial forces. "Well, we know for certain," he said with a sideways glance to Sooli Kitz, "that the 16th is not at any of the major ports in the sector. If they were, we would have been alerted by the surveillance we have on those systems, correct?"

"Correct," answered the Intelligence agent.

"Then," continued Chris, "they have to be in one of the systems that we know aren't a major port. My best guess is that they're trying to draw more portions of Third Fleet away from Anaxes, thin us out by attrition and sneakiness, much like they did to Admiral Maxe's task force, so they're going to try and lure us into some sort of trap."

"Hmmm," said Rob from the other end of the table. "That will make hitting them very hard; if we can't trust our own sources, how are we going to make an effective strike against them?" He turned his gaze to Sooli and tilted his head. "However, I still don't understand why the four of us are reviewing this; shouldn't Admiral Ull and his staff be the ones to go over the possibilities?"

"The Admiral recognizes that we have previous experience dealing with West and wishes to have our input on how we think he would do things."

Chris frowned and looked at Sooli. "Then shouldn't it be someone like Captain Ru'kaart and the senior staff, not some self-confident fighter jocks?"

"Your opinion of our abilities is somewhat disconcerting, Chris," said Rob.

"Sorry, sir."

"However, you do have a point." Rob sat thoughtful for a moment and everyone else in the room looked at him. "Okay, let's look at this in terms of comparison. Hasse was a full admiral and somewhat competent commander—his record shows that much, and from what I know of the Fondor operation, he prevailed against our forces."

"Rob, he prevailed because he had an overwhelming numerical superiority."

"Yes, but I am sure all of us know that numerical superiority is not the testament of how well an operation will go. He planned the initial operation against us, and if we hadn't already had our forces ready for an ambush, he really could have wiped out our defensive operations here and retaken the system. However, I do believe that he was somewhat presumptuous in his planning if he thought a single task force would have been able to do so. Now," he continued, turning his attention to Chris, "what exactly do we know about West?"

"He's ruthless, cruel, but calculating," responded the younger pilot. "He has a history of taking an overall situation and using it to his advantage in ways that are inconceivable to the common strategist. He likes to command with the prospect of fear as well as the prospect of competence, and I am sure that he was personally responsible for Hasse's execution. His operation with the conscripted slaves shows that he's more than willing to put the lives of innocent beings on the table if it gives him what he wants. And he doesn't let things like petty revenge get in his way—which I believe Hasse did, given his previous experience with Admiral Ull."

"All sound reasons," said Rob. "What does that tell us about how to locate him, or how to predict his movement?"

Chris sat in his chair for a moment, pondering the possibilities. Technically, he was too much a junior officer to be put in such a position, but Rob had always been one to think outside the proverbial box and he liked to bring in those who did likewise. "Well, we already know that he's willing to bait us with the lives of his own officers—if it suits his purposes, of course—so I would think that he would try it at least once more for good measure until we catch on. In which case, we have to recheck our intelligence data more thoroughly than usual—no offense, Captain," he said to Sooli. "He's likely to use some sort of tempting bait, and he's got to know by now that we, specifically, are a part of Third Fleet; I think he'll use us in some way to meet a goal that we can't even perceive yet. As I stated before, he'll try and take on portions of the fleet at a time, to thin us out, and I just know that he'll use the Star in some way to do that."

"Hmmm," repeated Rob again. "You can't give me more than that?"

Chris looked up at Rob with a frustrated expression. "Sir, I'm not even a tactical officer anymore; I shouldn't even be in this meeting. That's the best I can come up with on my own."

"It's better than nothing," said Jamie for the first time since the discussion had started. "At least we've got something to work with."

"Any more information that you can put in light for us, Sooli?" asked Rob.

"We did get some new intel this morning from our sources in the Imperial Navy's logistical support branch. West is no longer in direct control of the Wisdom of the Emperor; apparently, his promotion and new position preclude him from being directly involved in the day-to-day operations of his ship, so he's assigned someone to take over. He's still using the ship as his flagship, so that's where we're likely to find him if we ever engage him in battle."

"Do we know the name of the captain?" asked Chris.

"Not as yet; personnel assignments are hard to get into, especially for units on detached assignment during active operations."

"I wonder if it's anyone we know."

"I doubt it," commented Rob. "The sheer number of officers in the Imperial Navy make it somewhat difficult to know anyone of significance. The only reason we know of West and Hasse is because of previous dealings with them. That's the price you pay for waging war on a galactic scale."

"Thank you, Jedi Baden," said Chris.

"Chris, I've been meaning to talk to you about your cabin assignment; I believe you're due to be transferred to the airlock."

"Sir, I respectfully decline your transfer."

"Shut up, Chris."

"Yes, sir."

Chelsey did another check of her systems as she pulled back on the lever, dropping out of hyperspace in the outer edge of the Galone System. There wasn't a lot to the system, just a few uninhabitable gas giants, but there were two planetoids that had rings around their termini, and dense, asteroid-like bodies were usually very big in the way of secret hideouts.

"Okay, Reds, adjust your sensors to focus on the asteroid rings; we don't want to spend too much time here, however, just in case there really is some sort of super secret hidey hole."

"You have such a way with words, Twelve," came David's voice.

"Thank you, Eight."

She oriented her A-wing towards the first ringed gas giant and throttled up to full. Traditionally speaking, scouting a system for potential places to hide would have been a job for a Long-range Y-wing Probe, or one of the newer Snoop X-wings, but because of the chances of combat arising, Ull and Uve`lon wanted each system recon flight to be in A-wings. If Red were to come across something, it would do well if they could fight their way out to report it.

Chelsey ran through her sensor scans, trying to see if she could come across anything worthwhile; she was answered with a screen full of negative emissions, and she sighed in exasperation. It's not that she had any particular desire to initiate in combat—in fact, she rather abhorred the concept of killing someone—but she also know that unless they caught a break sometime soon, Third Fleet would be facing one of their worst times since their formation a year ago.

"Hang on a moment," said Travis. "I think I'm picking up something in sector seven."

Chelsey switched her scanners over to the mentioned sector and noticed that there was a very small, almost undetectable "blip" on her screens. "That's odd," she said quietly. "Okay, let's investigate what this is. Fourteen, you're with me; everyone else, stay here and keep an eye out for anything which decides to flank us."

A series of acknowledgements came across her headset and she banked her interceptor away from its original course and made a new plot for where the "blip" was coming from. As she and Travis got closer to the point of origin, her cockpit windows began to fill with chunks upon chunks of asteroids. She weaved her way in and out of the spinning, floating array of space rocks only to come face to face with what could only be described as a hollowed out asteroid being guarded by a Loraner-class strike cruiser.

The asteroid itself—aside from being hollowed out—had a section that had been converted into a massive hanger large enough to accommodate a Carrack-class cruiser and had been riddled with anti-fighter turbo-laser turrets. There also appeared to be a smaller hanger, just below the main one, designed to launch starfighters.

Alarms started going off on Chelsey's threat display and she looked to see that the new contacts that had popped up on her sensors were giving off Imperial transponder codes. She gave a slight curse in some archaic language and pulled back hard on her flight stick just as a bolt of green laser fire flew past her. "This is Twelve to Squadron; hostile contact, repeat, hostile contact; twelve, repeat, one-two, TIE starfighters coming in from the strike cruiser. Prepare to disengage and head back to the barn."

"Twelve, Fourteen; I'm reading additional contacts from that asteroid. Looks to be… Y-wings?"

"Transponder check, Fourteen," said a puzzled Chelsey as she did a corkscrew spin as a shower of laser bolds flew around her. "Are they friendly?"

"That's a negative, Twelve," came Travis' voice, the sound of threat alarms going off in the background. "They are most defiantly hostile combatants."

Y-wings? "Okay, Squadron, form up into attack pattern Alpha Three and come around for a single pass at the enemy combatants. Long-range missile barrage, and in-close scan of the Y-wings. Execute on my command." She swung her A-wing around and started towards the nearest group of TIEs, Travis close on her port wing. She selected one of the TIEs and switched her firing control over to missiles and watched as the targeting reticule began to beep off-and-off as it achieved a lock. "Execute!" she yelled into the microphone as she hit the release button on her flight stick.

Five orange trails of metallic death flashed through the darkness of space as they made their way towards their targets. Almost immediately after their release, the five TIEs that they were aimed for began to weave about in an effort to break the lock; however, since they started too soon after launch, the warheads were able to correct for the new course changes and still home in on their intended targets.

Chelsey took the opportunity that had been given her to close in on one of the Y-wings and do a complete scan of it. Interesting, she thought to herself as she glanced at the sensor data on her monitor. Sooli will want to see this.

She switched back to her communications and clicked on the squadron-wide frequency. "Okay, Reds, it's time to bug out, but let's finish off these TIEs and do a close scan of the strike cruiser on our way out. Come about to a heading of three-three-one relative to the asteroid base and tighten up in formation. Move it!"

The four other A-wings fell in around her as she made a beeline for the Imperial strike cruiser in orbit above the asteroid. Technically, they didn't have to really do a scan of the cruiser; the mere presence of it—and of the hollowed out asteroid—were more than enough to sufficiently whet NRI's appetite, but Chelsey believed that it was best to get all of the information at once, so that they could properly review it once they returned to the Morning Star.

It didn't take them long to weed out the TIEs; they were not the Emperor's best, and they obviously had been assigned to a facility that was more than unlikely to be discovered by the New Republic. The more challenging thing, however, was running the gauntlet that was the defensive fire field of the strike cruiser, for it had heavier weapons and a more accurate targeting system.

Chelsey weaved her way through the green streams of laser fire until she was within detailed scanning range of the cruiser. She flipped on her sensor suite and did a corkscrew spin along the port hull of the starship, making herself an even harder target to hit. The electronic beeps of her sensors alerted her that the detailed scan was complete, and she pulled away from the cruiser at a blinding speed. "Okay, people, we're done here, let's head home."

There were a flurry of acknowledgements, and everyone had taken up their designation position to enter hyperspace when a flash of light caught Chelsey's eye. She turned to her right to see Travis' starboard engine burning and then suddenly implode in on itself. "Travis!"

"I'm still here," he quickly said over the squadron channel, "but there's no way I can make it back with this damage."

"Eject and use your EV suit thrusters to try and attach yourself to my fighter. Everyone else, maintain a protective screen." She looked out to see Travis' canopy eject itself and then watched as the pilot went relative up, his thrusters already igniting and trying to maneuver towards her fighter. This is going to be tricky, she thought to herself as she brought the fighter in as closer as she could. He grasped onto her port laser cannon and began to wrap a utility cable around it and himself, more or less strapping his body to the weapon.

He pulled tight on the cable and patted the hull of her fighter twice, the vibration running through her cockpit. He then looked towards her and gave a thumbs-up that she returned. "Okay, people, this is going to be one for the history books. Initiate jump to hyperspace!"

Three A-wings began to jump in simultaneous cohesion while Chelsey's fighter lagged behind, cautious about her passenger. She made sure the other three had made their jump successfully and than followed suit, glancing once more at Travis before the white tunnel enveloped them.

"Get me two liters of bacta solution ‘A' immediately! And make sure that they have the hydration system prepped and ready; we don't want him to go into shock due to lack of fluids!"

Rob watched as the medical response team wheeled Travis off the flight deck and towards the lift car. He then turned his head to look at Chelsey and gave her a stunned expression. "Wait a minute, you entered hyperspace with Travis strapped to your hull? Are you out of your mind?!"

"I didn't have a choice in the matter, Colonel," she responded in formal tones. "It's not as if there were any friendly ships in the system to recover him, and I like Sith wasn't going to leave him there."

Rob continued to look at her with a mixed expression of shock and anger before shaking his head. "I know that we can't just leave our people behind—I've quite literally set the policy concerning that issue—but what you did endangered him. No one has ever jumped to hyperspace with someone physically attached to their hull before; I can't even begin to imagine just what he went through. You took a big chance today, Major."

"Begging the colonel's pardon, sir, but I have no doubt that if you were in my place, you would have done the exact same thing."

"That's where you're wrong; what I would have done would have been to disembark from my own fighter, let him have it, and stay behind to be captured in his place." His shocked expression was gone and the stern look that he had given many of the Reds in the past few months was on his face. "What you did showed courage and fast-paced thinking, but it was also one of the most dangerous stunts I've seen in a long time—including Chris Layne. You're the second in command of this unit, Major Maxfield, and as such I expect you to set an example, and while you did, in fact, save his life, you endangered everyone else's life in the process."

"Excuse my indulgence, Colonel, but I believe that was the same speech that Admiral Ull gave you a few months ago, when you risked the lives of all of Red Squadron in order to save the lives of the Red Talon unit."

Rob took a small step back, his anger seething now. True, he had, indeed, done something similar just a few months ago, and it had landed him in hot water with the admiral, but he felt that the situation was different when they were compared to one another. Red knew the stakes while providing cover for Red Talon, and knew that even if they didn't make it out, the mission wouldn't have been compromised any more than it already had been. With Chelsey, however, it was imperative that the reconnaissance force return intact, so as to relay their information, and deep down, she knew it, too; she—like him—didn't enjoy the idea of leaving people behind, even if it meant they had to jeopardize the mission.

Rob, however, as a commanding officer, had a bigger responsibility to endure: the outcome of the mission. In some cases, the mission did come before the people who were selected to achieve it, and it was up to him to make sure it got done, even if he wasn't physically out there with the rest of the unit.

"Major Maxfield, I do not enjoy saying this, but please remember that I am the CO around here, and therefore I must. As an officer of this unit, you are expected to follow orders and procedure unless otherwise indicated by either myself, or a superior officer. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," said Chelsey in a small voice.

"Very well. Now let's go see what this intelligence you've brought back is, and how it will help us get one up on West."

"So these Y-wings were stolen or captured ships from either our own forces or a third party and they're being modified to act as what?"

Sooli looked at Admiral Ull with a lopsided grin, trying in vain to keep the morbid amusement out of her voice. "Advanced electronic jamming ships, sir; AEJS for short. They're designed—using the Y-wing's existing module features—to overwhelm their targets with interference and sensor ‘ghosts' so that we have no way of using our computer systems to fire in effective fashion. Manual, line-of-sight firing will still be effective, but that's mostly only going to work on slow-moving vessels or point-blank range on fighters and small transport craft."

"Interesting concept, though I can't see how it will be ultimately effective in the long-run." Ull looked up from the sensor data streaming on the wall and gave a look straight at her. "Anything else?"

"Actually, yes. The strike cruiser that Red Squadron encountered was the Cleaver, part of the order-of-battle for the 16th Imperial Fleet. It seems it was detached in order to provide security for this installation, which leaves me—and the rest of my analysts—that this facility is some sort of research and development site for the fleet. Considering that the Cleaver was actually present with the fleet when it assaulted Anaxes, it's a recent assignment."

"Hmmm," said Ull. "It's possible that they know the location of the central staging area that West is using." He turned and looked over at the Bothan woman standing next to him. "General?"

"I suggest we do a combined strike mission," said Uve'lon, her fur rippling slightly. "One squadron of B-wings with a boarding force on standby."

"Sounds like a plan. Let's get to work on the specifics."

Andrew looked out from the podium and cleared his throat. "I'm sure all of you have heard the rumors by now, so let me make it official; we're going to be hitting the Imperials at their recently discovered R&D facility, as well as attacking a strike cruiser that is on station for security. We will not destroy the strike cruiser; it's from the 16th Imperial Fleet, and therefore might have some indication of where West's main forces are. We're going to, therefore, capture it."

He clicked a button on the podium and a holographic display of the system came into being. "This is the Galone system. There's virtually nothing to it, just a bunch of gas giants with the odd meteor shower passing through their atmosphere, but that's it. This planet, however," he continued as he zoomed in on one of the gas giants, "has a ring around it, which is the location of the aforementioned R&D facility. We can expect some TIEs, as well as Y-wings with Imperial transponders; do not hesitate to fire upon those Y-wings, but be damned sure you check the transponder, just in case."

Andrew gave a glance over to a man in dressed in marine fatigues and a stern look on his face. "Captain Joehansin will be on station as our marine commander; he'll be in charge of the boarding operation, so please try not to tick him off." There was some scattered laughter from his pilots and then he gave a clap of his hands. "Well, that's all. Report to your fighters in one hour, and may the Force be with us."

Andrew stepped down off of the raised platform and began to head for the door when he saw Steve walk towards him. He knew right away what this would be about, and desperately wished that he could walk away, but stood his ground. "Captain," he said in polite fashion once Steve got near him. "How might I help you today?"

"Sir," started the slightly older man, "I know it's not really my place, but… I heard about what happened to the convoy—Sith, I don't think there's anyone in the fleet who hasn't—and I know the part that Rob, I mean, Colonel Baden, played in it, and I just want to know if you knew how he was taking it."

"Steve," said Andrew with a slight sigh, "Rob's taking it as well as anyone would in his place. I don't envy him his position at the moment, but he did what he had to do; he followed the orders of his commanding officers, and he's going to have to live with the consequences of those orders. He's hurting, yes, and I am sure there are even some in the fleet who hold him responsible for what's happened, but he's as much a victim in this as anyone else is. He'll pull through, just like he has before; you were his cabin mate for a long time, surely you know just how well he can handle himself. He'll pull through."

Steve seemed to nod slightly and turned, walking towards the door in the back of the room. Andrew sighed and shook his head just a little; how he wished war had never happened in this galaxy.

Chapter Six

"How's he doing, Doctor?"

Doctor Janeane Vladese looked up from her diagnostics terminal and gave a warm smile at Rob Baden. "Colonel, how good of you to come down here yourself. You needn't have done so, however, I was just finishing up a report to be sent to your station."

"He's my pilot and I wanted to see him personally," said the spiked haired man. "So, if we could return to my question about his health, please?"

"Ah, yes," said Janeane as she stood up from the chair and walked over to where the bacta tanks were. "He's immersed in bacta solution ‘A' at the moment, and he's showing some signs of improvement, but he was in extensive shock when he came in. His air was running low, his oxygen saturation was well outside the normal parameters, and his lower abdomen and legs were nearly crushed from the extreme pressure put on them from the cabling he did. And that's only what we know is wrong with him."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed slightly and ran her hand along the bacta tank that was holding Travis Morgan. "Colonel, the man was exposed to not only the high-speed entrance into hyperspace, but also an extended amount of time in hyperspace itself. No one has ever been in hyperspace without being in some sort of ship with an inertial compensator at work; Officer Morgan just made history. I can't tell you exactly what happened to him as a result, but I can tell you that he's not going to be fit for duty for a long time, if ever."

The pilot seemed to think about it for a moment before sighing himself and clasping his hands behind his back. "Can I talk to him? Can he talk at all?"

"Oh, yes, certainly." She reached over and adjusted a couple of control knobs on the bacta tank and cleared her throat. "Officer Morgan, can you hear me?"

There was a slight pause, and then a throaty response came back. "Yes, Doctor."

"Colonel Baden would like to speak with you. Go ahead, Colonel."

Baden cleared his throat slightly and then stared at the bacta tank, trying to see if he could spot the floating form of Morgan through all the gunky-looking fluid. "Mr. Morgan, Doctor Vladese tells me that you've been put through quite an ordeal. I'm sorry you had to go through it, but I am glad that you're alive."

"Thank you, sir."

"However, the good Doctor has informed me that you will not be able to return to duty for a while, perhaps even longer. How do you feel about that?"

"Sir," came a quick response, "I've been thinking about it ever sense I got back, and… let's just say that I don't believe this is something that I signed up for. If it's alright with you, sir, I'd like to take a medical leave from the service for the foreseeable future." Janeane glanced over at Baden and watched as the older pilot was thinking things over. She didn't know that much about the man, other than what his official duties and responsibilities were, but she could tell that losing someone—even if they were still alive—was something of a personal injury to him. She might have been able to calculate how Red's former CO, Kelly St.Clair, would respond—Sith, she could even calculate how Neill Magill would have responded—but Baden was an unknown quantity to her, one that she hadn't had the chance to personally interact with much.

"Very well," said Baden suddenly, breaking Janeane's train of thought. "I'll inform Captain Ru'kaart and General Uve'lon about your decision. However, should you ever be able to physically return to duty, you'll be welcome to come back to the unit."

"Thank you, Colonel."

"May the Force be with you, Travis." He gave a nod at Janeane and she went over and shut off the communications knob. "How soon will he be able to travel?"

"Soon," she said. "We've mostly got him stabilized, it's just that we need to heal the injuries to his abdomen before we can release him to any other place. We'll be MedEvacing him to a hospital ship that's due to arrive soon to take care of our more serious cases; there's been a lot of injuries during this campaign."

"Of that," said Baden, "I have no doubt."

"Speaking of injuries, I wanted to know how you were handling what happened with the convoy?"

The man moved so fast that Janeane didn't even realize he had thought of coming towards her until he was right in front of her face, his hazel-brown eyes glaring at her. "Don't attempt to psychoanalyze me, Doctor," he said in a cold, stern voice. "I'm in no mood to try and fend off such an attack. Do you understand?"

Janeane swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat. "Yes, sir."

"Good." He withdrew slowly, keeping his gaze locked on her. He then turned around and walked out of Sickbay, Janeane looking after him.

She sighed in relief and looked back at the bacta tanks, thankful that it was impossible for Morgan to have seen what had transpired. Well, that went well.

"Lead to Squadron," came Andrew's voice from Steve's headset. "Form up in attack pattern Delta Nine One and prepare to engage the facility as soon as it's within range. Go for dumb fire runs; no sense giving the automatic defenses a chance to retaliate. Be on the look out for those Y-wings that we were told about, we don't want to tangle with them if we can help it, but if they become a problem we'll have to take them out."

"Understood, Lead," commented Paul over the channel. "We're ready to go."

"I second that," said Steve, opening his stabilizer foils into attack position. He thoroughly loved flying the B-wing; heavier weapons platform, faster speed, more armor, and a working navigational computer—which meant there was no need for an astromech droid. And while he did enjoy the features that the heavy assault fighter brought to his ability to fulfill a mission, he did miss Doc every now and then.

He dodged a spinning chunk of rock and then saw the deformed looking asteroid several kilometers away finally take a recognizable shape. "I've got the R&D station," he said into his microphone. "Estimate it to be about fifteen klicks until we're within optimal bombardment range; repeat, one five kilometers. No sign of the cruiser, however."

"I see it," came Deanna's voice. "Bearing One-Five-One, Zee Plus One."

"That's on the opposite side of the gas giant," said Steve. "I don't like the looks of this, Lead."

"Nor do I, Five, but we can't exactly scrub the mission just because the strike cruiser isn't where it's supposed to be. All wings, keep on target. Blue Leader to Gal Leader, are you aware of the situation, over."

"This is Gal Leader," came the soft sounding voice of Captain Joehansin. "We're monitoring what's going on and are continuing to hold at Case Green. We're ready to move in on your mark, Blue Leader, just give the word, over."

"Understood, Gal Leader. Stand by for our signal, out." There was a brief moment of silence and then Andrew's voice came across once more. "Okay, Blues, my targeting computer shows that there are no enemy fighters in contact radius, so we can begin our attack run. How close until we reach optimal bombardment range, Five?"

"Ten klicks, One Zero kilometers." He paused briefly and looked at his sensors once more. "Lead, this doesn't feel right."

"Elaborate, Five."

"They knew we had to be coming back; they must have known we would make some sort of strike on the facility. So why isn't there a patrol flight, or even an advanced scout, to inform the facility of when we were arriving. They have to know we're here."

"That's not exactly true, Five. Sure, they have to know that we're coming, but there's no reason to believe that they have any idea as to where we currently are, or even if we had arrived."

"Sir, with all due respect, if I were in charge of that station, the first thing I would have done after enemy forces had left would be to have seeded the rings with early warning systems—sensor buoys—to identify enemy combatants once they returned." He gave a look at one of the nearby asteroids he was passing and frowned towards his monitor once again. "However, we would be seeing some sort of residual readings from such buoys if they were placed, unless…" He suddenly broke off and cursed in Corellian for a moment. "The Y-wings! Lead, we're being jammed by the Sithing Y-wings!"

"Lead," came Richard's voice, "Five's got a point. If the Y-wings were deployed and in action, we wouldn't be able to identify them due to the jamming they're providing. We could be walking straight into a trap."

Andrew cursed softly over the channel before responding to the theory. "Okay, new plan. Shift priority attack to the strike cruiser immediately; all fighters, turn around and engage the Cleaver."

Steve pulled back slowly on his flight stick and brought his B-wing around, bearing on the course that Deanna had given earlier. There she was, a Loraner-class strike cruiser, waiting patiently several kilometers away, nearly on the other side of where the facility had been. The positioning of the cruiser still struck him as somewhat wrong, but he did his best to push aside the feeling.

"Gal Leader, this is Blue Leader, we've got a change in plans. Initiate strike run on the Cleaver in thirty seconds and then pull back to allow us to do ours, over."

"Copy that, Blue, initiating strike run in exactly thirty seconds from…now!"

A moment later, Steve's sensors came alive with several new hyper footprints as several assault transports completed their microjump from the edge of the system to their current location. It didn't take long for them to reposition themselves and to lock in on the Cleaver, turning towards her with their warhead launchers hot and ready. Thirty seconds after Captain Joehansin's transmission, streams of blue proton torpedoes lanced out of the transports and toward the strike cruiser; five seconds after all torpedoes had been launched, the transports microjumped back to the system edge to wait until they were needed again. It was a clever tactic, surmised Steve; one that hadn't been employed before, but one that he was sure going to be utilized to its maximum effectiveness in the future.

However, it appeared that the tactic would not be successful on its first trial run.

Alarms began to blare on Steve's threat display and he looked to see that a full squadron's worth of contacts began to emerge in places well within the rings. "That's impossible," he muttered to himself. "No ship—not even a fighter—can microjump cleanly into an asteroid belt."

"Lead, we've got a problem," said Hans' voice over the channel.

"I see them, Eight. They're moving into intercept the torpedoes."

"Lead, my targeting computer makes them out to be a full squadron of Assault Gunboats," said Hans once again. "I have no idea where they came from."

"I do," commented Paul. "They were laying doggo—shut down and in stealth mode—within the belt. They were waiting for something like this to happen, and then, boom! Surprise!"

"Clever tactic."

Steve's sensors began to light up again and he frowned at the threat display. "Lead, Five, I'm picking up three new contacts emerging from hyperspace behind us. Looks to be a Victory-class Mark II Star Destroyer, a Lancer-class frigate, and another Loraner-class strike cruiser. I'm also detecting three incoming squadrons of TIEs, all starfighters, from the new ships, and the Cleaver is launching their own squadron as well. Still no visible verification of the Y-wings, however, so these could be sensor ghosts."

"Oh, they're no ghosts, Five. I can actually see one of the starfighters from here. Prepare to hightail it out of here, Blues; this is more than we can really handle. Nine, what's our closest exit vector to enter hyperspace?"

"Computing now, Lead," came Richard's voice. "Closest vector would be to fly past the Cleaver, Lead."

"This is too well planned to be a simple ambush, Lead," commented Steve. "They knew just where to get us at."

"I'm inclined to agree, Five, but let's leave it for the post-mission analysis teams to figure out. All fighters, break by elements and make best possible speed to the exit vector; don't wait around for everyone else, jump as soon as you're clear." There was a slight pause and then Andrew's voice sounded over the general frequency for the entire operation. "Gal Leader, this is Blue Leader, suggest you leave immediately, over."

"Gal Leader acknowledges, Blue Leader. Sure you don't want s to pop in for a run, try and draw some fire off you while you make your escape, over."

"Negative, Gal, you'll only be placing your own transports in danger. Hightail it home, that's an order, over."

"Understood, Blue Leader, Gal force is withdrawing. We'll see you back at the barn, out."

Steve rearmed his torpedo launchers and selected an asteroid that was very close to the Cleaver as his target, watching the kilometers count down as he sped towards the strike cruiser. He waited until the six-kilometer mark passed then deselected the target and hit the fire control button, sending two blue flames of pain towards the cumbersome starship ahead of him. He did so twice more, emptying out half of his payload, and then switched over to combined lasers and ion cannons as he saw several Imperial fighters emerge on him from all sides. This is not a good day.

"Blue Leader, you've got a ‘boat on your tail!" shouted Richard across the channel.

Steve hesitated just for a moment when he heard the transmission, but that one moment cost him dearly. TIEs from all sides began to bombard his shields with laser hits, scoring minor damage to his outer hull and his stabilizer units before he came to his senses and began evasive maneuvers. "Blast!" he cursed to himself. "Okay, time to get serious."

He selected one of the TIEs following him and then suddenly cut his engines to zero, watching as the fighter flew past him. He throttled forward even as he starting pumping red and blue light into the round cockpit of the TIE, watching the electronics sizzle and spark from the damage inflicted. It was soon disabled, its engines dying out without allowing it to stop as forward momentum took hold.

Steve grinned and then did a one-eighty degree turning-flip, come face-to-face with yet another TIE. He showered the target with lasers and ions until it went critical and exploded mere meters away from his own fighter, the spinning wreckage impacting on his already damaged shields. "That could have gone better. Eleven, I could use some back up here."

"On the way, Five," came the voice of Steve's brother, Mike.

Steve looked up to see one of the TIEs coming towards him blow apart in a rain of debris, shrapnel bouncing on his shields, as they were too small to actually do any damage. "Good work, Eleven."

"I can't shake this ‘boat! Ejecting!"

Steve watched as the sensor contact designated as BLUE ONE disappeared off the screen. He cursed himself slightly for it, even though he knew that it wasn't his fault.

He looked around and saw that they were coming into range of the Cleaver's batteries, the turbulent shocks of the lasers impacting around him. It wouldn't be long until the rest of the unit could get away safely…but that still left Andrew Dobson hanging in the middle of enemy territory. "Five to Nine."

"Go ahead, Five," came Richard's immediate response.

"Sir, we can't just—"

"Yes, we can, Five. Lead's orders were to get out, and that's exactly what we're going to do. I don't like it any better than you do, but that's the way it's going—"

Richard's transmission broke off and Steve looked up to see the ejecting form of his squadron executive officer, the B-wing belonging to him evaporating in a hail of green laser fire. "Ah, Sith spit!"

"All remaining Blues," came Paul's voice. "Continue on with making your escape. That is an order, Five."

"Yes, sir," said Steve through gritted teeth.

Two of the B-wings made the jump to hyperspace, quickly followed by five more. Soon, Steve was at the vector himself; he made one more look at the sensors and out of the cockpit before pulling back on the lever and entering hyperspace.

"I wish I could say that I was surprised, but I'm not."

Corben looked over at Captain Ru'kaart's holographic form. The ship commander and just informed the admiral of the ambush and the loss of the CO and XO of his bomber squadron, and knew that it was something—at least in part—planned by West. "I'm inclined to agree with you, Captain. Everything I've ever read on West remarks him as a very dangerous man, one not to be trifled with. No offense intended to you, but I'm not sure just how your officers and crew were able to give him a mortal blow the last time you crossed paths with him; he's clever, devious, cunning, and very smart."

"He's also got the fatal flaw of allowing himself to be controlled by his emotions, Admiral, as are many great admirals and generals of their times."

"That is true. Any word on Colonel Dobson or Major Vogel?"

"No, sir. We can't confirm whether or not they were picked up by Imperial recovery craft, and we can't go back and search the area for any confirming or dissuading evidence on the matter. We do have some good information, however, concerning the Y-wings."

Corben's head piqued a bit and looked at the ghostly eyes of the see-through captain. "Go ahead."

"Well, analysis of the sensor readings taken during the engagement confirms that they were, indeed, present in the area. Captain Michadick's theory that they were being used as jamming platforms was right on the money; the post-mission analysts were able to sort out a detectable radiation leak from their equipment that made identifying them considerably easier. Now that we know what to look for, we can effectively counter their presence with conventional means."

"That is, indeed, good news. But I don't think it's going to be adequate compensation for the loss of two command ranked individuals." Corben sighed slightly and ran a hand through his hair; days like this made him want to return to being a simple task force commander. "Does Captain Kitz have any leads that she can exploit in this regard?"

"No, sir, and she is doing everything she can possibly do in this situation. I don't think she's left her office since Blue Squadron's initial debriefing; I'm about ready to order her to get some rest, but I don't think she'd take it even if I threatened her with a Captain's Mast."

"Hmmm, well, see that she gets some rest regardless; I don't want my officers to be exhausted, especially when they're working on intelligence reports." He rubbed at his chin and felt a little bit of stubble present, frowning slightly at it. "I need a shave," he said softly.

"I'm sorry, sir, what was that?"

"Nothing, Dave." Corben waved his hand slightly and looked directly at the projector's image. "I want Red and Blue prepped to go as soon as we have information on where the pilots are being held. I do not plan on leaving them behind, Captain, is that understood?"

"Absolutely, Admiral. I have every single pilot on the line—both units—ready to go. They're geared up and just waiting for a target."

"Don't let them get trigger happy, Captain; we don't want someone getting shot by accident."

"Of course, sir."

"Is there anything else to report?"

"Not at this time, sir."

"Very well. I have to deal with some logistical problems creeping up on me, so that will be all, Captain."

"Very good, sir." The hologram disappeared and the room got slightly darker.

Corben looked around a moment and then rubbed his stubble once more. I really do need a shave.

Paul looked at the gathered pilots, Blues and Reds, all of them looking restless and ready to punch someone in the face. He didn't exactly blame them for wanting that; having Andrew and Richard both missing in action presented a morale drop of drastic proportions. And to top matters off, he had been made the acting CO until such time that they were either rescued or listed as "killed in action."

"I know we're all pretty upset about the current situation," said Paul as he surveyed all of their faces. "And with good reasons, but we need to be able to function when we finally get the call for a rescue op. As such—and by personal order of Admiral Ull—every single one of you is to take some sack time, effective at the end of this briefing."

All of the pilots started to groan at the announcement until Rob moved forward from behind Paul and glared at every single one of them. They soon died down and he gave a thankful nod in Rob's direction.

"Look, I know that we're all itching to get back at the Imps for this, and to find Dobber and Wildstar, but it's not going to happen right away. They could be anywhere in the sector by now, and I can guarantee you that if they have been captured, then West will have someone asking them a lot of questions. And as an ex-Imp myself, I can tell you that those questioning sessions will not be that pretty."

This brought another round of groans and lamentations from the fighter jockeys, and this time Rob did not simply glare at them.

"Shut it!" said Rob in a very forceful tone. "Each and every one of you will listen to the major as he gives his briefing, and you will pay attention, or Force help me, I will personally land each and every one of you in the brig for insubordination. Is that clear?"

Everyone stared at Rob for a moment and Paul felt as though he was going to visibly cringe from the outburst. He had known that the younger man had undergone a very hard experience recently—one that he wished on no one—but even so, Rob seemed unduly upset at the pilots. He's probably blaming himself, since Red's recon mission didn't pick up on the trap.

Steve raised his hand and Paul was glad for the distraction. "Captain?"

"If they have been captured, what about Major Vogel's identity? He's still a wanted criminal due to Imperial law and could be extradited back to his homeworld."

"Captain, we're all wanted criminals in the eyes of Imperial law," spoke Rob. "But, because of the…unique…situation that Major Vogel's past presented, NRI came up with a false identity for him. All of his identification—dog tags, personal ID cards, mission gear, etc—has been altered to show the false identity. Even if he were captured, he wouldn't be discovered."

"NRI is working diligently to try and find out where they might have been sent to…if they were captured," Paul clarified again. "I know it's not much to go on, but it's the best we've got at the moment. So, until we find out more, go get some sack time."

"Dismissed," said Rob, and everyone filed out of the room, their expressions grim and distraught.

Paul sighed and glanced over at Rob. "You should have done this instead of me."

"They needed to hear it from you, as the acting CO. I'm just the ship's ranking pilot at the moment."

"Perhaps, but you're still a leader, sir."

"Paul, don't call me sir."

"Yes, sir."

"I swear, Layne is a bad influence on the rest of you."

Richard opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness around him. He wasn't sure where he was, or what was going on, but he instantly knew that it was nothing good.

He tried to lick his lips to get rid of the dry feeling that they were giving him and tasted a little bit of blood. The contact answered several questions that he had, and he knew immediately that he had been captured by the Imperials and was currently undergoing an "interrogation" at the hands of someone. Oh well, he thought dimly to himself, at least they won't discover who I really am.

A groan from beside him caught his attention and Richard looked over to his right and saw the general form of another being next to him. He squinted his eyes to see if he could determine who it was, but logical deduction already informed him that it had to be Andrew. "How are you doing, sir," he tried to say, but it came out garbled and mostly incomprehensible.

"Dandy," came a sarcastic response. "And you, Major?"

"Ready to take in a holo-show, sir."

"Know what's playing, Major?"

"I believe the The Heroic Sith just came out."

"An Imperial film? Now, where do you think we'll find tickets to an Imperial film in this place?"

"Oh, I'm sure someone will be able to tell us where we can get some tickets." Richard smiled to himself, more so at how Andrew was talking to rather than what he was saying. The superior officer had remembered to make sure to only call him by his rank, so that Richard's false identity wouldn't have been revealed. He wasn't sure just how long he would be able to continue the façade, but every moment helped; he had no desire to see the inside of a prison on his homeworld.

There was a noise and Richard looked up to see a dark figure appear out of the darkness, silhouetted by an open doorway behind it. He wasn't sure exactly who it was, but he knew what he was, even before the figure spoke.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said in a gentle tone. "I'm sure that the two of you have been enjoying your stay with us here. However, I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you some more questions concerning your fellow rebels."

Andrew actually spat at the man, though it didn't make contact. "You'll get nothing of use out of us, Imp. We've been trained to resist interrogation."

"Oh, I have no doubt," said the figure again. "But I actually used to do this for a living, before winding up in the command track. So, believe me when I tell you that I will be able to extract as much information from you as I want." He nodded behind him and another figure appeared with a chair, setting it down behind the first man. The interrogator then sat down and crossed his legs, resting his hands in a grip upon his upper knee. "Although there is already so much about you that I already know, Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Dobson, callsign ‘Dobber,' commanding officer of Blue Squadron, attached to the cruiser Morning Star, part of the Third Fleet's order-of-battle. Need I go on?"

"No," said Andrew in a smug sounding voice.

"Then there's you," said the man, and Richard could tell he was talking about him. "Major Chris Blair, callsign ‘Tiger,' executive officer of Blue Squadron. We can find more information about Colonel Dobson than we can about you; your name doesn't appear to generate the kind of results as we would normally like to get. So, Major, you're something of an enigma at the moment; one to which I fully intend to eliminate as quickly as possible."

Richard cursed inwardly at his identity's lack of depth. He always knew that there was a chance someone would be able to tell that it was a forgery, but he knew—likewise—that he couldn't afford to outright advertise who he was and where he came from. "I'm not likely to answer any questions to your satisfaction," he said with a vengeful spirit. "In fact, I'm quite sure that you can count out getting any sort of answers from me at all."

"You can certainly try, Major, but I doubt that it will be of any success." The figure sat there for a long time—what seemed to be hours, almost—completely in silence. Richard figured that he was studying them, trying to see their subtle reactions to things, making note of even the smallest detail. If this was how he normally ran his interrogations, then Richard had to wonder why he had gotten out of it at all.

And then, suddenly, he spoke again. "If you're both from the cruiser Morning Star, and you're both pilots, then there's a good chance that you know of my last subject."

Richard frowned at the statement and cocked his head to the side, instantly wishing he hadn't. A wave of pain hit him like a hammer and he winced at it, but continued to try and discern what the man had just said. Ever since he had joined Blue, there had been several MIA cases among the pilots of Red and Blue, but none of them had been confirmed of having been in Imperial hands…with the exception of one.

"Jamie," said Andrew.

"Yes," confirmed the man. "Flight Officer Jamie Wetherhill, callsign ‘Shadow.' The two of us did not leave on the best of terms."

"He's a second lieutenant now," said Richard. The information wouldn't be of any great use to the Imperials, as he was sure that there were ways for them to find it out without his help.

"Is he? Well, that's good. I certainly hope he's doing well, and hope to be able to have a…chat…with him at some point in the future. There are a few things that the two of us need to work out, him leaving in such a hurry and all."

"Who are you?" asked Andrew, and Richard suppressed the urge to tell his superior to shut up.

"Oh, I doubt any of you know me personally."

Suddenly, the lights came on at the brightest level that Richard had ever seen, and he winced visibly. He looked up to see the man and tried his best to focus on him. The most he could really make out was that he was wearing an Imperial Navy's uniform with the rank of captain on it and that there was a visible scar on his face. Richard thought back to the story of his escape, and instantly recognized the man despite the fact that he had never met him before that day.

"I'm Captain Miller, commanding officer of the Wisdom of the Emperor, and your personal interrogator," he said with a straight face. "And you, gentlemen, are my newest subjects."

Chapter Seven

Sooli frowned as she looked over the various reports on her desk, growling a little at how helpless she currently felt. There wasn't much that she could really do in the situation beyond trying to get information out of her contacts, but because of what had happened with the convoy she was reluctant to really trust her contacts like she used to. She gave each piece of information that came across her desk a thorough examination, but felt that it was futile at best; if the Empire really wanted to circumvent her intelligence, they could certainly find a way.

A knock drew her attention for a moment and she looked up to see Captain Ru'kaart standing in the door of her small office. "Sir!" she said instantly, standing up to full attention, but he was already waving her down with his right hand.

"Stand easy, Captain, I'm just here to make sure that you get some rest."

"Sir?" she asked with a puzzled expression. Why would he be worried about her getting any rest? If it meant that she could find out the location of Dobson and Vogel, she would gladly skip sleep for a week.

"Admiral's orders, I'm afraid. He doesn't want his subordinates to push themselves too hard, especially during a crucial time." He glanced down at her desk and gave her a wry expression. "Besides which, from what I can tell, you really haven't made much progress on finding out their locations, have you?"

"Er, um, no, sir," she admitted, her shoulders slumping a little. "No one seems to know where they could possibly be at, and I don't think that—"

"Captain Kitz!"

Sooli spun in her chair to take a look at the other entrance to her office, the door that lead into the NRI analysis room aboard the Morning Star, and stared at the young man standing in the doorway. "What is it, Grooves?"

"Ma'am, we've just received a message from Colonel Elebacca's team, they think that they've found where the missing Blues are! He wants you, Colonel Baden, and Major Sweet to see him as soon as you possibly can."

Sooli turned once again to look at Ru'kaart and give him a hopeful smile. "Well, sir, it looks as though we may have some sort of miracle after all."

He wasn't sure how he kept being talked into doing this, but Chris was once again briefing people on the tactical specifics of an operation. At least this time it's only to the command staffs of Red and Blue and not the squadrons. "According to Intelligence," said Chris, an obvious audio scoff being projected at the word, "this is a low-level repair facility that's being used to help repair the ships that sustained heavy damage in their assault against Anaxes, as well as a couple of others. It's about six ships in all, an ImpStar, a VicStar, a Nebulon-B-class frigate, a Carrack-class cruiser, and two corvettes. We've identified the ImpStar as the Conflaguration, Hasse's flagship when he made his assault against us, so this only confirms that the flag has, indeed, been changed over to Wisdom. Although I am sure none of us are exactly surprised at that."

He reached over to a button on the panel in front of his chair and pressed it, causing a holographic projection to appear in the center of the table. He pressed another button and the image zoomed in on the repair facility itself. "It's a standard repair facility with no defense guns on it, but there is bound to be at least a patrol squadron or gun emplacements maintaining a perimeter around the place. However, NRI has been unable to confirm or deny the existence of the starfighter compliments of the ships being repaired there, so we could be facing upwards to twelve squadrons of TIEs. It's unlikely that it would be the case, but we can't exactly rule anything out."

The image changed again and this time a record of transits appeared. "Intel's been able to find out that several shuttles and transports evacuating the R&D facility that Blue assaulted have stopped at this repair yard; in fact, there have been a number of high-level passengers and personnel coming to the facility, including one Captain Miller," Chris said with a glance to Jamie.

Everyone else in the room looked over at the pilot who's faced looked as though it had seen a ghost. "Please tell me there's more than one Captain Miller in the Imperial Navy."

"There is, but not more than one who's been stationed to Esseles within the last six months."

Jamie gave a loud curse and shook his head. "Next time I do more than just beat him." He then turned to look at Rob at the end of the table. "If this intelligence is correct, and Miller has been seen aboard that facility, then there's a very good chance that Wildstar and Dobber are there as well. Miller fancied himself one of the best interrogators in existence, although I always believed he had too much of a pride streak in him. Our little ‘exchange' might have helped rob himself of that flaw, however, but in any case, he is not someone to take lightly."

"NRI's feelings exactly," said Rob. "Captain, please continue."

"Sir," said Chris. "There is sufficient evidence to place Major Vogel and Colonel Dobson at the facility, as well as to place a known interrogator and sufficient protection against their possibility of escape. However, we're going to change that," he said with a little grin. "Red in X-wings and Blue in B-wings will be initiating a strike against the facility while Gal Command initiates a board and recover operation on the facility; they feel like it's time to earn some payback for the missed opportunity to capture the Cleaver. Officially, the mission is going to be a strike against the facility and ships being repaired; unofficially, we're going to kick their rears for daring to hold two of our officers."

Everyone at the table seemed to cheer at the proclamation and Chris had to clear his throat loudly to bring back their attention.

"We do want to take out the ships, but the recovery of our comrades is paramount. So, let me make it clear: no one is to fire on the facility until you have received the go-ahead order from Colonel Baden, he'll be in overall command of this operation. Lieutenant Wetherill?"

Jamie stood up and dusted off his duty uniform as he cleared his throat. "I wish someone would have told me just what you had me doing when you assigned me the operation makeup of this mission, Colonel."

"'Need-to-know,' Lieutenant."

"Yeah, yeah. Red in X-wings will be providing general area security and suppression against any starfighters and gun emplacements. Their primary goal will be to ensure the safety of the assault transports during their recovery operation; their secondary goal is to assist in the attack on the Imperial ships if Blue Squadron requires it. Captain Michadick?"

Steve stood up and gave a sad smile at his comrades. "Blue will be in B-wings and will do an initial sweep on the shield generators of the facility and then work on the ships waiting to be repaired. We'll provide fighter suppression if needed, but we'll most likely be pretty busy given how short handed we currently are."

Rob stood up a moment later and frowned. "I know that we all want to get our comrades back, as well as make the Imperials pay for what they did, but don't let it distract you while you're out there. We don't want mistakes to occur, and I doubt we really want to lose any more people. So, make sure that you watch your sixes, and you keep an eye on one another."

Chris nodded and shut down the holographic program and stood. "Operations will begin in twelve hours."

"Dismissed," said Rob.

Corben looked out of the viewport, the blue ion engines of several fighters and assault craft heading towards one of the transit vectors outside of Anaxes Prime's gravitational influence. He hoped that they would be successful, and that they would bring back their comrades, but he was also suspect of the situation to which they were walking into; West has tricked them several times in the past, and there was no indication that he was going to let up on it now.

The strike force made their jump to hyperspace and Corben gave a small sigh. He had never been a pilot, and didn't really know exactly how they felt when they did their jobs, but he suspected it was much like the same feeling he had when he entered a tactical situation with his fleet and task forces. They work with small ships, I work with bigger ones.

"Admiral," came the voice of the Maria's communications officer, "I've got one of the ships from that supply convoy on the line for you; her captain says it's important."

Corben gave another sigh and turned away from the viewport. "Very well, Lieutenant, put it through to my day cabin."

Chelsey instantly did a check of her systems and surround space as she exited from hyperspace and immediately found the repair facility sitting exactly where she had planned it to be. She swung her X-wing around and oriented herself to be on level with the facility and did a scan of the surrounding area. Sure enough, there was a patrol squadron of TIE starfighters doing a sweep in three four-ship flights, as well as eight gun emplacements forming a "box" around the facility in a defensive fashion. She actually expected there to be more in the way of defenses…but, then again, the Imperials weren't supposed to know they were coming.

"Lead, Twelve, I count a full squadron of ‘eyeballs' doing a standard patrol sweep as well as eight emplacements in a type one box formation around the facility."

"I see them, Twelve, stand by to detach for engagement."

Chelsey flipped her fire weapons control over to torpedoes and targeted one of the gun emplacements closest to her. She ran a detailed analysis of it and then grinned to herself. "Lead, the emplacements are almost five years old; they don't have anti-targeting tracking software on their systems."

"Or so that's what you believe, Twelve; someone could have upgraded the software while keeping the hardware. Best not to take any chances."

"Understood. Standing by for detachment order." She ran through the targeting list, assigning each individual target a marking number in her mind, and then deselected the targeting computer and ran through the numbers in her head as she continued her approach towards the nearest gun emplacement. "Twelve is three kilometers away from blind fire release point, Lead."

"You may detach at your discretion, Twelve."

"Understood, Lead, detaching now. Engaging emplacements now." She fired off two torpedoes, three other X-wings around her doing likewise. She looked off to port and saw four B-wings doing the same thing as they came in from the other side of the facility.

It didn't take long for the eight emplacements to be knocked out and soon she was targeting one of the TIEs nearby. They didn't appear to be the best that the Empire had to offer—nor was Red the best the New Republic had to offer—but they were still confident and experienced. The one that Chelsey had targeted always remained with its wingmate, never leaving them behind, and the two would even attack in cooperation. That was unusual for Imperial pilots, but it still wasn't enough.

She decided to change her pattern and switched from the first TIE to its wingmate, pouring laser fire into it. The change certainly surprised the victim, as it had been doing its best to keep up with its wingleader, and suddenly it blew apart in an expanding cloud of debris. Chelsey wasted no time and continued to pour fire into space, tracking the remaining TIE; this time, however, without the other fighter to help it, she picked it off within a few moments.

The other Reds were already taking on the other TIEs around, knocking out three more with the remaining six trying desperately to get a shot in. Remaining six? She was puzzled for a moment and she looked as the sensors. What happened to the last one?

She continued to try and find the lost TIE, but she was unable to locate it. It was possible that she had made a mistake initially in her sensor scans, or that the unaccounted for TIE had been destroyed without her being able to account for it, but that didn't seem likely; the CMD computer kept a log of all contacts and when they arrived and/or left, be they by hyperspace or destruction. Her computer listed no such thing, however, so it was becoming a mystery for her.

However, it was a mystery that she couldn't really get into at the moment.

"This is Red Leader to all forces," came Rob's voice in her headset speaker. "All opposition has been destroyed; all fighter craft are to make their runs on the docked ships, starting with the ImpStar. I want the Conflaguration scrapped!"

"Confirmed, Lead," she said into her microphone. "I'm making my attack run now." She switched her fire control systems back over to warheads and swung the fighter around until she saw the large triangular ship in front of her. It was a good distance away, half obscured by the repair facility itself, but the bow was still visible and so she locked in on the forward stabilizer controls and pushed her throttle forward to the maximum.

It wasn't long until the distance indicator dropped to six kilometers and she let loose on the trigger, two torpedoes flying out from her fighter and towards the Imperial starship. She did so again and then once more, emptying out her payload, and then she got back to thinking of the missing TIE.

"Tooby," she said to her astromech, "bring up the sensor logs for all of the contacts going in and out of the system from our arrival, including all of those that have been destroyed in combat. I want to find out what happened to that one TIE fighter that I was sure was there."

The astromech beep an affirmative and the sensor logs started to scroll across the readout screen. She looked at each individual contact, identifying them by their IFF transponders and their characteristics—X-wings acting a certain way, TIE starfighters acting a certain way, etc—and went through the list until she came to a TIE contact that had simply disappeared from the sensors. It didn't appear as if Red or Blue had destroyed it, nor had it returned to the repair facility or any of the starships; it had simply disappeared off the sensors.

She wasn't content to let it go, however, and she brought her fighter around to the position where the contact had disappeared…in the shadow of the Victory-class star destroyer. This is not a good idea, the back of mind was telling her; she was out here, without a wingmate, in enemy territory, and investigating the disappearance of a fighter in the shadow of a heavily armed—yet disabled—starship. Stupid.

Her thoughts seemed to be unjustified, however, as she flew around the exterior of the starship, scanning everything she could with her eyes to see if she could detect the fighter. It wasn't there, however, and she wasn't sure if she would have seen it even if she were looking right at it given how dark it was. "Tooby, can you use your dome light to illuminate the areas that I'm looking at?"

A very small source of light sparked to life and swept across the hull of the triangular ship. She still didn't see anything, and then suddenly she saw the outline of a solar panel. Apparently the pilot in the fighter noticed, for the TIE sparked to life and flew out of its hiding place, already looping around to splash lasers against her shields. "Ah, Sithspit!"

She brought her fighter around and went to full throttle, targeting the last Imperial TIE starfighter in the area and moving in to attack it, aware that the TIE was doing the same thing with her; a head-to-head encounter. Training exercises always said to avoid a HTH encounters if possible, given that the kill-to-loss ratio for New Republic pilots was not high enough to justify a continual use as a strategy, but the TIE was not giving her any chance to get out of the situation.

A bright explosion caught her attention for a moment and she noticed that the frigate had just been destroyed, it's long spine beginning to spin from the impact on its hull. She pushed the image away and focused again on the fighter right in front of her, sizing it up with her targeting reticule. "You're not going to get away from me this time, Imp."

As if there was an answer to her personal taunt, green laser fire began to pour through her shields at an alarming rate. It wasn't long before the shields began to fail and they were impacting on the hull of her fighter. Chelsey poured as much as she could back into a retaliatory strike, but the sparks from the laser impacts was making it very hard for her to target the TIE. Eventually, she had to break off her attack and try and swing around in order to take on the fighter from another perspective.

She looked at her controls and noticed that a good portion of them were starting to redline. It was only a matter of time before they were dead. She found the TIE again and instantly opened fire, raking it with her lasers until she scored a critical hit on it, causing it to spin in an irregular fashion. She then took the opportunity to pour the rest of the shield energy she could into the lasers, making her shots as powerful as she could. She was not disappointed; the fighter soon blew apart as the cockpit was hit with a double laser impact.

Chelsey sighed and once again looked at the controls of her X-wing. There was no way she could get this fixed in the field, and there was little chance that it would be recovered. She flipped on her microphone and gave another hefty sigh. "This is Red Twelve declaring an emergency. I repeat; Red Twelve is declaring an emergency. My shields are gone, hull integrity is failing, hyperdrive is down, and I seem to be losing oxygen."

"Red Twelve, this is Gal One, we are nearing your position now. Please prepare to eject and go EV for a recovery operation, over."

"I copy that, Gal. Is there any chance you can recover my droid as well? I would rather not have to put in a requisition order for a new one."

"Understood, Twelve, we have the room. Stand by for recovery, out."

Chelsey clipped on her flight suit's internal oxygen regulator and protective mask and then checked the oxygen level to make sure it was working. "Tooby, it looks like you get to float around for a while… try not to bump into anything, please, especially the transport that's on it's way to pick us up."

The droid bleeped something at her, but she ignored it and pressed the eject button on her control panel. The domed astromech was launched slightly into the space relative above her as she double-checked her hook ups on her flight suit. She pressed the emergency release button and opened the canopy slowly, then let her emergency jets push her out of the cockpit of the X-wing and into space.

Another explosion caught her attention and she looked over to see the cruiser exploding from the onslaught of the attack. At least we didn't meet too much opposition.

She looked up as an assault transport hovered above her and an emergency hatch opened on its ventral section. Two recovery-suited people came out of the hatch, one heading for her and one heading for her droid. Soon both were secured and being pulled aboard the transport. Oy, she thought silently, Rob's going to be upset about the loss of that X-wing.

A bright explosion caught Rob's attention and for a moment he had thought that Gal One had exploded while it was recovering Chelsey, but then he noticed that it was actually the X-wing.

Rob looked at the wreckage that was Chelsey's X-wing and grimaced. He was glad that she had been able to get out before it got raked by laser fire, but that still meant he was down by one pilot—two, if you counted Travis' retirement a few days ago. It was not how he wanted to start a new operation.

The destruction of the starships had gone well; all but the two corvettes on the actual inside of the repair yard had been taken out and the shields on the facility itself had been brought down. "Gal Command, this is Red Leader, shields are down on the facility; you may proceed with your operation at your discretion. Oh, and please make sure that my XO doesn't get in the way; I don't want her screwing up your operation."

"Copy that, Red Leader, I've got her tied up back in the troop hold. I had to gag her, sir, so she'll be out of the way."

"Understood," he said with a grin. "Don't let her starve, however; I do need her to recover."

"You got it, Red Leader. Gal Command, out."

Suddenly his X-wing began to spin and the inertia compensator was lowered significantly. "Twitch!" he screamed out. "I'm going to wipe your memory banks if you keep doing this! I'll even wait until we're out in space and go EV if I have to! Now, stop the spin and return the compensation back to its previous level…now!"

The ship continued to spin and Rob was starting to feel the effects of the centrifugal forces pressing on him, his vision beginning to blur. "Six," he rasped into his microphone, "target my droid and knock her out, please…"

"I'm on it, Lead."

A long time passed—what seemed like and endless amount—and then suddenly Twitch wailed as two red laser bolts impacted on her dome and the spinning suddenly stopped. "Thanks, Six." Rob took in a deep breath and instantly run his hands over the controls to get everything the way it had previously been. The shots from Chris had knocked out his ability to fire warheads, but he still had his engines, hyperdrive, shields, and cannons, and that was all he really needed.

He scanned the assault transports that were docked at the repair facility and punched up the frequency the marines were using. "Red Leader to Gal Command, what is your status, over?"

"Red Leader, this is Gal Leader, the marines have reached the detention center, but…we've run into a problem. We were just about to inform you about it."

"What's the problem," said Rob through gritted teeth. He was not in the mood for any surprises given what he'd just been through.

"Red, it appears that the package is not here. I repeat; the package is not here."

"WHAT?! Put me through to the jarhead on point, please."

There was a moment of silence and then a husky female voice came over the light. "Lieutenant Yulanda here, sir. We're in the detention center, and we've searched all the cells, but there's no sign that they're here. In fact, there's no sign that they were ever here. I think we have to assume the possibility that we've been misled, sir."

"But what's the point? This isn't a trap like previous ones."

"That's a question for the analysis teams, sir, I'm just the roughneck."

"Okay, Lieutenant, pull your troops back and get back aboard the transports. We're clearing out."

"Roger, Red Leader."

Rob cursed loudly to himself and then clicked back over to the general frequency for all New Republic forces. "Attention all units, this is Red Leader. We're finishing up the facility and then we're hightailing it out of here; mission has been blown. I repeat; mission has been blown."

There were a string of acknowledgements from Reds, Blues, and Gals, but he didn't really pay them any attention; his mind was already focused on something else. He knew that they had been set up somehow, and that it was most likely West who did it, but what he couldn't understand was why. There were no additional starfighter patrols other than the one squadron they had taken out in the beginning of the operation; there were no more static defense platforms other than the gun emplacements that were destroyed early on; and none of the ships that were berthed in the repair yard were in any condition to fight. The Empire was definitely on the losing side in this engagement, so why did they feel the need to bait the Third Fleet with Andrew and Richie's whereabouts?

The last of the transports evacuated from the repair yard facility and Rob could see that all of Red and Blue was lining up to take a target acquisition on the structure. He waited until the transports were out of the blast radius and then clicked his microphone on once more. "Fire!"

Several trails of blue streaks sped out from the B-wings and X-wings, moving towards the facility with blinding speed. It wasn't long until they impacted on the hull, the shields having been taken down earlier from Blue Squadron's B-wings. Soon the hull integrity went supercritical and the station began to blow apart, sections of it breaking off and spinning out into space.

Within a matter of minutes the repair yard was nothing but a floating cloud of debris, mixing in with the already-present debris of the destroyed starships, and Rob gave a grim smile in satisfaction. "All forces, head for home. Let's see if we can figure out just where our comrades are when we get back."

Corben looked at Colonel Baden and Major Sweet sitting at the table across from him with Captain Kitz and Colonel Elebacca flanking him on both sides. "I regret that Colonel Dobson and Major Vogel were not present at the facility, but I'm afraid that's the least of our worries. It appears that the entire operation was another one of West's traps; however, this time it was a distraction to draw our attention away from the supply convoy that we've been expecting to come through the sector. While you were off making the strike at the repair yard, an Imperial force completely wiped out our convoy leaving no survivors. Because of their distance and location from us, we couldn't send any reinforcements to aid in their defense; in fact, the only force we could send that could get their in time to help would have been you."

"Why didn't you call us, sir?" asked Baden, his expression a bit puzzled.

"The electromagnetic interference from the comet," said Sweet quickly. "It was interfering with our communications in the system, so it stands to reason that the admiral wouldn't have been able to punch through it to get our attention."

"Major Sweet is correct," said Kitz. "We tried to contact you, but we couldn't get past something, and when you returned and downloaded your sensor logs, we found out why."

Corben turned back towards Sweet and Baden. "Gentlemen, I know that we still want to find our missing comrades, but it's become more apparent that we need to put an end to West's actions, and soon. We can't continue to operate like this or else we're going to end up losing the entire sector. The man is shrewd, dangerous, and well armed. We must find a way to circumvent his efforts and plans, and we need to knock him down a few notches while we do it. I'm afraid that we have to move this into an ‘end game' scenario, in which we either take him out…or else we're going to be the ones being taken out."

Rob walked into sickbay and breathed the recycled air. He really hated coming here, as it tended to remind him of death and injury, but whenever one of his officers was injured, he made it a point to personally come see them. This time was no different; however, he was a bit skeptical about how he would react given his last time spent here. He would soon find out, it appeared, for Janeane Vladese was heading straight for him.

"Colonel," she said politely.

Rob looked at the doctor, the situation similar to his previous trip to sickbay but not quite as glum. "Doctor," he said quickly, "I just wanted to apologize for my behavior the last time I was here. I just do not wish to talk about what happened and feel that it's best if I deal with it at my own pace."

"I can respect that, Colonel," she said with a thin smile. "However, I am sure that that is not the real reason why you came here. You wish to know about Major Maxfield?"

"Yes, please."

"She's doing well and responding rapidly to treatment; she'll be out of commission for a little while, however, so I'm afraid that flying is definitely out of the question for her. She's going to need some minor surgery and there will be a period of recovery, but the prognosis is good; I expect her to be back to full operational status within a couple of weeks."

"A couple of weeks!?" came a high-pitched yell from the other side of sickbay

Rob turned to see Chelsey lying in a recovery cot, trying his best not to grin at her situation. "I thought you were sleeping, Major. You shouldn't eavesdrop while someone is talking, that's rude." This time he did break out in a smile as he looked at her glare at him. "Now, now, Chelsey, that's not a very nice look to give to your CO, and after all the trouble I went to make sure that you were well taken care of. After all, I could have insisted someone else look after you, like one of the MD droids."

"You're very mean, Colonel."

"Thank you."

"As I was saying," went on the good doctor, "it will be about a couple of weeks before she'll be able to be operational again, so I'm afraid you'll be without a pilot and an executive officer for that while."

"That means I'll have to appoint someone to take over for the interim," he said, being thoughtful for a moment. "Oh no… that means Chris is going to be second in command. Doctor, please, is there anything you can do to make her operational by tomorrow?"

"I'm not a miracle worker, Colonel; that job is left reserved for engineers."

"Oh, Sith…I've got to deal with Chris even more, now. Force help me."

Chapter Eight

"Chris, are you awake?"

Richard recognized the voice as belonging to that of Andrew, and he knew that the name was directed towards him, but at the moment he didn't seem to be able to understand why. Why is he calling me by that name?

"Chris," said Andrew again. "Are you awake? Come on, answer me."

"Sir," said Richard sleepily. He felt as if his head was pounding against several meters of durracrete, and he wasn't sure if he could move his body without exerting some great effort. Why did he feel this way? "You call me, sir?"

"Yes, Major Blair, I did, now wake up!"

The combination of the name, rank, and the tone in which Andrew used them snapped Richard's attention to the present. He jerked himself fully awake and looked down at himself to see that there were numerous bruises across his chest, no doubt the result of Miller's "interrogation" methods. He must have blacked out during one of the "sessions" and was deposited here upon the completion of such a session.

"I'm awake, sir. Sorry, I seem to be suffering from extensive sleepiness," he said with a half-felt laugh.

"Just don't slip into a coma, Major. I need you awake to make sure we can adequately plan our escape."

Richard did his best to look in Andrew's direction without seeming to give him a nasty glare, but he wasn't sure if he was successful or not. "Escape? Colonel, we are well and truly Sithed, here; there's no possible way that we can escape the holding cell of—"

"Major!" said Andrew in a stern voice. "I will not hear that kind of talk from my executive officer. Now, we are going to make a plan of escape so that if the opportunity arises, we shall take advantage of it. Understood?"

The tone in which Andrew said things, and the way he looked at Richard, made the man realize that his commanding officer was playing a role. He then realized that there was a very good chance that audio and video recorders were monitoring the holding cell they were in, and that Andrew wanted to do everything he could to make their captors pay more attention to them. He believes we're going to be rescued; how optimistic.

"Understood," he said carefully to the man.

"Good. Now, then, let's get to work on that escape plan."

Carlos Benifell of New Republic Intelligence came out of hyperspace like he did with every translation, looking to see where he was in relation to the star charts and if there were any sensor contacts. His Y-wing's position in the system was exactly what he had plotted out for him and his wingmate—they were exactly one hundred kilometers from the system's closest orbiting chunk of rock—but the sensor contacts he was picking up was not what he expected. "Two, can you get a better resolution on those contacts?"

The soft voice of his Bith wingmate came back over his headset speakers shortly. "They aren't New Republic, that's for sure, One. And I can't be certain, but I think I make out the telltales of a star destroyer. They could be some pirates, but—hang on a moment…there sure are a lot of them. Sir, I think we might have found a pirate nest, or maybe even an Imperial stronghold."

"Is there a chance we might have found what we've been looking for?" asked Carlos with a hopeful tone in his voice. NRI had been tasked with finding out the location of the 16th Imperial Fleet ever since the operations in the sector began, and the command had been hurried ever since the ambush of the Lexington's Task Force.

"There's a fifty-seven percent chance that this is the headquarters of the Imperial Fleet, One, according to my calculations. I cannot give you a better estimation without getting closer to the contacts, but that would require us to be in the shadow of the gravitational mass that the planetoid is giving off."

"Hmm, that would make any chance of escape a bit hard. Okay, Two, log this as a priority-one system, and let's continue our sweep of the surrounding systems before heading back to the barn."

Corben looked out at the vast assembly of naval officers and pilots, thinking back to his first "big" meeting with every single command officer in the entire Third Fleet as they prepared to make their assault on Anaxes. He hardly knew all of their names, but he did know enough of them to be able to carry on a conversation if need be.

However, this time, there was no need to do such.

"I'll cut right to the chase. NRI scouting craft had identified a system on the other side of the sector that has a good chance of being where the Imperials are centralized. At the very least, it's either an Imperial stronghold or a very powerful band of pirates. If it's the former, then we need to know about it in any case; if it's the latter, well, we'll hope that we don't incur their dislikes, as we don't have the capabilities to fight a two-fronted campaign at this time."

He took a step forward and the large holographic projector in the middle of the room sparked to life, and instantly the outline of a star system with a red dwarf primary and half a dozen orbital bodies appeared. "This is the Julv System, better known for being a source of rich natural ore deposits, but relatively unimportant in the scheme of things within the sector. There hasn't been much merchant traffic through the system in the last five years due to the hostilities of the Galactic Civil War, but there is some minor, approved shipping and mining."

Corben shifted slightly on his foot as he brought up the next holo-image. "These are the sensor images that the scouts were able to get; as you can see, there's not much in the way of actual proof, but given the quantity of contacts that were observed, there's a very good chance that it is, indeed, the 16th Imperial Fleet. As such, we'll be sending in a flotilla for a reinforced reconnaissance mission; should they run into any trouble, they'll at least be able to handle themselves for the most part until they can hyper out."

"I assume that's why we're here, sir?" asked a golden-furred Bothan in a naval uniform, the pips on his breast identifying him as a commodore.

"That is correct. Your flotilla will be the one that undertakes the mission, Commodore Gul`ren." There was some mutterings throughout the room until Corben cleared his throat slightly. "As I was saying. Six ships—the Commodore's flotilla—will be part of the operation. Their squadrons will provide the operational security of the flotilla while two additional squadrons—Bantha and Red—will do the actual reconnaissance portion of the mission. Their job will be to verify if it is, indeed, the 16th Imperial Fleet; the best way to do that is to identify and scan the Wisdom of the Emperor, as West will always be present on that ship. Are there any questions?"

"Why are we only hitting with a light scout force?" asked a naval captain. "Why not bring the full brunt of the fleet against the Imperials?"

"We want to make sure, first of all, that this is defiantly the 16th Imperial Fleet. West has a habit of creating tempting targets for us and then springing some sort of trap. I have no intention of committing our full force until I know for certain that it really is the 16th, and that they're not going to pull another ambush on us. Any more questions?" He looked around and found that every eye was on him—a steady sight to see, to be sure. "Very well, then. Report back to your respective commands and brief your people. Dismissed."

Chelsey looked over at the man standing beside her bed and gave a small sigh. "You really don't have to keep coming down here to check up on me, sir. I'm fine, really."

"I know you are," said Rob, dressed in his black and gold flight suit with his helmet tucked under his right arm. "And lose the ‘sir,' Chelsey. You know how I feel about that."

"I know, I know. But you are my commanding officer, sir, and as the executive officer I need to set an example for the rest of the unit. Even though we both know that if I had my way, I'd kick you around in the simulators until you didn't know what hit you." Rob grinned at her and she felt her cheeks flush a bit, despite the fact that she didn't have any interest in him and she knew that he certainly didn't have any interest in her. No wonder he has a certain way with some of the female officers on the ship; with that grin and his ‘mysterious past,' he could be a real troublemaker if he wanted to. "You should be on the flight line, not here poking fun at your XO. Go on, I can make do without you."

"Of that I have no doubt," he said. "As a matter of fact, I'm quite sure that you can more than take care of yourself without my presence." He gave a slight frown at her and then acknowledged the rank pips on his flight suit. "These should be yours, you know."

"Don't you dare start that again!" She fumed despite her uncomfortable position in the bed. "You earned those, Rob Baden, and if you begin to think that you didn't—that you're not the one who really should be in command of the unit—then you will begin to doubt yourself and your decisions severely. Besides which, I have no real desire for command."

"Like I do?" He scoffed lightly at her. "Chelsey, I've never been the one to take the lead and charge into things without at least fifty people alongside me. I prefer to work alongside people."

"And it is that quality that makes you a good leader." She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. "Most leaders tend to lead from the rear, giving orders for others to follow without getting themselves directly involved. I can understand that for the really higher-ups—you can't plan an operation on such a huge scale and lead it, because then you'd be unable to command it—but for a squadron commander, or a marine company commander, it speaks a lot about a leader when they place themselves in harm's way along with those they command."

Rob frowned at her and then checked the chrono on his wrist. "I'd love to stay here and argue with you the finer points of command responsibility, but I need to get to my X-wing and launch. You take care of yourself, you hear me? I want you back in the cockpit as soon as you can manage."

"Aye-aye, sir," she responded with a salute. Rob just grinned at her as he turned and walked out of sickbay, Chelsey watching him as he went. She sighed to herself and resumed her stillness on the bed as she went back to the thoughts that had started to appear in her head just before Rob showed up. She didn't really want to do it, but the recent accident told her quite a bit about how one should never expect one thing to remain the same forever. "Oh well," she said gently into the empty sickbay, "I'm sure that he'll understand."

Jak Uav pulled back on the lever of his hyperdrive and brought his A-wing back into normal space. The rocky planetoid that they were told about in the mission briefing was there, close by—less than fifty kilometers away—and he could tell by the illumination of the "hyperdrive inoperable" icon on his control board that he had already drifted into the gravitational mass shadow of it. Someone really planned the exit vectors without a margin for error.

He checked his instruments and sensors, automatically locating the other A-wings of his squadron and the seven X-wings of Red. He then noticed six new contacts flash on the sensors, as well as the verification of several more contacts. "Looks like Intelligence got something right," he said to himself before he reached up and clicked on his headset speaker. "This is Bantha Leader, standing by for operation go."

"This is Red Leader," came the voice of Baden, "standing by for operation go."

"This is Gallant Heart Control to all units, stand by for orders."

Jak did a scan of the area with his eyes and gave a low whistle. The entire system was riddled with Imperial starships—the equivalent of two full task forces—along with several starfighters and an assortment of smaller ships. There were a few independent vessels—cargo ships, a couple of Corellian YT transports, and even a modified Mobquet—but the majority of the area was secured by Imperials. I think we found the right place.

"Bantha, Red, you are cleared to proceed with your operation. You have a go."

"Copy that, GHC, Bantha is on the way."

"Red, likewise, is on the way."

Jak grinned a little as he recalled the first time he had met Rob Baden. It had been several months ago, while Third Fleet was preparing to take Anaxes, and the man had been a lowly First Lieutenant; he hadn't even been one of the top three ranking pilots in Red Squadron, and now he was the commanding officer. Still not sure how that happened, he thought to himself with bitter amusement. Brevet promotions were often given when someone needed to fill a void that was unexpectedly made, but Baden hadn't been given a brevet promotion—he'd been given a full one.

"This is odd," he said to himself, refocusing on the task at hand. "Bantha Lead to Red Lead," he spoke into his microphone, "are you getting the same kind of readings I am from the Imperial ships?"

"Affirmative. I assume you ran a self diagnostic to see if it were your sensors?"

"Correct. Readings are the same." He frowned at the sensor readouts and about wanted to shake the electronics gear to their circuit boards. "I'm not seeing any power distribution on at least half of the starships. They're just sitting there, waiting."

"It could be another trap."

"Possible." He punched up a course change and gripped his flight stick a little tighter. "I'm going to take a closer run. Bantha Four, you're with me, everyone else maintain your distance."

He flew towards one of the ISDs in the center of his cockpit, the huge triangular ship enlarging as he got closer and closer. He checked his sensors again, but still got the same thing: no power distribution that one would expect in a ship ready to do just about anything. Instead, it remained dormant, almost as if it were awaiting a refit.

A refit!

Jak brought up his sensor logs and tracked back to the cargo and transport ships that he detected earlier. "Red Leader, this is Bantha Leader."

"Go ahead, Bantha."

"Are you or anyone in your unit close to some of those transport and cargo ships?"

"Yes, Red Two is."

"Quickly, have him scan the ships!"

"Stand by, Bantha Leader."

Jak sat on the edge of his patience as he waited for the report to come back. If he were wrong, then there would be nothing to worry about, but if he were right…Third Fleet would be in a world of trouble if they didn't act soon.

"Bantha, Two says that his sensors detected mechanical parts, some engineering supplements, weapons upgrades—"

"Sith! I was right!" He actually raised his fist and hit the padding of his ejection seat. "Red, we need to find the Wisdom—now!"

Miller was none too pleased to have been pulled away from his "questioning" of the Rebels, but when the commanding officer of fleet you were the flag captain for orders you to the bridge, you do not refuse.

However, he was sorely tempted to put it to the test, given how difficult extracting information from the pilots seemed to be. He'd done his best not to rely too heavily on the stick portion of his sessions, but they didn't seem to be responding that well to the ryshcatte side of them, either. They knew something of importance—any command-level officer knew something—but they just didn't seem to be willing to provide anything.

Miller walked through the security foyer and onto the bridge's command walkway where West was standing.

"Ah," said the admiral. "There you are, Captain Miller. I trust our ‘guests' are enjoying their stay?"

"Quite."

"Hmm. Well, I'd love for you to get back to it, but it appears we have a bit of a problem. Commander, bring up the sensors." West nodded towards the tactical plot against one of the bulkhead walls and started walked there, Miller following closely.

When they arrived the plot was already active showing six blips heading straight for the heart of the Imperial stronghold. "We have some uninvited guests—to go along with our invited ones, of course—and it appears that they're heading straight for our retrofitting section. They appear to be relatively lightly armed—a cruiser, two strike cruisers, and three corvettes—but they still possess the ability to discover what it is we are doing here." He turned to Miller with a dark expression on his face. "I don't want that to happen, Captain."

"I doubted you would, sir," stated Miller with a bit of blasé. "However, all it takes is for one ship to get through and scan us—hell, all they need to do is have a fighter scan us. As much as I would like to believe that the Rebels are stupid, they're not such that they would be suicidal when they know that bringing back information would help their cause more." He clasped his hands behind his back and looked at the admiral squarely in the eyes. "I'm afraid it would be more prudent for us to accept the reality that at least someone will get by, scan the ships, and retreat back to Anaxes. We should—therefore—refocus our attention on preparing an appropriate defense against the Rebels."

West just stood there for a moment, and Miller actually thought that he was about to find himself with a blaster barrel to the head. But then the admiral surprised him by grinning widely. "You're very perceptive, Captain. You'll make a fine admiral one day—if we all survive that long."

"As you say, sir."

"I've already ordered a couple of frigates and three four light cruisers to make an attempt to destroy the ships, but I know full well that they won't stand up against the combined power of bombardment and B-wing & Y-wing squadrons. Therefore, I want you to begin preparing for another strike; get our ships operational as soon as possible, even if you have to force those technicians to speed up their pace."

"Aye-aye, sir."

"Say that again, Bantha Leader?"

Jak was dodging laser fire left and right as he continued to do his scans of star destroyers. He had yet to find the Wisdom, but considering how few ISDs there were in the system, he wasn't likely to come up empty for long.

In the meantime, however, he had patched in an emergency transmission to the Maria and had contacted Admiral Ull himself with his important discovery. The fact that the admiral was having a hard time believing it to be the case meant that it was completely unexpected.

"They're retrofitting many of the star destroyers—ISD and VSD—to make them comparable to the abilities of the Wisdom. Red Leader and I have confirmed the existence of several materials needed for this operation, and the fact that nearly half of the Imperial ships in the system are in power-save mode means that they weren't expecting us to find them and felt that this would be the most opportune time to expedite these retrofits. Sir, I believe that the 16th Imperial Fleet is upgrading their capabilities so that they can strike at us without fear of any retaliation by New Republic forces."

There was a long pause on the other end of the transmission, and for just a moment Jak thought that perhaps he had been cut off, but then the sighing breath of Ull came back on. "If this is true, we better launch a strike immediately. I'll prepare the Third Fleet to jump into the system, Colonel; transmit again when you have confirmed the location of the Wisdom. Third Fleet, out."

Jak clicked the microphone off and then did a corkscrew roll through a field of intensive fire. He got a little closer to the star destroyer and was finally able to deploy the sensor suite; the information immediately started to scroll across his readout monitor and he rejoiced as he acknowledged that it was the Wisdom of the Emperor. In fact, he was so happy with the information that he was about to call up the transmission to the Maria once again until he noticed that there was a secondary electronic signature emanating from the Wisdom. Normally, that wouldn't exactly cause him to pause in his duties, but the signature he was monitoring was of New Republic origin.

"Red Leader," he said into his microphone, "this is Bantha Leader, and I've got something of an unusual situation here."

"Go ahead, Bantha," came Baden's response.

"Well, it appears that I've identified the Wisdom…but I'm also picking up some sort of a secondary electronic signature coming from the ship, only it appears to be of a New Republic make and origin."

There was a moment of dead silence on the other end of the transmission until Baden came back with a dark, almost haunted voice. "Send a coded IFF request on subchannel Zeta Nu."

Jak didn't bother to ask why; he just simply did what was requested of him. It didn't take long for him to get a response. "It reads, ‘Charlie Alpha Pi Thu Ultra Rho Echo Delta.'" Jak blinked as he spelled out the words. "'CAPTURED.'"

"The situation has just changed," said Baden. "Bantha Leader, you need to inform the admiral at once!"

"Red, what's this about?"

"That coded response you just got? It's an automated transmission by a subdermal transceiver placed in every Red and Blue pilot, very hard to pick up. On that ship is either Blue Squadron's CO or XO, or both. And I'll be damned if I let this chance slip by."

Miller looked up from his station to see West standing just behind him. He long ago discovered that the admiral had a penchant for sneaking up on people, but Miller had always been able to hide any sense of shock that he felt. Instead, he rolled right into his report. "Admiral, we've destroyed one of the Rebel starships."

"Hmm, yes, but at a considerable cost, Captain. All six ships that we sent after them have been destroyed. The ratio is not exactly what I could consider acceptable."

"Perhaps not, sir, but we still maintain the advantage. However, that advantage will be lost if we can't get those ships in operational status soon."

"How is that progressing?"

"Not well, sir." Miller frowned as he recalled the brief conversation he had with the chief technician in charge of overseeing the retrofits. "In fact, I'm not entirely sure that Lieutenant Branson and his team is exactly worried about the possible repercussions of their procrastination."

"We shall have to make him aware of the repercussions, then."

A flash of light from a nearby monitor drew Miller's attention and he turned over to look at the tactical plot. He focused on it for several seconds before he turned back to face West. "Sir, we just confirmed that the five remaining Rebel ships have jumped to hyperspace. We also confirmed that during the battle—when our attention was drawn elsewhere—two squadrons of fighters were able to penetrate our defenses and scan several of the dormant ships. It is with a high sense of certainty that we can be sure of the Rebels knowing about what our actions are."

"Looks like you were right, Captain. I guess the only thing left to do now is to prepare…and wait."

Rob slammed his fist on the desk in Ull's office, the anger rising in him to a boiling point. "NO!" he screamed at the commanding officer of Third Fleet. "I will not sit by and let us just simply abandon Vogel and Dobson! We have a chance to finally get them back, and I'm not about to just forget about it!"

"That will be quite enough, Colonel!" Ull stood before, his own anger apparent in his demeanor. "One more such outburst from you and I'll have you locked in the brig, stripped of your rank, discharged from service, and forced to listen to an Imperial opera for five days straight!"

"I don't quite think that that will be necessary, Admiral," came the serene—almost calming—voice of Paul Sweet. "Colonel Baden just wishes to voice his, uh, concerns over the plan that you have laid out for the Third Fleet. And as the acting commanding officer of Blue, I must say that I am equally concerned over the prospect of leaving Colonel Dobson and Major Vogel aboard the Wisdom. Certainly there's something we can do to rescue them."

"Actually," said Rob in a hard, chilling voice, "there is something we can do. We can go in and extract them."

"Colonel, I have heard that you have an unusual sense of humor, but I do not find this to be a situation in which such a joke is to be made."

"I quite agree, Admiral. However, I was being sincere; there is a way for us to extract Dobson and Vogel, and we can do it in such a fashion that it would not be detrimental to the planned operation of the Third Fleet."

Ull sat down in his chair and placed both his hands under his chin. A few moments went by in which he did nothing, just sitting there in that pose, and then he looked up at the younger officer. "Proceed with your explanation, Colonel."

"Thank you, sir," said Rob. "As you are aware, a few months ago Red participated in a botched grab of an Imperial scientist; several pilots were casualties, and one was captured and escaped a few days later. During his escape, he stole a Corellian YT-1300 transport, to which we still have in storage aboard the Star. Not only that, the ship still has the original Imperial IFF transponders installed—we were thinking of using it for live-fire training missions, but never got around to it."

He leaned closer to the man and started to talk with his hands, running through his explanation with an excited devotion. "While we were in the Julv System we detected several transport and cargo ships moving about. It is my belief that we can use the transport with the IFF codes, slip into the system a little before the attack of the Third Fleet, and dock with the Wisdom. A team of marines will then board and rescue Dobson and Vogel and we would then get out of there before the main force were to strike."

Ull looked as though he was considering the possibilities of the plan. He didn't say anything, but Rob knew that he had gotten through to the man—finally. The last thing he wanted was the death of more people on his mind.

"It's a good plan, but there are some details that need to be ironed out for completeness."

"Of course, sir."

"It would have to be timed so the ship doesn't arrive too soon, or else the Imperials will discover Vogel and Dobson gone and think something is going to happen. Likewise, it can't arrive too late, or else they will immediately suspect the ship of being involved with the attack—I doubt very much that when a battle begins, West is going to defer to the possibility of a coincidence."

"Of course, sir," repeated Rob. He already knew that much of this would have to be hammered out until it was as close to perfect as possible, and that it all had to be done in a relatively short amount of time, but at the moment he didn't care. He was going to be able to help in the rescue of his comrades, and that, more than anything else, made him feel good. "I've got Pappy, the chief mechanic, standing by to help out, and Lieutenant Wetherill will be on hand to help with any questions about the vessel that might need to be answered. And, of course, so will I."

"Oh, yes, that's right," said Ull with a nod. "I forgot, you're a licensed small crafts mechanic and engineer. Well, surely there's more important things for you to be doing, Colonel, then working on the internals of this transport."

"No, sir, there's not."

"Oh? But, Red will be participating in the operation—hell, nearly ALL forces will be participating in the operation, Colonel. You need to brief your people on the particulars of the operation."

"Actually, sir, with your permission, I was going to leave that to Captain Layne, my acting executive officer. I believe I have more important matters to attend to. That, and I don't think I will be present during the actual operation itself."

Ull gave him a puzzled expression, but it was actually Paul who spoke the question that was lingering in the office. "And just where do you plan on being, Colonel?"

"Simple," said Rob in his most serious tone. "I plan on leading the boarding operation and piloting that transport."

Ull actually laughed for a moment until he saw the expression on Rob's face. He cleared his throat and sat fully upright in his chair. "Colonel, you're a very good pilot—and it does show that you have a background in transport piloting—but so do many others. And you're not a marine—or a special ops soldier, or a security officer—so I don't see how you being in charge of the boarding operation would be of any help."

Rob sighed and looked down at his hands for a moment, then back up at the admiral. "Sir, for the past few years I've had extensive training in an ancient martial arts form which utilizes two medium-sized swords. Not to sound egotistical, Admiral, but I've becoming quite proficient with these swords, and I have a good hand-to-hand and small-arms record."

"That may be so, Colonel, but—"

"Admiral," said Rob in his most serious tone. "I know that we haven't always seen eye to eye on some things, and I know that I've caused a great deal of grief for you when I first took this command. However, sir, I am afraid that this one time I am going to have to stand up and let it be known that there is no way that I am going to allow myself to be taken off this assignment." He pointed a finger at Paul, who had been silent a good deal of the time. "Sir, because of the actions of my unit, disinformation somehow got into our hands, and because of that, Andrew and Richard were captured. I'll be damned, sir, if I allow anyone to take this assignment away from me, even if it means I have to resign.

Chapter Nine

Corben looked out at the various commanding officers crowded into the pilot's briefing room aboard the Maria and gave a smile as he remembered once more their deployment for Anaxes and Chandrila. This was going to be a much more difficult mission—almost as difficult as the first mission that the Third Fleet under went at Fondor—but he had no doubt in his mind that his commanders and their officers would pull through.

"I'll skip any pretense of beating around the bush and get straight to the point," he said, settling his hands on the lectern in front of him. "We're down to the end, people; it's either us, or them, with no room for a stalemate. The time has come that we must vanquish or drive out the enemy lest we be faced with a far superior force than we are currently dealing with."

He hit a button on the lectern and the holographic emitter came alive, showing the outline of the Jalv System once more, but this time with an updated accuracy of the Imperial ships. "We've all read the reports of Commodore Gul`ren's recon-in-force operation, and we all know what has to be done; however, we're going to amend the plan just slightly." He gave a brief nod in the direction of Baden and Major Julani. "We've been given evidence that Colonel Dobson and Major Vogel are aboard the flagship of the Imperial fleet, the Wisdom of the Emperor, apparently undergoing interrogation. We do not know for certain what their state is other than the fact that they are alive. Therefore, a small strike team will take a captured Imperial ship and attempt to extract the captives while we continue forth with our operation. I want it understood," he said, looking at each and every officer in turn, "that although we very much want to be able to get our comrades back, we have a duty to perform and will do so regardless of the outcome of the extraction."

Baden looked at him with a fire in his eyes and Corben felt as though the man was about to speak, but he didn't say anything. When he was sure that the pilot wasn't about to make a scene, he went back to his briefing.

"The initial briefing and intelligence packages you received prior to this briefing has already shown you what out plan of operation is, therefore I see no need to repeat it. Before I close, are there any questions? Good, then you are dismissed."

Chris watched as Rob helped the marines place some of their equipment aboard the YT-1300 transport, wanting to walk up to the man and beg him not to leave. He wasn't sure he was really ready to lead the entire unit in a mission, and he didn't want to be responsible for some sort of screw up that killed half the unit. Much, he thought bitterly, like the way Rob must have felt after the mission to Esseles.

Finally, his sense of duty prevailed over his personal feelings and he walked towards the transport craft, his eyes focused on Rob. He noticed a few things about the man that he didn't see before, specifically the fact that there were to rather deadly-looking swords strapped to Rob's back in sheathes. Chris hadn't known about the weapons—no one had known about the weapons—until Rob had made it abundantly clear that he was not going to participate in the space battle that going to take place in the Jalv System.

Another thing that Chris noticed was the outfit that Rob was wearing. They were combat fatigues, which had obviously seen battle, and the rank insignia on them said that of a private first class, with Rob's name just after it. Again, Chris knew that Rob had spent some time in the Army, but he recalled that it wasn't very long; apparently, the time he had spent had been enough to earn him the rank of PFC and to cause his gear to look like they needed to be sanitized after a bloody battle.

He stopped just behind Rob and cleared his throat, waiting for the older man to turn around. Try as he might—and he did try—to remain on friendly terms with Rob after the Corellian took command of the unit, Chris found it increasingly hard to call the man by Rob, even if they were off duty and alone. It's not that they wasn't good friends—in fact, Rob seemed to open up as much as he was likely to following his first mission as unit commander—it was just that it was hard to get to know the man who had to put your life on the line with a decision.

Rob turned around and gave a slight grin at him. "Captain Layne, shouldn't you be on the flight line, preparing to lead your pilots into glorious battle?"

"Right, sure, whatever, sir." He grinned back at the man and coughed slightly. "Sir, are you sure there's no way I can't talk you out of this? I really don't think I'm the sort of person who should be in charge of the entire unit, even if it's only for one mission. Surely there's someone else who can lead this operation? What about Major Sweet, he's got extensive ground combat experience, plus the officers in question are from Blue."

"Chris," said the other man with a slight sigh, "you're relatively young, but you've been through quite a lot—like the rest of us—so this shouldn't be a surprise to you, but we take care of our own aboard this ship. It's that way aboard any good ship; the crew, the officers, the pilots, they all look out for one another. Major Sweet is very short handed with the loss of Vogel and Dobson, and, yes, while Red is just as shorthanded, this was my idea; I brought it to the admiral, I forced him to take the lives of Vogel and Dobson into consideration, and I'll be damned if I let someone mess up the extraction."

Rob looked at him intensely for a moment and Chris felt like he was about to be dressed down. However, what came out of Rob's mouth next completely surprised him.

"You may not want to believe it—in fact, any good leader doesn't want to at first—but you are a leader in this unit. Your abilities and skills will take you far up the chain of command if you wish them to do so; or, perhaps you'll find your niche being something low, yet important, like a squadron commander." He was quiet again and then gave a slight grin. "You're ready for this, Chris, and it's about time you know that for yourself."

Chris was taken aback by what Rob had just said, and stood there with his mouth half open. He wasn't sure what he should say in response to that, but he knew that he had to say something, least he look like an idiot in front of his CO. "I, er… thank you, sir… I really don't know what to say to that; no one has ever said anything like it to me before."

"Don't let it get to your head, Captain," said Rob in his normal, stern tone. "There's a difference between having the abilities of leadership and being able to properly exercise them. Don't let ego outweigh objectivity and command responsibility, Chris; remember that."

"I will, sir." He snapped to attention and gave Rob a sharp salute. "Begging the colonel's pardon, sir, I wish to report to the flight line."

"I give you leave to do so, Captain." He returned the salute. "Now, get out of here, before I have you arrested for loitering."

"You'll all heart, sir."

"Shut up, Chris."

Sooli watched the monitor in her office, its feed split between the port and starboard flight decks. On the left side she was watching Steve prep his B-wing for flight, carefully going over the checklist with his crew chief; on the right side was Rob, going over some sort of minor details with Frask Yak`ney about the condition of the transport ship he was about to fly. Neither knew that she was watching them, and part of her wondered why she was even doing so, but another part of her knew it was because she worried about the two of them—more so than anyone else aboard the Star.

She had grown quite close to Steve ever since they met over a year ago, to the point where they had become romantically involved. There were no regulations against such involvement—especially when they were both in different branches of the military and different chains of command—but even so they had decided to keep their involvement something of a secret. However, given the way news traveled on a ship, it was no surprise that Captain Ru'kaart wished them a happy celebration upon their anniversary date; a little awkward, to be sure, but not surprising.

Rob, however, was something different. Originally, Sooli had an interest in Rob as more than a friend—even though the other had clearly stated that he was in no way looking for a relationship. Over time, that interest had dwindled severely, but there was still that smallest spark of interest that remained. She had no doubt in her mind, whatsoever, that she was happy having Steve in her life, but she would always remain close to Rob.

She sighed to herself as she watched the two go about their duties and wished, once again, that there were more that she could do for the operation. Her duties were mainly focused around obtaining and authenticating intelligence that would help in the planning of operations; so, in a sense, the operations were planned based on what her job was, but that didn't help to appease her sense of duty.

She looked at the chronometer on her desk and then glanced back up at the monitor, focusing more on Rob's side. He was boarding the transport, and the few moments later the boarding ramp slid up under the ship, sealing the compartment. The strike team was obviously ready to get underway, and she gave a little prayer to the Force for their safe return before she turned her focus back to the other side of the monitor.

Steve was climbing into his cockpit slowly, checking the compartment for items that could come loose during flight. He was pretty adamant about proper care and safety measures when it came to space flight—one might almost call him obsessive about it—but Sooli knew that it was really something that every pilot should do. While she herself was only checked out on small transport craft—like Rob's Pride of Alderaan—she knew that there was a fine line between a combat pilot's life and death, and that fine line was the check list before flight.

"Now hear this, now hear this," came Captain Ru'kaart's voice over the intercom. "We will soon be embarking on the largest battle this ship has ever seen to date. I would like to take this opportunity to thank each and every one of you for the hard work and dedication that you have done over the past year since this ship was put into service. Let us remain true to ourselves and hope that we can make it through another year. May the Force be with us all. Ru'kaart, out."

Sooli checked the monitor again and saw that Steve had strapped himself into the cockpit and closed the canopy. She sighed to herself as she looked over and saw the transport carrying Rob and the marines lift off the deck and head out of the hanger bay. Reaching over to the desk she tapped a button and the monitor resumed the normal display of classified intelligence reports from various sources, one of which indicated a successful ID plant in the central computer of the Wisdom of the Emperor. How I wish I could do more, she thought once more as she went about the normal course of her duties.

"Captain!"

Miller turned around from the station he was out and looked over at the tactical officer who had shouted his name. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Captain, we're picking up a single light transport. It's got an Imperial IFF transponder, and it is scheduled to be here, but something feels…" The officer trailed off.

"Feels what?" asked Miller.

"Odd. Like something's wrong. I can't place my finger on it, and there's nothing to show that there's anything really wrong with the ship, but I just have this weird feeling about it."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of, Lieutenant," said Miller, patting the man on the back. "It pays to be a bit paranoid these days, in light of the situation that we find ourselves in. Let it pass, but keep an eye on it, just in case you're right."

"Aye, sir."

Rob grinned to himself as he got the "all clear" message from the Wisdom. "Copy that, Wisdom, we're proceeding on a heading of Three-Two-Three and should be within tractor range in about ten minutes. Thank you for your hospitality; Diamond, out." He switched off the communications panel and swiveled in his chair to look at the marine sitting in the co-pilots seat. "Major, I do believe that we are clear for our mission. You better go prep your jarheads."

"You got it, flyboy," said Julani with a grin and Rob gave a snorted laugh.

Marines were notorious for being self-centered, barbaric, weapons-totting cannon fodder who were unable to get along with anyone, especially pilots and soldiers…or at least that's what everyone was given to believe. Rob hadn't had much experience with marines, and was certain that his previous stint in the Army would have made him less endearing to the jarheads aboard the transport, but he had found himself enjoying their company quite well.

Like any professional military member, they took their job with a serious calm and an almost joyfulness that Rob had expected more out of the hotshot attitudes of his fellow pilots. He was actually ashamed that he had thought otherwise beforehand; he should have trusted that any being willing to place their life in harm's way for the liberation of the galaxy was a patriot.

He made another glance at the reflective surface of the cockpit viewport and sighed at what he saw. He didn't know why, but he was very apprehensive about this portion of the operation. He had been in combat before—granted, mostly as a pilot—and he had extensive hand-to-hand training and was very proficient with his Kadochi swords…but this was going to be somewhat different.

It didn't take long until the ship was within the tractor range of the huge star destroyer and Rob brought the transport to a complete stop. Moments later the tractor beam latched onto the YT-1300 and brought it slowly into the main hanger bay of the Imperial ship, settling it down on the deck with a gentleness that Rob couldn't have really managed without the aid of the device. He proceeded to shut down all systems—at least the ones that would be picked up by a passive scan of the ship—and walked back to the rear of the ship where the platoon of marines were assembling by the boarding ramp.

"We're ready to go, Colonel."

"So I see, Major." Rob pulled on a baggy jacket that looked as if it had belonged to a very poor smuggler; he didn't really like it, but it hid his combat gear from a casual observer, and at the moment that is exactly what he needed. "Wait for my signal, unless you are sure that I'm about to be compromised; understood?"

"Absolutely, sir."

Rob gave a slight nod and then lowered the boarding ramp, the metallic "clang" announcing that it had successfully extended itself to the deck of the Imperial starship. He took hold of an electronic clipboard and started to walk down the ramp in a very showy fashion, giving the telltales of a typical smuggler or supply runner. In fact, the movement even brought back some memories of when he was a supply runner for the New Republic.

A man in Imperial gray was waiting at the bottom of the ramp, his face not a very happy one. It's not as if he was looked as though he were particularly suspicious of the transport; it was more the look of a man bored with what he was doing, hoping that he could be involved in a more worthwhile assignment. Trust me, pal, I know the feeling.

"Captain Galse of the transport Diamond," said the man. "You already sent ahead your cargo manifest, so all we have to do is check it against your contents to be sure of authenticity. Anything else to declare?"

Rob was about to open his mouth when the alarms started blaring. At first he thought that perhaps the Imps had caught on to what was really going on, but then he remembered that it was around this time that the New Republic would be making it's first attack run against 16th Imperial Fleet. "What the Sith is going on?" he said to the man, playing his part of a concerned merchant.

A booming voice sounded overhead from the intercom. "All hands, all hands, man your battle stations; this is not a drill. All hands, all hands, man your battle stations; this is not a drill."

The man looked around for a moment, noticing that everyone else in the hanger bay had already left for their assigned battle stations. He turned back towards Rob and frowned at him. "You're going to have to stay here, Captain, it appears we have an attack on our hands."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

The man looked at him for a brief moment before he registered what was going on as he saw the dark figures of marines moving behind Rob. He opened his mouth to say something, but Rob took out his blaster and fired off a shot into the man's center of mass. He fell backwards, whimpering slightly before becoming completely quiet.

"Boring conversationalist." Rob turned to the marines and glared slightly. "I thought I told you to wait for my signal?"

"Apologies, sir, but it looked as though he was going to get pretty…adamant… about your staying here, and we couldn't risk him seeing us before we could deal with him."

Rob glared for a little while before pulling off the baggy jacket and tossing it up into the transport. He reholstered his blaster pistol and then pointed to the ship. "Place the body aboard the ship in the crew cabin, then secure the ramp. We need to get moving."

Four marines did as they were instructed and soon came back down onto the flight deck, the boarding ramp closing quickly after them. They fell into line with the rest of their comrades and Rob took point as they began to move towards the exit of the hanger bay.

Richard groaned slightly as he looked up into the light that suddenly crept into the room that he and Andrew shared. He had heard the alarms and the announcement of battle stations, and had for the tiniest of moments believed Andrew's idea of someone coming to rescue them might be plausible; but the more he thought about it, the more he was certain that no one was going to come for him, that he was resigned to live out the remainder of his days as an Imperial prisoner.

That all changed, however, when an armed figure walked into the light and knelt beside him. "Mr. Vogel," came a familiar voice. "What have I told you about laying down on the job?"

Richard tried his best to focus on the figure and strained his eyes until he was able to make out the familiar face of Rob Baden. "I couldn't help myself, sir," he said with a sore throat. "I just tend to take your example for most things in life."

"Very funny." Rob helped him up to his feet and Richard felt strong arms on the other side of him, holding him up. "You look like hell."

"Nice to be appreciated," commented Richard.

Rob shook his head with a slight grin and then gave a gesture in Andrew's direction. "Colonel, you look like you could use some sort of mineral bath."

"Actually, I'm thinking of retirement."

Everyone was quiet for a moment, and Richard turned around to take a look at his CO. "Please tell me you're joking, sir."

Andrew shook his head, wincing from the obvious pain as he did so. "I'm afraid not. Recent, uh, events have taken their toll on me, and I seriously need to take some time off. It might not be a permanent retirement, but I really do need to take some time for myself and get to know what's really important in my life."

"Well," said Rob with a soft tone in his voice. "If you need to, then you need to. But, perhaps you can wait until we're off this ship before you do so? I, honestly, would like to see the look on Admiral Ull's face when we inform him of this unusual turn of events."

"Rob, are you sure you're not a sadist at heart?"

"No. That was Ranger's job."

It was relatively peaceful aboard the starship…as peaceful as a full battle alert could make it, that is. Naval officers and ratings were attending to their duties with a vigilance that would have made the Emperor proud; Stormtroopers were maintaining security operations around specific areas of concern in the unlikely event that someone might get aboard the ship and try to sabotage it.

And, in the peaceful serenity of the starship, a group of thirteen New Republic marines and three pilots were making their way back from the detention center to the main hanger bay of the Wisdom of the Emperor.

Rob looked around a corner leading into a branch-off corridor, his finger ready on the trigger of his blaster pistol. He didn't see anyone of concern, although he was sure that—even in the middle of a battle alert—there had to be some random people going by; the law of averages in the universe meant that there would always be some random person going by at the most inconvenient time in the galaxy—which was exactly the moment they were occupying.

He gave the signal to the rest and then moved slowly down the corridor. He continued on to the next corner and did the same thing, and the same thing again at the third corner. The fourth, however, proved to be a bit of a problem.

"You see that new VT-16?" came a helmet-filtered voice.

"Yeah, some of the other guys were telling me about it," said a second helmet-filtered voice. "They say it's…quite a thing to see."

Stormtroopers, having what sounded like a very boring conversation. Rob gave a slight groan and immediately wished he hadn't.

"What was that?" asked the first one.

"Ah, it's nothing," said the second one. "Don't worry about it."

Rob snarled under his breath and gave a hand signal to one of the marines behind him. The marine came up slowly and then—along with Rob—sprung out from the corner and opened fire, spraying blaster bolts into the chest armor of both Imperial troopers. The others turned the corner and began their own concentrated volleys, overwhelming the Stormtroopers before they could even bring their blasters around towards them.

Rob moved forward and bent over the two smoldering soldiers and then looked back at the others. "Well, that was fun. Come on, we better get going." He resumed his course down the corridor, moving a little quicker now that blaster shots had been fired. It was only a matter of time before someone came to investigate the sounds, and he wanted to make sure that they were as far away as possible from the area as possible.

Unfortunately, that still brought him back to the law of averages in the universe.

He rounded a corner and saw two naval officers and three ratings working at a wall terminal. One of the officers spotted him and was about to shout something when Rob pulled out a knife and threw it at him; the man fell back with the knife in his throat, causing enough of a shock to allow Rob the time needed to get in close to the remaining four and draw his kadochi blades.

He slashed the remaining officer in the chest with a backhanded move of his right hand while he stabbed one of the ratings with the blade in his left hand. He then jumped back slightly and kicked one of the surviving ratings in the back of the head while he did a double-slash on the very last rating. In all of five seconds, all five men were dead, and not a single shot was fired from any blaster.

Rob looked back at the others, the marines giving him a sense of approval while Richard and Andrew looked as if they were about to throw up. "I didn't want to take the chance of anyone hearing more blaster fire. One source gives you just a single point; two sources gives you an approximate direction in which we are moving."

"Understandable," said Andrew, still a bit shaken. "Just remind me never to get you mad at me!"

"Trust me," said Rob in a fairly calm fashion. "The only way you could ever make me mad is if you're trying to do me harm; and I trust, given my demonstration, that you're not likely to do that."

"That is a certainty."

Rob sheathed the swords again and then did a survey of their surroundings. "The hanger bay's not that far; come on, the sooner we get off this ship before it blows, the better."

Chris sat in the cockpit of his X-wing, trying to pass the time by thinking of other things. He absolutely, with a passion, hated these ambush type of missions; waiting in the darkness until the word was given. He preferred the straight up sort of mission, where you could zone in on your target and blow it out of the sky.

"Six, how much longer do we have to stay here?"

Chris frowned and brought up the communications protocols for Red. "Two, you know full well that we're going to be here until we get the word from the advance force."

"Yes, sir, it's just…I'm bored out of my mind!"

"Trust me, I know the feeling…all too well."

Chris' communications channel sparked to life on a new frequency and he focused on it. "This is Advance Force Recon to Bird Force…you are clear to proceed on your mission. I repeat, you are clear to proceed."

Chris grinned to himself and pulled back on the flight stick of the X-wing, orienting himself towards the designated entry vector. "Okay, Reds, line ‘em up. We're good to go."

Chris pulled back on the lever and entered hyperspace… along with several dozen other A-wings, B-wing, Y-wings, and X-wings around him.

Miller swore slightly under his breath. He knew the Rebels would be attack following their discovery of the location of the fleet, but he didn't know that it would be quite so soon. He had actually thought that the Rebels would wait until they could gather their entire force in the sector and attack at once, but instead they had only sent a small flotilla to attack them.

Something's not right here he thought to himself. The Imperial fleet—even in their current state of retrofitting—still had more firepower than the Rebels did, so what they were doing was something akin to suicide. What am I missing?

The answer came a moment later when the tactical plot sprung to life with several new contacts. He turned to the tactical officer to ask a question, but the young man was already ahead of him.

"Dozens of new contacts, sir. Small, very fast. Starfighters."

"How many?"

The man looked at him with what amounted to paleness, and expression Miller had seen all too often in the last few years since the Rebellion had "officially" started. "Over four hundred, sir."

Miller looked at the man with what he knew was an expression of shock and disbelief. It would take the entire starfighter compliment of the Rebel's Third Fleet to generate that number of craft. Had the Rebels sent every single starfighter to this one attack? But, even so, starfighters were still no great match for Imperial starships. Unless…

"Ah, SITH!" He quickly turned to the communications officer. "Relay to all forces; tell them that flagship suggests that they focus all attention on those fighters, especially the ones that have warheads. Now!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

"Captain, I'm receiving a request to undock from the Diamond," came the flight control officer. "They say they're finished with their cargo offloading and want to get out of here before they become a cinder."

"I can't blame them. Very well, tell the Diamond they can—" broke off as his memory clicked something in his head. "Wait…bring up the IFF transponder codes for the Diamond!"

"Sir!" said the FCO. A moment later the information displayed itself in front of Miller and the man felt himself tremble with excitement.

"Are the weapons in the hanger bay operational?"

"Yes, sir," came the tactical officer's response.

"Then target that transport and blow it apart!"

"Sir?"

"There are Rebels aboard that ship, Lieutenant! That transport was captured by the Rebels at Esseles!" He walked over to the man and grabbed him by the neck collar. "BLOW IT APART!"

Andrew groaned as he settled into the co-pilot's seat of the transport. He was thankful that he was going to get out of here—finally—but that didn't change the fact that he was really sore from the "sessions" that Miller had put him through. He was quite proud of himself, however—and of Richard—that they hadn't revealed any information that the Empire didn't already know about. That, in and of itself, made the waiting to be rescued acceptable.

He was about to turn in his seat to say so to Richard when a blinking red light lit up on the instrument panel. He knew what it was immediately and turned to Rob with an alarmed expression on his face. "The ship is being targeted!"

"Of course it's being targeted," said Rob. "We're on an Imperial ship that's under attack by New Republic forces."

"Not the Wisdom; THIS ship!" He grabbed Rob by the arm and moved towards the back of the cockpit. "Everyone out! Get off the ship, now!"

Andrew and Rob moved quickly to the boarding ramp and lowered it, willing the thing to move faster than it really was capable of doing so. As soon as there was enough clearance, Andrew rolled down the ramp, grunting in pain as he did so; Rob followed quickly after him, then Richard, and then several of the marines.

Laser batteries on the underside of the hanger bay's ceiling opened fire and instantly blew the transport apart with a single barrage. Smoldering shrapnel flew everywhere, one piece hitting a marine in the backside, causing him to scream out in extensive pain.

Andrew ran to the "safety" of the cargo containers against the nearest wall, Rob and the others following suit. As soon as they were all together and out of the line of fire from the batteries, Andrew looked around and saw that only half of the marines that had helped to rescue him had survived the destruction of the ship.

"This is not good," said Rob.

Andrew glared at his comrade and said in a very sarcastic voice, "You think!?"

"We need to find another way off this ship," said Richard.

"Actually," said Rob, a grin forming on his lips, "I have another idea."

Andrew winced at the look. "I'm not going to like this plan, am I?"

Chapter Ten

Commodore Garret paced the bridge of the light cruiser Mon Alpha, trying to keep her mind off the casualties that her forces were suffering at the hands of the Imperials. The overall operation was proceeding to plan, but the casualties were a little higher than what was to be expected.

For a commanding officer, any casualty is higher than what is wanted.

The arrival of the starfighters helped considerably, taking the pressure off of the flotilla of starships, but it also meant that the starfighers were facing a considerable amount of firepower directed solely at them. Starfighters were small, very agile, fast, and made to move in and out of battle to do their job—but even the sheer amount of weapons trained on them meant they had a hard time doing so.

However, the fighter craft did their job with professionalism. It wasn't very long before the bridge's viewport was riddled with explosions marking where Imperial ships had been hit by torpedo impacts. In fact, soon after the explosions began, brighter ones supplemented them, and several large blips indicating starships on the tactical plot began to disappear.

"We're receiving a report from General Uve`lon, Commodore," said the communications officer. "She reports that all primary targets are hit and are either destroyed or incapacitated."

"Excellent!" She walked towards the tactical plot and gave it a thorough examination before she turned to the communications station and gave a nod. "Contact Admiral Ull, tell him that we're ready to begin the final phase of the operation."

"Aye, ma'am!"

West walked onto the bridge of the Wisdom, noticing that it was very busy with activity as report after report of casualties from the fleet came in. He immediately considered himself to be at fault for their situation; if he had thought of a better place for their retrofitting—if he had stopped that idiot Hasse from his suicidal strike against Anaxes—then they wouldn't be in this predicament. He had worked hard for the Imperial Navy, given it his best…and now, because of the actions of a stupid man, and the limited abilities that he had at his disposal, he was going to face a fate much worse than death.

Iceheart.

He shook the thought from his mind and walked over to where he saw Miller studying the tactical plot with the ship's tactical officer. "Captain, I trust that you have things well in hand here?"

"As well as they're likely to get, sir," said Miller, his expression a bit glum. "We did, however, discover that we might have some Rebels lurking aboard ship."

West's face instantly frowned. "Explain."

"A YT-1300 transport docked with the ship on a scheduled trip; however, the name of the transport corresponded to the name of another YT-1300 that was stolen by Rebels a few months ago, on Esseles."

West blinked for just a moment. "The Rebel who escaped you?"

"Aye, sir, he stole the ship. If I had not recognized the name of transport—which I cannot believe they didn't change—there's a good chance that they would have completed their mission and gotten away without us discovering them."

"And what, exactly, was their mission?"

"I hypothesize that they were here to rescue the two pilots that we captured. To test this theory, I tried to contact the detention center that they were being held in, but did not receive a response. As such, I can only assume that they are loose aboard the ship somewhere, though I have no way of knowing exactly where."

"That is not what I wanted to hear, Captain."

"Sirs!" shouted the tactical officer. "I'm picking up several new contacts emerging from hyperspace. Rebel IFF transponders are broadcasting. It looks like the Third Fleet."

"How much of the Third Fleet?" snapped West.

The tactical officer swallowed hard, a lump going down his throat. "All of it, sir. Every single last ship."

West glared in disbelief and walked towards the forward viewport at the end of the command walkway. He looked out and focused on several forms blotting out the stars and opened his mouth in a gaping expression. The tactical officer was quite correct; the Rebel's entire Third Fleet had just emerged from hyperspace and were taking up a position in front of his own forces, effectively pinning him against the gravitational mass shadow of the planet behind him.

And with so many of our smaller ships already destroyed, and the fact that a good portion of our heavier ships are still undergoing retrofitting…

He spun around and raised himself to his full effect. "All forces, prepare to engage at point blank range! Spin up the hyperdrives, lay in a course to the nearest transit vector and move us at military speed! Inform all forces that we'll be relocating to the emergency rendezvous coordinates! All TIE squadrons, return to base; all Assault Gunboat squadrons, concentrate fire on their lead ships!" He then pointed to one of the communications technicians and said, "get me Admiral Ull…now!"

A few moments later the voice of Corben Ull filled the bridge's speakers. "This is Vice Admiral Ull of the New Republic's Third Fleet; are you calling to offer your surrender, Admiral West?"

"Hardly," responded West into the air, knowing that the microphones around the bridge would pick up his words. "I'm calling to congratulate you, Admiral, on a game well played. You bested me this time around—which, I suspect, I'm due, given that I bested you quite a few times over the past couple of weeks—but this is far from over, I can assure you of that. I'll return, Admiral, and mark my words, you will not find me in a very forgiving mood." He turned to the technician and gave him the "kill" gesture across his throat, instructing the man to close the channel.

"I hate to bring this up at this time, sir," said Miller, "but we still have possible Rebels aboard the ship. How would you like me to proceed in this fashion?"

"They're not as high a priority as getting out of here, Captain, but they still are a priority. Tell all non-essential personnel—which mostly means Stormtroopers—that they are to do a sweep of the ship for the Rebels. If they are still alive, I want them found. And this time, I do not expect to take any survivors; execute them on the spot."

Chris pulled back on his flight stick as he let loose the last pair of torpedoes that he had. He swung around and brought his X-wing back in to attack the TIEs that were around him, but noticed that they were beginning to break up and head back towards the Imperial fleet. That's odd, he thought to himself. Without their fighter screen, those ships don't stand a chance against the overwhelming power of our own fighters.

As if a mirror was made of his thoughts, the communications channel sparked to life with the voice of Brigadier General Uve`lon. "This is CAG to all units; ignore the TIEs and focus on any Assault Gunboats you see. I say again, ignore the TIEs and focus on any Assault Gunboats you see. The Imps are making a run for it, and it appears that they're going to try and knock out some of our heavier ships on the way out. Be alert, people. CAG, out."

Chris frowned to himself. Logically, it was prudent to bring in the TIEs now, so that the Imperial ships didn't have to await their return once they got past the mass shadow limit. However, TIEs accounted for well over seventy five percent of the Imperial starfighter contingent, and to bring them all in at once severely degraded the Imperials' ability to defend themselves long enough to escape. Thus, the Empire's obsessive disregarding of hyperdrives on most of their TIEs resulted in this double-edged sword, which the New Republic continually exploited.

He brought his X-wing around once again and did a visual scan of the area to see if there were any ‘boats on their way. He noticed that there was a flight of six such craft headed for the Maria, and he adjusted his throttle to full power. "All Reds, form on me!" he yelled into the microphone, not really paying attention to see if the others responded to him.

He switched his fire control back over to lasers and sighted in on the lead gunboat, watching the distance drop until it was within a kilometer. He pulled on the trigger and opened fire, spraying the craft with a volley of red lasers. The assault craft immediately tried to evade the onslaught, but Chris remained with it, pouring more and more laser fire into the shields and hull of the Imperial fighter.

The Imperial pilot tried to get away, moving about in all sorts of elaborate maneuvers, but Chris was able to remain with the craft, pouring an endless amount of destruction into the hull of the ship. It didn't take long until the gunboat blew apart, debris spewing all around the X-wing.

"That's one down."

"Good work, Red Six," came Uve`lon's voice, "but don't get cocky. There are still a fair amount of gunboats to deal with. Get back in the game."

"Understood, CAG, Red Six is engaging." Great, Chris thought to himself, Instead of getting a dressing down by Rob, I'm getting one from the starfighter commander-in-chief for the fleet…I'm moving up in the world.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" asked Andrew. "This has got to be the most asinine idea I've ever heard from you."

Rob shrugged, as he looked around the corner; when he didn't see anyone he advanced forward, aware that the idea that he had presented—and insisted upon—was altogether bold and even a little crazy, but under the circumstances he knew of no better option. They had already confirmed upon their arrival that the other craft aboard the Wisdom would be under security restrictions, and there was little chance of the New Republic sending another team on a rescue mission, given that it was the job of the first team to be rescuing Andrew and Richard. As such, there was little hope of actually being able to get off the Imperial starship intact…unless they did something that was completely unexpected and improbable.

Which is exactly what he was planning on doing.

"I don't think we have much of a choice in the matter," he said softly to his comrade. "It's either this, or spend the rest of our time aboard waiting for the inevitable destruction of the ship. Personally, I'd like to get back to the Star, I've got a date with Trix tonight."

"Remind me to ask her just what she sees in you."

"Dully noted, Colonel." He stopped as they came to another corner, looking around it and see a group of Stormtroopers coming their way. He quickly ducked back behind the corner and turned to his comrades, giving hand signals indicating the coming threat. It didn't take long until the marines were spread out, their weapons at the ready, while Rob went flat against the bulkhead, his blades already drawn. He knew there was little change that his swords could really make an impact against the white personal body armor that Stormtroopers wore…but not all of a Stormtrooper was covered in body armor.

The troopers turned the corner and were immediately fired upon by the half dozen marines. The first couple went down hard, but the rest started to bring up their weapons in record time; it was then that Rob lunged from his spot against the wall into the open embrace of the Imperials.

He slashed with his right hand and cut into the thin black joint covering around the neck of one of the troopers, cutting open his throat in a most dreadful fashion. Rob then stabbed into the upper back of another trooper, wedging the end of the blade into where the spinal cord met the brain stem.

By this time, the rest of the Imperials had sufficiently recovered from their initial surprise and had trained their weapons onto Rob, perceiving him to be the most direct threat to them. However, as they were just about to shoot him, the marines opened up with an onslaught of blaster fire, downing all but two of the Stormtroopers—who were smart enough to know when to duck.

Rob crouched down low and did a leg sweep kick, knocking both of the Imperials off their feet and onto their backs. The marines then fired—almost in synchronization—and killed the troopers.

Rob turned around and looked at Andrew for a moment. "They just don't make Stormies like they used to."

"Remind me again why you're not in special operations command?"

Rob took out a small rag and wiped the blood off his blades, then tucked the rag back into one of his pockets. "I don't enjoy killing people, Andrew; I enjoy killing people up close and personal even less."

"Sir, if I might inquire," came the voice of one of the marines. "Why are you in the military, if that's how you feel?"

Rob gave a nod in the direction of the dead Imperial soldiers. "Someone has to fight against these people; I have skills that I can put to use in that regard, so I believe myself honor bound to do so." He turned and looked at the marine, noticing the fire in his eyes. "Surely you know that concept, Sergeant Major."

"Yes, sir," replied the marine. "Fully."

"That's what I thought." He looked around, making sure that no one else was nearby. "I suggest we get moving before these bodies are discovered. I don't want West to know what's going on until the very last moment; I'd like to give him a surprise for once. We're not that far off, so it shouldn't be much longer until we get there."

"Again," said Andrew, "remind me never to make you mad at me."

West watched the battle unfold, noticing that the amount of Imperial ships and fighters were greatly outmatched by the Rebel forces. He had worked long and hard for this command, had done his best to preserve the glory of the Empire…but he knew that it wouldn't matter to Director Isard if he somehow salvaged the rest of the fleet. He knew just how deeply her sense of retribution went, and how much of a nasty temper she had when she was crossed; he only hoped that he could get away—somehow—and figure out how he would survive against a retribution that would surely come.

"Status of the fleet, Captain?" he asked Miller.

The other man turned around and was about to give him the report when the sound of blaster fire filled the bridge. West and Miller both turned around, drawing their personal side arms, and focused on the security foyer at the entrance to the bridge. What he saw was a sight he never expected to see aboard an Imperial starship—especially his ship.

Nine men and women, all heavily armed with six of them in battle armor, came rushing onto the bridge with their weapons blazing. One man—the leader, West surmised—was charging with some sort of swords in his hands, making short work of the unarmored naval officers and ratings who tried to defend themselves. "I believe," said West in a sarcastic tone as he ducked behind the command chair and fired off two rounds towards the intruders, "that I've found the Rebels you were looking for."

"Thank you, sir," said Miller, firing his own blaster. "It's always nice to know that the flag officers can help out when needed."

Despite the situation that he found himself in, West smiled at Miller. At least I picked one hell of a flag captain, he thought to himself.

An explosion sounded from the foyer and West looked up to see the aftermath of what seemed to be a fragmentation grenade. An entire side of the foyer was twisted metal, and for a brief moment he hoped that the Rebels had been caught in the explosion…but it soon became apparent that it was the Rebels who caused it when he noticed the tattered remains of white Stormtrooper armor. "This is not good."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Miller. "If I had caught on earlier, we probably wouldn't be in this situation."

"The fault is not yours, Captain. We're lucky that you were paying attention at all to it, given that you were focusing on the battle."

A flash of light from the viewport caught West's attention and he looked to see that at least two Imperial ships had escaped their fate. He was glad for that, because he didn't want to see anymore of his men get killed in this war…and, even though he hadn't been in command of the fleet for that long, he still considered everyone serving under him to be his men, his officers, his ratings, his extended family. Of course, a lot of them will die, either by the Rebels or by Isard, but that wasn't something he really had the time to focus on right now.

Another explosion sounded, and several more of his crew died. West sighed to himself and turned to Miller. "This is getting to be a bit too much," he said to him. "Is there away you can contact someone to get up here?"

"They blew up the internal communication console, Admiral, with that first explosion. They know what they're doing."

The blaster fire suddenly died and West looked up over the command chair. He couldn't see the intruders, but he knew full well that they had to be there somewhere; however, given their present situation, he couldn't very well just sit around and wait for him to come to him. He started to stand and then heard a noise from behind him; when he turned around, he saw the man with the swords standing there, one of the weapons moving in close to press against West's throat while he kicked Miller's blaster out of his hand.

"I would suggest that you not move, Admiral," said the man. "I would hate to deny NRI the chance to debrief you…as well as deny the New Republic the possibility of trying you for crimes against the galaxy."

West glared at the man and then turned his eyes towards Miller—slowly, so as to not allow himself to be cut by the blade—and sighed. "Captain Miller, it looks as though we will not have the chance to tell Isard about our failure."

"Oh, what a pity," said Miller with a sardonic smile.

"Captain Miller?" asked the man with the swords. "Lucian Miller, formerly of Esseles?"

"Yes," said Miller with a frown on his face. "Do I know you?"

"Not at all, Captain…but you know one of my pilots; he was a ‘guest' of yours for a little while. I don't think he was exactly treated cordially."

It took Miller a few moments, but then he snapped his fingers. "You're Colonel Baden, yes?"

"That is correct."

"Admiral," said Miller, "this is the man who was at the convoy of Wookiees."

"Oh, so that was you? Well done, young man; I couldn't have done my job without you, you're to be commended for the role you played in their deaths."

Baden seemed to be contemplating slitting his throat, but apparently morality won out in the end. "Admiral, I would advise you to do as I say, unless you want to feel what these swords can do. Now, then…I believe we have a call to make."

Corben stood on the bridge of the Maria, his hands behind his back as he watched the battle. Most of the Imperial fleet had either already been destroyed or had escaped, leaving about five ships of various classifications to finish off. One of the ships was the Wisdom of the Emperor, flagship of the fleet and personal ship of Admiral West…a prize that Corben hoped he would have the honor of claiming through battle.

"Admiral," came the voice of the communications technician, "we've got an incoming message from Colonel Baden; he's asking for a system-wide transmission, to both New Republic and Imperial ships, sir."

Corben gave a slight frown then nodded slightly. "Very well, Senior Chief, patch the colonel through to all frequencies and rebroadcast his transmission to the Imperials as well."

"Aye, sir." There was a long series of pauses, and then a holographic image of Baden appeared in the center of the bridge…along with the form of Admiral West, who's uniformed looked as though it had seen better days.

"To all Imperial forces, this is Admiral West, commanding officer of the 16th Imperial Fleet. As of this moment, on this day, and at this time, I offer the complete surrender of the 16th Imperial…Fleet…to that of the New Republic's Third Fleet, upon the condition that all prisoners or war are treated with civility and given the best of care possible. Admiral Ull, do you agree to these conditions?"

Corben took a deep breath and then let it out slowly, then nodded to the communications technician to set up his own broadcast. "To all New Republic forces, this is Vice Admiral Ull, commander, Third Fleet. As of this moment, any Imperial fighter or ship that broadcasts a surrender is to be allowed to do so; do not engage any Imperial forces unless they continue to attack you, and only in self defense. Anyone who is seen violating this decree will answer to me, and I will not make it a pleasant discussion." He turned and looked directly at West's holographic eyes. "Admiral West, you stand relieved of your post and position; you are now a prisoner of the New Republic Armed Forces."

"As you say, Admiral."

"Colonel Baden, I see we need to talk about you tendency to…improvise…when faced with a no-win situation."

"Of course, sir. However, for the time being, could you please send over some more boarding troops and a prize crew to take the ship off my hands?"

"I can send over some infantry and a few naval officers, but I'm short handed at the moment. We'll be able to give it a full crew when we get the ship back to Anaxes, along with the other ships in the vicinity." He shook his head a moment when he looked to see that the remaining five ships were standing down. "All in all, I say it was a good day."

"I tend to agree, sir…however, I seemed to have cut myself somewhat badly on the leg, and the good major here," he said, jerking a thumb to the image of Richard Vogel behind him, "could use a good bacta dunk."

"What of Colonel Dobson?"

"He's fine for the most part, sir. They didn't appear to rough him up too much; in fact, he's probably in better shape than myself."

"Very well, then. We'll send some more staff over to you, but we'll need a command officer with some experience to remain in charge until we can fully contain the situation. Colonel Dobson?"

It took a few moments for the pilot to enter the holographic pick up, but when he did Corben wanted to wince. He been beaten somewhat, that was for certain, but Baden was correct in his assessment that Dobson was far better off than Vogel or himself. "I'm here, sir."

"Colonel, do you have any problems with remaining aboard until we reach Anaxes? I realize you must be anxious to return back to your own bunk and get some much needed rest, but we could really use your expertise at the moment. I'll understand if you decline."

Dobson appeared to be thinking the matter over carefully before he responded. "Alright, sir, I'll remain. However, I feel I should inform you that because of recent events, I plan to tender my temporary resignation upon my return. I really need to take some time and find myself again, sir; this was not the most agreeable experience I've had in the last few years."

Corben frowned slightly, but then he nodded at the holographic image. "I certainly understand your feelings, Colonel, and I can assure you that you will be missed, but I will honor your request. When you return, you, General Uve`lon, and I will sit down and discuss the future of your unit. Until then, however, I wish you the best of luck. Ull, out."

The holographic image disappeared, and Corben turned to look at the tactical officer. "Status of the Imperial ships?"

"They're all standing down, sir, and most of the fighter craft have begun a return to their command ships. It appears that some of the gunboats are making a run for it; I count at least one full squadron that just went to lightspeed after West's declaration of surrender."

"Well, that's to be expected; I didn't think for a moment that the entirety of what remained would be open to becoming POWs. In fact, I'm quite sure the only reason the ships are standing down is because they're too far into the mass shadow to be able to escape to hyperspace."

"As you say, sir."

Corben ran a hand through his hair and then gave another sigh. "Well, then, I guess it's time to begin boarding and capture operations. Communications, get me General Ivlen."

Chelsey looked up from her bed and gave a little smile in the direction of Rob. He was still dressed in his combat gear—including two rather deadly-looking swords that she didn't even want to know about—and his hair was thoroughly tussled, but the smile on his face was enough to make her smile back at him. Then she noticed the rather garish-looking cut on his leg and her smile disappeared. "You've seen better days," she said to him, as he got closer. "That looks as though it hurts."

"You have no idea just how much it hurts. It could have been worse, though; a lot worse." He sighed and sat down next to her bed. "Chris did well out there, from what I was told; led the unit expertly, professionally, and didn't spill any liquor on himself as he flew, which is good, because I don't want to see any more splashes on that flight suit of his."

"Yes, he does have a tendency to be rather…bright…in his displays."

"As I recall, so do you. Weren't you the one who wanted to keep the X-wings painted that awful neon color we had on them for that pirate mission?"

"I thought you weren't going to bring that up again."

"I lied."

"So I can tell. So, how'd it go?"

"I would rather not talk about it," said Rob. "I don't like to think about death."

"Who does?" Chelsey sighed a little and then smiled at him once again. "You've looked worse, though."

"So have you," he said. "In fact, I believe you did look worse when you first came in here. Thankfully, though, you won't be in here much longer, and then you can get back to work. I swear, if I have to deal with Chris as XO for…he's a competent person, and very good at the duties, but I want to smack him around sometime."

"Since when is that against regulations?"

"Are you saying I should start smacking you around, Major?"

"Now, would you really do that to an injured woman? I swear, Colonel Baden, you're turning into an Imperial with every breath you take."

"Har har. Keep it up, Chelsey, I'll make you clean the refreshers."

"Anything but that!"

"Then I order you to get better, with all due haste, so that I can have my XO back."

Chelsey tried to keep smiling, but she just couldn't hold it. She gave a sigh and looked up at Rob, his expression a bit worried by the sudden chance of pace that she was giving him. "Colonel…Rob…we really need to talk."

Andrew glared at West and Miller, trying his best to suppress the desire to snarl at them. He looked forward to seeing both of them behind a force field, ready to stand trail for their crimes against the galaxy—especially West. He remembered that it was the Imperial admiral who had been responsible for the Wookiee massacre that Rob had to initiate, and Andrew suddenly found out the reason why Rob didn't want to be the person in charge of West.

Several more marines had arrived aboard the Wisdom since West formally surrendered his ship an position, but there was still no one to relieve Andrew of his responsibilities of being in overall command. Perhaps Rob is hoping that I'll change my mind and stay in the military, thought Andrew. Well, he's going to be in for one hell of a disappointment.

"You know," he said, surprising even him with the mocking tone his voice was giving. "I believe that we're going to keep the name of your ship much the same, West. Except, of course, that we're going to do away with the part about the Emperor; we don't have an Emperor, as you know." He gave a very sly, almost predatory grin at the man. "I think we're going to name it Wisdom of the Jedi."

There was no noticeable change from West, but several of the other bridge officers who had survived the charge were fighting back their obvious desire to charge at Andrew, despite the fact that he was holding a blaster pistol trained on their commanding officer. He admired West for that, not allowing his feelings to get in the way of what was an officer's duty, something that many of his fellow Imperials didn't seem to know a thing about; but, the man was still an Imperial, and Andrew had to fight the urge himself to slap the man.

"Colonel," came the voice of the Bothan female at the helm, "we've cleared the mass shadow. We're ready to enter hyperspace whenever."

"Excellent." Andrew looked at West once more and then at Miller. "When we get to Anaxes, I'm sure that Admiral Ull will be looking forward to a nice debriefing of you, especially given how much you enjoyed ‘interviewing' myself and my XO."

"I'm afraid that's not likely to happen," said West, a strange sound accompanying his words.

Andrew began to turn around and suddenly noticed that several of the Imperials were getting up from their seats, reaching into some sort of secret compartments and pulling out blaster pistols. Andrew opened his mouth to shout out a warning to the others, but a fist came up to meet his face and he fell onto his back hard.

As he struggled to get back onto his feet, the pain from earlier reappearing in his nerves, he heard the sounds of blaster fire and hand-to-hand combat. By the time he was able to see what was going on, the majority of the marines and naval officers that had been placed under his temporary command were lying dead on the deck and several Imperial officers and ratings were rushing to reclaim their positions on the bridge.

The ship shuddered slightly as it entered hyperspace, and Andrew hoped—though it being a fleeting thought—that the helmswoman had been able to make the jump to lightspeed before she had been killed. However, a few minutes later, when the ship left the confined of hyperspace and reappeared in the midst of several Imperial starships—all of which had escaped the Jalv System recently—he knew that he was not going to like his new accommodations.

A dark shadow swept over him and he looked to see West and Miller, both holding blaster pistols in their hands. "Colonel Dobson," said West, with a very evil-looking smile on his face as he raised his pistol and pressed it against Andrew's temple. "I'm afraid we have no further use for you."

Epilogue

Captain Ru'kaart looked up from the report he was reading to the two officers that came into his day cabin. "Ah, gentlemen," he said in a pleasant fashion. "Please, be seated."

Rob Baden and Richard Vogel took a seat in front of the desk and waited respectively for the captain to finish what he was doing. It didn't take long for Ru'kaart to get to the end of the report and he put the datapad down on the desk gently as he focused on both pilots with a neutral expression. "I asked you both here today because there are some…issues…concerning recent events that we need to discuss. We should first start with the issue of Admiral West's escape." He raised a hand to stop Baden from speaking. "I know you feel somewhat responsible, Colonel, but there is no way you could have known that West would have been able to regain control of the ship and escape capture; Admiral Ull agrees with my assessment, and you are not facing any sort of punishment for it."

"With due respect, sir, I'm the one who left Colonel Dobson in charge until a formal boarding party could be sent over. I'm the one who should really pay the price for whatever happened."

"A noble sentiment, Colonel, but not justified." Ru'kaart cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair a little. "We just got confirmation that the Wisdom rendezvoused with the other Imperial ships that escaped the assault—totaling in six or seven, I believe—and that West has taken command of the remnants of the 16th Imperial Fleet once again. However, they're not coming back here, and they're not being sent to face Isard's displeasure."

"Sir?" asked Vogel.

"It appears that they have deserted, Mr. Vogel. They are no longer part of the Empire, and Intelligence has informed the admiral that the 16th Imperial Fleet has been officially disbanded. The sector, it seems, is ours." He looked at both of the officers, hoping to see some sense of joy, of accomplishment, but all he got was the somber expression that they had been carrying for the past week since the battle in the Jalv System. "Gentlemen, aren't you the least bit happy to hear the news?"

"Somewhat, sir," said Baden, "but I am concerned with the fact that West is still out there, and no longer constrained by the rules of the Empire—such as they are." The man frowned at Ru'kaart for a moment. "Captain, I've met West, and I can say with one hundred percent certainty that the man is extremely dangerous and unpredictable. In fact, had it not been the luck of finding him before he had finished retrofitting those ships, there's a good chance that we wouldn't have been able to stop his operations in this sector."

"But we did stop him, Colonel. And for that, I am thankful." This time, Ru'kaart frowned as he turned his attention towards the other man. "However, I'm afraid I have somewhat bad news, Mr. Vogel. We haven't been able to confirm it, but there's the chance that Colonel Dobson was executed aboard the Wisdom after it escaped into hyperspace. We have no way of confirming one way or the other in that regard, and will have a hard time doing so now that West is no longer affiliated with the Imperial Navy. For the record, Andrew Dobson is being listed as ‘missing in action, presumed dead,' until such a time we can get confirmation one way or the other."

"I understand, sir."

"With that, however, I wish to inform you about some news we received this morning from Corellia." He gave a short sigh and held his breath for a moment before continuing. "The transport shuttle that Colonel Dobson would have boarded and used to return to Corellia—had he not been aboard the Wisdom at the time of its escape, and had he continued forth with his planned retirement, according to Colonel Baden—suffered what appeared to be a random pirate attack as it came out of hyperspace. The shuttle was destroyed, presumably killing all aboard in a devastating fashion. Had Andrew Dobson been aboard that shuttle, there is a very good chance that he would have died. So, I regret to say, even if the good colonel had retired like he wanted to, we still would have lost him."

Vogel seemed to be biting back a snarl from the expression on his face. Ru'kaart couldn't really blame him; a CO and his XO were very close in the best of units. "Thank you for informing me, sir. However, my concern about the unit is still tabled."

"As it should be. With the consent and approval of Admiral Ull and High Command, I'm promoting you to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel and placing you in command of Blue Squadron, effective immediately."

Vogel just looked at him with a bit of a shocked expression. Finally, he let out a long sigh and sat up a bit straighter than he was before. "I understand, sir. And my XO?"

"I will leave that to you, Colonel; it's your unit, now."

Ru'kaart thought he could see something behind the eyes of Baden, a response to the comment that he had just made. He filed it away for something to look into later, but didn't think it meant anything important.

"Very well, sir," said Vogel after a few moments. "In that regard, then, I hereby request and submit the name of Captain Steve Michadick to be promoted to the rank of major and made the executive officer of Blue Squadron."

"Your request and submission has been noted, Colonel. I will confirm it with my superiors and get back to you on it by the end of the day. I trust you will not have a problem being the CO of Blue, and—in fact—being ranked higher than those who used to outrank you?"

"None at all, sir," said Vogel in a calm fashion. "I have no ego in this regard, sir; I'm more concerned about the stability and operations of the unit than I am about perception."

"Just the kind of answer I wanted to hear from a CO." He tugged on the tunic of his uniform and started to get up from his desk. "Now, then, if there's nothing else—"

"Actually," said Baden," there is one final matter that I need to discuss, Captain."

Ru'kaart fixed himself back into his chair and looked at the colonel with a "go-ahead" expression.

"As I am sure you are aware, Major Maxfield suffered some injuries during one of our most recent missions. As such, she was put on short medical leave until she could resume her duties, at which time Captain Layne was given the acting role of executive officer. I've recently had a very long talk with Major Maxfield, where we discussed the unit in general and, specifically, the position of executive officer." Baden took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Sir, Major Maxfield has asked to step down from her duties as executive officer; she still plans on remaining in the unit itself, but she feels that she can no longer be the effective leader that she had once hoped she could."

"I see," said Ru'kaart softly. "I trust, then, that the reason you are telling me this is because you've selected a candidate you wish to replace her?"

"Yes, sir, I have."

"Forgive me, Colonel, but you don't have very many high-ranking officers in your unit. In fact, the only person who is high enough to be given a promotion to major is Captain Layne."

"You are correct, sir. I request and submit for approval the name and record of Captain Chris Layne. I believe he would make an excellent executive officer and it will help to build his confidence and reliability within the unit."

"Command responsibility is not a self-help vacation, Colonel."

"I agree, sir. However, I stand by my comments and my suggestion. Captain Layne is ready for this."

"Very well, then. I'll pass both yours and Colonel Vogel's suggestions up the chain of command. I am sure we'll know before we disembark today."

"Disembark, sir?" asked Vogel.

"Yes, Colonel. The Star has been drafted some new orders. We've been stationed at Anaxes and the surrounding area far too long; Admiral Ull felt we could use a change of scenery. So, therefore, he's assigning the Star—along with the Regis and the Summer—to disembark from the Anaxes System."

"May I ask where we are going, sir?" asked Baden.

"That, gentlemen," he said with a very large grin as he stood up from the desk, "will be a surprise."

The End