by Sazril "Yale" Murshid

Prologue

[Six months after the Battle of Yavin...]

Hidden on the dark side of a moon, somewhere among the Core Systems, a battered Correllian freighter hung dead in space. No lights shone from its dark viewports. It looked like a wreck from a past battle left for dead and forgotten, perhaps the victim of some pirate. But inside, operatives from Rebel Intelligence were hard at work. This particular ship was in the service of the rebel Alliance's intelligence section.

The crew manned passive electronic surveillance equipment, recording communication traffic to and from the planet. A sliced comm-sat would be easier, but this deep in Imperial territory, comm sats were closely guarded due to the critical data passing through them every minute.

By powering down nearly every system in the battered old light freighter and hiding on the dark side of the moon, the crew hoped to avoid discovery in this heavily-trafficked system. Unless someone knew where to look; then they were as good as captured or dead.

Up in the freighter's cockpit, a colonel looked at the readout on his monitor, verifying and classifying data that had been passed on to him before placing them into encrypted files ready for transmission. Next to him, the pilot was keeping an eye on the passive sensors. Suddenly one of the scanners pinged.

"Sir, we have one Imperial-class Star Destroyer exiting hyperspace on our stern."

"Stay calm, lieutenant. Give me range and weapons status," the colonel said.

"Twelve klicks and closing fast, sir," the pilot answered. "Their shields are up and weapons hot."

Colonel Asyik activated the intercom. "Intel section, we’ve been spotted. Prep your data for transmission and wipe all memory banks." He turned towards his left. "Go through system startup, but do not activate your engines yet."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll start plotting a hyperspace course..." Asyik cleared his board and moved to the navicomputer. "Blast, that Star Destroyer is blocking our escape vector. Lieutenant, set your controls to new heading... five-five-seven."

"Five-five-seven, aye. Sir, the Star Destroyer is hailing us."

"Put it through, voice only and add as much static as you can," Asyik ordered.

"Sir, the freighter is answering our hail, but the signal is very poor and voice only. Looks like they are having problems with their communication system."

"Oldest trick in the book, ensign," the Star Destroyer's master answered. "Anyway, put them through. We’ll play some games with these Rebels before we take them out."

"Very well, sir."

"… is Captain Asyik of … alaxy Warper I… eed assistance. Our engin… we’ve been strand… for two days…"

"We acknowledge, Galaxy Warper I. Please be advised that we are sending a transport ship with technicians over."

"Than… ou. Please stop… rgetting us…"

Captain Zaarin made a cutting motion, then addressed his officers. "Enough of this. Launch the assault transport and fighters." He looked thoughtful and added. "Tell the TIEs to refrain from destroying the ship until I give the order."

"What are we waiting for, sir."

"A transmission."

"They aren't buying it, sir. That's one of the new assault transports. And those TIEs aren't acting like they're our escort, not the way they're flying."

"I agree. Come about and go to full throttle. Intel, begin data transmission now."

The light freighter wheeled about and blue ion fire flared from its rear quarter. Both rebel officers watched their scopes intently as the moon slid away below them and the red blips to aft got brighter. Suddenly, another pair of scarlet points appeared ahead.

"Colonel, two more capital ships dropping out of hyperspace... another Star Destroyer and an Interdictor! We're surrounded!"

"Intel, confirm transmission."

"Confirmed, sir. Dumping the last of it now."

Asyik nodded. They had done their duty in all ways but one. With the intercom still open, he ordered, "Arm all self-destruct charges."

The reply was prompt and professional. "Yes, sir. Charges armed. Waiting for your order."

The colonel turned to his pilot. The younger man looked up from his controls and shook his head once, sadly. "I'm sorry, sir."

"It's all right, son. I've got a blaster, if you want to use it."

"Sir, I’ve just detected a transmission from the freighter. Destination unknown."

"Excellent," Zaarin responded. "Tell the TIEs to finish them off and order the transport to retreat. We've got what we came for."

[Three years later]

A shuttle exited hyperspace near the planet Tuskoon and its single moon, in the Linares system. Within the shuttle was Lt. Sazril "Yale" Murshid, returning from a refresher course with Alliance Special Forces. The mirror in the shuttle's small fresher had confirmed that he looked as haggard as he felt. Two weeks of SpecForce training can completely exhaust a fit being. And Yale had been out of training for the better part of a year, as well as recovering from recent injuries. But he'd insisted on going, to prove to himself... what?

He walked to the cockpit and looked out of the viewport. The pilot turned her head, greeting her passenger by rank. "Lieutenant."

Yale smiled and nodded. "Always good to be home." Home. It surprised him a little to say that. It had been quite some time since he thought of any place as home. Home was a place with friends and loved ones. A place with people you can trust your life to. When did he last trust anyone?

"Looks like your home is going to relocate."

Yale looked at the repair dock again. The Regis appeared to have been fully repaired, and it was not alone. Two CR-90 corvettes were flanking the frigate. One looked, to his trained eye, as if it had been modified to launch fighters. Deep strike configuration. Yale looked thoughtful. Deep strikes, where? He decided to see if any of his contacts in Intel could feed him some info. It was always good to have data on your targets.

The shuttle pilot expertly navigated the traffic around the dock before hailing the Regis’ Landing Control Officer. A quick verification and they were directed to a landing pad in the frigate's secondary hangar bay. It glided smoothly in as the wings folded upward and softly made contact with the surface. A group of technicians ran around the shuttle, inserting safety pins. The pilot and co-pilot went through their shut down procedure before lowering the ramp.

Yale, with a kit bag over his shoulder and followed by his astromech unit, R2-C4, descended the ramp as soon as it was fully deployed. "You know CeeFour, this cross-department training scheme could very well kill me before any Imperials do."

CeeFour beeped his agreement. Whenever Yale went into the field, his R2 unit had to be restrained. Putting a restraining bolt on CeeFour required that he be caught first. That in itself was a mission. The astromech’s pyromaniacal tendencies were well-documented and apparently hardwired into him, a quirk of his droid brain.

Yale took a deep breath of Regis's cool recycled air. Perhaps the time had come for him to let go of his burden, to let others back into his world. He looked down at CeeFour again. "Send a message to Leo. Tell him to meet me in the Mug at nine." The droid swivelled his dome and beeped a question. "Yes, tonight," Yale confirmed. "Before I change my mind."

CeeFour rolled off to find a terminal. Yale was about to continue on when a voice called from behind him. "Hey, Lieutenant!" He turned and saw the Deck Officer running towards him.

"What is it, Chief?"

"You're going to see Commander St. Clair, aren’t you?

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"Would you mind escorting someone to see the Skipper on your way?"

"Not at all."

"This way, then," the chief said, leading Yale back the way he'd came. "Sorry about this, but with all the supply shuttles coming in, we need everybody on the deck."

"No prob. Any idea where we are headed?" Yale asked.

"No, but it looks like we're gonna be gone for a while."

"How so?"

"We're taking on a lot of ordnance -- extra protorps, missiles and space bombs, as well as extra parts for our fighters and the Regis. And other stuff too. Either Supply just made a big score, or we're not going to see a station for a very long time."

"Very observant of you," Yale replied.

"Have to be in order to stay alive. Anyway, you wouldn't believe what it's been like here. Someone dropped a crate of torpedoes earlier. You're lucky there was still a deck for you to land on."

The shuttle pilot who had brought Yale in was waiting patiently in the hangar's control room. A kit bag identical to his was at her side, and she had a datapad tucked under one arm.

"Lieutenant Valis, your escort, Lieutenant Sazril. He'll take you to see Captain Daly. Excuse me." As the two pilots started to leave, the deck officer leaned over a microphone and his voice boomed across the hangar. "What are you doing, Hefrin, taking a caf break?! Come on, we've got more coming in, so get to it!"

Yale looked at the shuttle pilot, demure, hair cut short the way most female Imperial pilots wore it. Probably because it made it easier for them to don the protective headgear or, considering the sexism endemic in Imperial service, to look more masculine. A tan scarf was tied around her neck. Something about that scarf tickled his memory, but he couldn't recall exactly what.

"So are going to be stationed here, aboard the Regis?"

"Those are my orders," Valis answered, waving her datapad. "Seemed that you guys wanted shuttle pilots with combat experience."

"You've piloted assault shuttles?"

"Yes, and before that transports and assault gunboats." She did not lower her gaze, but held it steady, locked on his.

"Gunboats. You were an Imp."

"Discharged for insubordination. That was two years ago."

Recognition dawned. "The scarf. 706^th Delta Bomber squadron. Stationed on the ISD Garuda."

Her challenging stare cracked, revealing surprise underneath. "How did you…"

"Let’s just say I was there," Yale recovered quickly. "Hmmm… blooded shuttle pilots. This could be serious."

"Excuse me?"

"Just thinking out aloud. Bad habit, especially in my business."

They continued walking silently, each attending to their own thoughts. For a ship that had just finished repairs and was about to go on a mission, the corridors were surprisingly empty. Most of the crew must be at their stations, preparing for departure.

"Well, here we are," Yale said as they stopped in front of the door to Captain Daly’s ready room. "The Captain is expecting you, I hope?"

"Yes, the Deck Officer said he’d call ahead."

"Good, anyway, enjoy your stay. If you need anything, I’m sure any one of the Red pilots would be more than glad to help out."

"I’ll do that, lieutenant," Valis said with a smile. "Thank you."

[A few hours later in the Mug]

"Hmm, wonder where Vape is?" Yale said to himself. A visit to the Commander's office had turned up nothing; Zoom hadn't returned from the Salvation yet.

Yale finished his glass of skyjuice and was about to call for another when the blast doors wheezed open and Sean "Leo" Healey walked in as if he owned the place. Yale just continued watching as Leo went over to the bar and leaned across to ask the Idiri bartender something. Probably ordering another of his weird concoctions, Yale thought. However, it seemed Leo was asking for him, as Trix nodded over toward his booth.

Leo made his way back to the booth, which was lit only by a single light globe sitting in the middle of the table. This was Yale's preferred seat. As a SpecForcer, darkness was his ally, and it seemed to fit what was usually in his heart.

"Sorry I'm late," Leo said as he sat down. "Ranger decided to give the trainees extra sim time and locked me with them. I didn’t even have the time to go to the refresher."

"No wonder something stinks in here."

"Watch it, pal."

At that moment, Trix came over and asked for their orders. "What'll you have, Sean?"

"Cistrusade on ice if you have any, Trix," Leo answered.

"Just citrusade? Are you all right, Leo?" Trix asked.

"I’m fine, Trix. Just not feeling very adventurous today."

"Okay, lieutenant. And you, Lt. Sazril?"

"Another Skyjuice please, Narmi," Yale answered. "Plain this time."

"Sure thing."

The Idiri woman walked back to the bar. As she left their booth, Yale’s eyes followed her and his face mellowed. Leo failed to notice.

"She’s cute, isn’t she?"

Yale did not answer. Instead he just kept looking. No quips or funny remarks came from him. Leo began to feel uncomfortable.

Yale finally sighed. "Have you noticed what I call her, Leo?"

Leo thought about it for a while before answering. "It’s either Trixel or Narmi. Why?"

"Don’t you think it’s strange that I use her full name instead of Trix, like the rest of you?"

"Not really. You tend to be so formal most of the time that it seems natural."

"Even in an informal place like this?"

"Well..."

"What do you know about me, Leo?" Yale asked. "I mean before I joined Red Squadron."

"Not much. Zoom said that you were a ground pounder on cross-departmental training. And you tend to distance yourself from the rest of us. I think I only get to talk to you because I was your wingman. And even I don’t know much about you."

"Have you ever heard of the SpecForce?"

"Yes, the Alliance's commandos, General Madine's men. I hear they're pretty tough."

"Sounds about right. I'm one, Leo. A SpecForce infiltrator."

Leo let that sink in for a moment before speaking. "That would explain…"

"How I knew how to disarm the Imp commando's suicide bomb," Yale finished. "And how I knew the Major."

"Hmm… well, that clears up a lot of things. Maybe sometime I'll have you show me how to kill someone with my boot. But it still doesn't explain why you don't call Trix Trix."

Yale hesitated, not sure how to continue. Finally he decided it was best to just lay it all out. "The reason I call her by her full name is because her nickname reminds me too much of my fiancé."

"You have a fiancé?"

"Had," Yale corrected. "The woman that tried to kill me in the medical bay before I left is her younger sister."*
(*as told in Assault on Red Base)

"Her sister?"

Yale shrugged. "She thought that I had taken a civilian, her sister, into a lightfight."

"Did you?" Leo asked.

"I did, but…"

"What the…!" Leo started to get up.

"Please, let me finish," Yale said quickly. "I did take her into a lightfight. But she wasn't a civilian. She was my second in command."

Trixel chose that moment to come with their drinks, easing the tension a bit; Leo had been leaning forward as if he meant to leap over the table. They each took their drinks from the tray and waited for Trixel to move away. She moved a few steps before turning to face Yale and spoke. "I think it’s time you let go, lieutenant."

"That’s why Lt. Healey is here, Narmi."

Yale waited until the bartender moved away before continuing. But Leo got in first. "Trix knew about this?"

"No. She’s just good at reading people," Yale answered. "Even someone who keeps themself as closed as me. You do understand that what I’m telling you is classified. I will use only codenames and aliases."

"Yeah, okay…"

Yale took a sip from his glass. Condensation were trickling on the outside of the chilled glass. He ran his finger over the mouth of the cup, thinking how to start letting people back into his world. It had been shut tight since that fateful day he lost everything. He sighed and began.

"It was three years ago…"

A Gallofree medium transport cruised slowly through the dark sea of space like an otherworldly whale. Within it were sixteen lifeforms. Ten of them belonged to a special forces team attached to Intelligence and the remaining six were the crew of the transport.

This particular unit was an experiment within an experiment, an attempt to combine two fundamentally different methods. SpecForces were the Alliance's elite ground forces, assembled from the best of their citizen-soldiers. Whatever their technical specialties, their skills and missions tended to focus heavily on killing people and breaking things. Intelligence operatives, on the other hand, usually tried to avoid leaving any trace of their presence to avoid detection or capture. The "Psychos" were composed of equal numbers of both.

Madine swept in like an angry Tatooine sandstorm and cleaned house, personally chosing the first of what would become the Special Forces, his creation -- Alliance units that could stand up to the Emperor's stormtroopers. Though only a few months old at this time, SpecForces had already begun building a reputation on both sides of the Galactic Civil War.

It was while doing this that he noticed a serious communication gap between Intelligence and the armed forces. Intel need time to verify data before it could be given to the armed forces to be acted upon. But by this time the data could be inaccurate. A way was needed to tighten the loop.

Madine noticed that many of his Infiltrator teams, men and women specializing in silent movement, recon, sabotage and so forth, were often asked to retrieve data for Intel when contact with the enemy was considered inevitable. Intel preferred not to send its own agents into such hazardous situations alone. However, Intel operatives could evaluate data when they saw it, something the silent killers of SpecForces weren't trained to do.

Despite opposition from both groups, Madine had managed to put together a combined unit. Just getting them to talk to each other had been a chore that had taken almost a month. Fortunately the time had been well-spent training each side to cover the other's weaknesses and overlap their strengths where possible. By the end of the second month, with several missions under their belts, the Psychos were a team in every sense of the word. They could infiltrate, gather data, evaluate it on the spot and fight their way out if necessary. They spent their free time by listening to Intel reports, news items, and idle gossip. They were technically part of neither SpecForces nor Intelligence, answering directly to General Madine (a development that made certain individuals in Alliance High Command uncomfortable).

The Psychos were led by Capt. Sazril "Lynk" Murshid of SpecForces, seconded by Lt. Patresya "Tricks" Halmek of Intelligence. This particular team specialised in infiltration and demolitions. A usual assignment would have them infiltrate the target by stealth or disguise, learn what they could about it, and plan further missions based on this information. This could result in the destruction of the target or just sabotage. These missions could take weeks or even months. Twice now their data had been used by a new squadron, named Kalidor, to take out the target with starfighters.

What they were getting now was not a usual assignment.

"But sir, this doesn’t fit our mission profile. Our missions are long-term undercover. This looks like an assault mission rather than infiltration."

"Which is why I’m tasking the Strikers to your team for reinforcement, Captain." General Madine looked uncomfortable, as if the viewscreen in Lynk's office was too small for him. "You remember Major Carjoun, I'm sure."

"Why us?" Tricks asked.

"Your team and the Strikers were the only ones we have free for this mission."

"You want us to go in, infiltrate heavily-guarded supply caches and verify if the Imperial fleet will resupply there for an assault on one of our new bases."

"Yes, Captain Sazril. That's the gist of it."

"And if they are, sir?" Lynk asked.

"Act as you see fit, Captain. That is why your squad was created."

"But General," Tricks objected, "you’re asking us to conduct an ill-prepared mission in a short time. Little time to plan, none to investigate the target or let our IDs age enough to avoid discovery. This is suicide."

"I hope not, lieutenant, because we simply don't have any choice. Intentions is telling me that the Empire is gearing up to erase the stain of Yavin with a major strike against the Rebellion. We need more information and we need it now."

Lynk cut off any further protests from his second by nodding. "Very well, sir. If we pull this off, remind me to take a few days leave."

"Consider it granted."

"What if I take the leave now?"

Madine smiled for the first time in this conversation. "Very funny, Captain. Good luck and may the Force be with you."

"Thank you, sir. I think we’ll need it."

As the viewscreen went blank, the commander and exec of the Psychos looked at each other and shrugged. There was no use in arguing with the General. They knew if there was another way he would have used it. If High Command didn't need him so much, he would probably be leading the strike team himself. No one liked "suicide missions" but sometimes they were necessary. Like at Yavin.

Ten minutes later, the Psychos were assembled. The transport's wardroom had been modified to double as a briefing room, complete with tactical computer holographic displays and a large viewscreen at the forward centre. Yale pressed a button next to the latter and it came to life. General Madine’s face appeared again, except this time his words were recorded.

"A few days ago, an Intel freighter was lost near Commenor. We believe they were either destroyed or self-destructed. Their last transmission contained disturbing data concerning Imperial fleets resupplying for an assault on an alleged Rebel base. The assault is due to begin in about two weeks, since that was the amount of time needed to mass and resupply the force they need to overrun the base. We are not sure of the validity of this data or which base was being targeted. We are taking measures to protect or relocate our existing bases. But we need time to do that discreetly.

"Your mission objective, therefore, is to delay the assault for another two weeks or stop it entirely. End message."

Lynk stepped in front of the screen as it went blank. "Okay, people. That’s our mission. Anyone who wants to back out, please do so now, not in the middle of the mission." After a brief pause in which no one spoke, he continued.

"Intel has identified two possible planets where the task force will meet and be resupplied," Lynk said as he activated the holoprojector. A planet snapped into existence, dirty brown and forest green, spotted with small blue seas. "This is one of them: Ghorman. It is a Navy supply depot and staging area, lightly populated otherwise. Some of you may remember it as the site of an Imperial atrocity several years back. That's what got Tarkin promoted to Moff... but he's dead now, along with his Death Star, and may his black-hearted soul roam the Frozen Caverns forever." This sentiment drew approving noises from the rest of the team.

"The supply caches and other facilities are on the planet. There are three orbital space stations to handle resupply and repair of the fleet. Yes?"

One of the Psychos had raised his hand. "Couldn’t we get those Kalidor fellows to help?"

"I tried, but it seems they're being tasked to the other supply depot," Lynk answered.

"We'd have to take out all three space stations at once... that would spread us too thin. We should target the supply caches on the ground instead," another Psycho suggested.

"Noted, Empress," Lynk said. "We’ll wait for the Strikers before finalising our plan. In the meantime, I want everybody to scour the public datanets, intel networks and the kitchen sink for any info on our target. Dismissed."

The Psychos filed out of the briefing room. Lynk grabbed Tricks' arm as she passed him.

"Tricks, I want you to take a trip down to the planet when we rendezvous with the Strikers. I need you to check in with the local Rebel cell for info."

"And leave me there while you and the rest of the team went on the mission," Tricks retorted.

"No, I won’t do that. I just want more info. You know me, how crazy I would be if I didn't have enough data."

"Yes, I know you. Only too well. You’re a lousy liar, Lynk. I really wonder how we managed all those undercover missions."

"I just can’t lie to you, Tricks," Lynk answered. "I don’t want to see you get hurt."

"You’re bloody selfish, Lynk," Tricks said, her voice firm. "You don’t want to see me get hurt. What about me hearing that you get hurt? What do you think I’ll feel then, huh?" Lynk wanted to interrupt but she just continued. "We’ve been in this business for more than two years each, Lynk. Before there was a SpecForces. We know what we’ll have to go through…"

"I…"

"I know we're engaged, but that doesn’t mean you have to start protecting me. If you think it does, then we need to rethink the engagement."

"But…"

"No buts. You go, I go. End of discussion," Tricks said as she stormed out of the room.

Lynk looked at the R2 unit left in the briefing room. It beeped forlornly at the SpecForce captain. "Well, CeeFour, did I have a chance?" he asked. The R2 unit gave a short sharp beep. "No? I thought so too. But I had to try, didn’t I?" Lynk said, shaking his head as he walked out of the room.

Five hours later, high above the swirling clouds of a gas giant in the Listari system, the Psycho Circus docked with another, equally decrepit-looking starship with the grandiose name of Star Cruiser. In the briefing room of the Psychos' home ship, Lynk greeted his mentor and counterpart in Carjoun's Strikers. "Major, glad to see you made it."

"Always a pleasure to see you Captain," Major Carjoun answered. "How’s Tricks?"

"Why don’t you asked her yourself?" Lynk said, indicating to his left. It was an old joke, but it helped lift the grim mood in the room.

"Major." A smile tugged at Tricks' lips.

"I thought you would have convinced her to stay back for this. Isn’t it a bit dangerous for her to be there?"

"You trained her, Major. You should know better than to ask that question," Lynk answered. "As hard-headed as her father."

"Who’s hard-headed?" Tricks interrupted, hugging the burly Major. "Glad to see you too, sir."

"I wished it was under different circumstances."

"So do we, Major. So do we," Lynk said. "Anyway, since you’re in overall command, I suggest you get the ball rolling. All the data we have gathered is on this pad." He handed it over to the SpecForce Major, who consulted it as he moved to the front of the room and addressed both teams who'd gathered here.

"As all of you know, we are going on what could turn into a suicide mission. So if any of you want to opt out, now is the time." Like Lynk had earlier, Carjoun paused, waiting for reactions from his people. No reaction whatsoever. They were professionals who knew their job and its risks; he'd trained most of them himself. He was damn proud of them.

"From what Intel has given us, other than those new processing chips for our datapads, we have pinpointed two of the major storage facilities on Ghorman. Luckily, they aren't far from each other. Three townships service the storage facilities, providing them with entertainment, workforce and food. In orbit, three space stations handle resupply and repairs. Crews for these stations were also drafted from the planet as well as imported from other systems."

"What about bomb strikes against the stations?" one of the Strikers asked.

"I asked Kalidor Squadron for assistance but they were being tasked elsewhere," Lynk repeated.

The Major continued. "The storage facilities are fortified with shielding and automated defence systems against both ground and air strikes. So a direct assault is out. This leaves us with infiltration. So, any suggestions on methods?"

"You Strikers aren't exactly subtle, and this mission calls for extreme stealth," one of the Psychos began. "I respectfully suggest we use Strikers as back ups for the Psychos who will be handling the infiltration from within the town."

"Yes, we could use the Star Cruiser as an insertion vehicle. I am assuming there are no scans just after re-entry…"

"None that we know of, Seven."

"Okay. Strikers would be paradropped into the jungle just on the outskirts of the towns with full combat gear. We have all the necessary equipment on board the Psycho Circus. They would establish escape routes and provide diversion and support for us Psychos."

"Yes, I agree. We could then enter the towns as people looking for work. Any information on work application for the storage facilities?" Psycho Eight, a Corellian female who went by "Empress," asked.

"Yes, it seems that there is a rotation period for workers," Carjoun said. "The Imperials are in full control of Ghorman and they don't like civilians to work very long in any one of the facilities. We are lucky that the next rotation period is in four days. I could get one of my people to slice some new identities for the Psychos."

"That’s okay, we can handle the IDs," Lynk answered. "Get your code slicer to work with mine. Maybe the two of them can whip up something fast that will stand up to Imperial checks."

"Any other suggestions? Or questions?"

"Do we break off into two teams or stay as a group in one town?" Psycho Nine asked. Devyn "Hydra" Mobres was from murdered Alderaan, and did not share the pacifism of most of his people.

"Small teams. Usual team pairing for Psychos. I’m not sure how Strikers assign teams." Lynk turned to the Major inquiringly.

"We’ll break off into two and watch the two sites from the jungle," Carjoun said.

"Okay then, it’s more or less settled. Everybody knows their pre-mission duties, so I suggest you go and do them. The Command Staff will try to hammer this into something workable and with half a chance of us getting back alive. We’ll move out in twenty-four hours. Dismissed."

Outside the briefing room, and out of earshot from his astromech, Lynk turned to Carjoun. "Can you get one of your men to place a restraining bolt on CeeFour? He knows most of our tricks already. It’ll be difficult for any of the Psychos to place a restraining bolt on him."

"Still having problems with his love for big bangs, eh?"

"Yep…" Yale answered. "It might be detrimental if we take him along this time."

"Okay, it’ll be good for my team to practice securing a ‘hostile’ droid."

Zoom cleared his throat. The two Red pilots turned to look at him.

"Commander?"

"I’m not interrupting anything, am I, Yale?" he asked.

"Not at all, sir. Please have a seat. You might as well listen to this too. It’ll save me repeating to you later."

"Well, I did have something to tell you, but I'll wait."

"We're all in place at the depot," reported a man in maintenance coveralls, who looked like he hadn't washed himself or them in weeks.

"Good," Tricks said. Her hair was wrapped around her head in a braid, attractive yet tidy. "First order of business is to verify that the Imperial fleet will resupply here. If it is true then we have to identify their target and get that info to Command. How are the Strikers set up?"

"The last communication showed that they have set up OPs near the facilities and will extricate us if anything goes wrong. Psycho Circus and Star Cruiser are hiding on the dark side of the larger moon."

"Great, now I need to know your jobs."

"Clerk, low security clearance," one of her teammates answered.

"Manager, medium security clearance."

"Storage supervisor, I have clearance for the warehouses."

"Good, we’ll need the codes later if we are going to destroy the supplies."

"Most of us are just general workers, though."

"Lynk and I got to hold managerial positions as well. Which reminds me..." Tricks looked around the group. "Whoever came up with these IDs will have to answer to me later on why Lynk and I were said to be married."

One of the Psychos coughed, to amused looks from the others.

"Enough, we’ll start work tomorrow. Remember, no action until the data is verified."

"Got it, Lead."

One by one, laughing and reeling drunkenly, they left the bar and went their separate ways. A drinking party who met once in a while to have fun. Except that unlike the other workers, they were watched.

"Targets have been confirmed. Proceed with stage three."

"Fresch, do you regret marrying me?" Tricks asked her partner.

"No, Lil. I don't," Lynk answered. "Not one bit."

Playing wedded couples was easy in the past for the two of them, but now when they were really engaged, it became very difficult. Walking back to their apartment, Lynk thought about his fiancé. Fierce, determined and stubbornly loyal not to mention caring. He regretted he could not talk her into not going on this mission... but she was one of them, trained for this type of work and as dedicated to the cause as any of them. Each had seen the other wounded in action before. And that was something neither of them wanted to see happen again.

Ghorman was calm tonight. The air was warm and the moons were full, bathing the street with their light. It gave a romantic glow to an otherwise desolate street. As they'd walked, they'd passed a few other couples smiling, laughing and holding hands. If he were not on a mission, it would have been fun to walk like this. But being on missions sucked the fun out of it. Every street corner had untold dangers. Missions could fall apart just because of a word. He hated the world he was living in, but someone had to do the dirty jobs. Someone had to bring down the Empire.

They reached their furnished apartment. Their cover identities were newlyweds, both recent graduates of the local college with training in management. It wasn't hard for them to get jobs doing just that. Even though they played a married couple and were properly affectionate in public, they had both promised not to do anything more until they were properly married.

A quick scan showed that the door had not been opened since they left. They entered and ran a full scan of the apartment just in case. Nothing. Lynk deactivated the scanners and went to the kitchen to get some drinks.

"Fresch, any Skyjuice left in the cooler?"

"Yes, Lil. I just bought a few bottles today with our advance."

"Be a dear and bring me a glass, okay."

"Sure thing, my little gourd."

"Stop calling me that!"

Lynk smiled and uncapped the bottle. Skyjuice was water distilled from the atmosphere, and Tricks' favorite drink. Most bottlers claimed that the more arid the planet, the better the vintage. It was certainly more expensive.

He came back into the living room with the drinks -- skyjuice for her, something carbonated for him. Looking at her, curled up on the sofa scanning the local newsnet, he was struck again by her beauty and the depth of his caring for her. He felt like stunning her and shipping her back home, away from danger. But doing that would only make her hate him. That left him with just one choice: get through the mission as safely and quickly as possible.

The week went by quickly. Data was gathered and verified. More Star Destroyers arrived in orbit every day, forming a new constellation in the night sky, but there was still no clue as to what base they were going to hit. Meanwhile, harder work and longer shifts at the depot left little time for other activities.

As their deadline drew nearer, Lynk decided to go ahead with the demolition mission despite his misgivings. They had to have more time to find out the fleet's target.

The managers would arrange for the other team members to be on the same shift. Using the codes provided to them, they would enter the warehouses and place demolition charges. To cause maximum confusion with minimum casualties, the charges would be set to go off during the next shift change. During the panic, the Psychos would slip away, hopefully unnoticed.

"Everyone understands their assignments?" Yale asked.

Nine heads nodded.

"Good. We go tomorrow night. Good luck and remember, no unnecessary risks."

Minutes after the last of the group had left the bar, a man stood up and went to the vidphone in the corner. He rapidly tapped in a long number. The dirty screen remained dark as he spoke.

"Targets have made their move. Proceed to stage four."

Lynk and Empress walked slowly towards their target while Tricks and another Psycho approached from another direction. Their coveralls said that they were safety inspectors, which gave them freedom to move about without attracting any undue attention.

Lynk entered the override codes which would open the personnel door to the warehouse. It was nearly empty since most of the actual work was being done by droids. Once they were inside, another team member activated the loop for the security cameras from his station at the security console. Disabling the cameras totally would be too suspicious.

A click in his earpiece confirmed that the security cameras were taken care of. Lynk signalled his team to proceed. They went first to various storage lockers to retrieve charges placed by another team member earlier. Laden with explosives, they moved quickly to start placing the charges. The rows and rows of munitions were a priority target, followed by spare parts and, if any charges were left, the food supply. (Sparks had argued that it would actually be more destructive to the Imperials to leave the crates of brick-like ration packs intact, but as usual, he was overruled.)

In the other warehouse, several klicks away, the same procedure was being carried out by the other half of the team. So far so good. No interruptions from guards since their coveralls gave them authority and the right to be there. The uniforms had been stolen from the base laundry and, if all went well, would be back the next morning before anyone noticed the discrepancy.

It was while placing the last charge that Empress noted something funny. "Lead, over here," she whispered.

"What is it, Eight?" asked Lynk, coming to her side.

Fishing one of the food pouches out of the open crate, she directed Lynk’s attention to the expiration date. Two years ago.

Lynk's eyes narrowed. "Check the other crates," he ordered.

A few more crates were opened and each showed items already expired. Lynk trotted back to the armament section, dodging load lifters on their simple-minded rounds. Carefully opening one of the crates, he found it filled with two dud concussion missiles and assorted scrap. The coldness that had been creeping up his spine reached his scalp. He spoke urgently into his commlink as his team mates came running up. "Team Two, this is Lead. Omega, repeat Omega. It’s a trap, get out of there!"

They walked quickly towards the exit, but the whine of the warehouse’s main doors opening told them they were already discovered. They dropped out of sight and disappeared into the shadows.

Stormtroopers and regular Army troops came rushing in, firing at anything that moved. This included several droids, which ground to a halt and sparked, and one hapless worker who was unfortunate enough to be caught in the open. The stormtroopers immediately flanked the area, effectively boxing the Psychos in.

"Nine, blow it now!" Tricks ordered.

The SpecForce demo expert activated the charges, triggering a chain reaction in the few crates that had live ammunition. The resulting explosion caused chaos as the workers and troops tried to run from the burning warehouse. Team One took the opportunity to slip out as well, but one of the Imperial commanders ordered the troops to open fire on the fleeing civilians to catch the Rebels among them.

"Psycho Lead to Strikers, we sure could use some help over here!"

"… could use some help over here!"

Carjoun keyed his comm link. "S Lead to Snipers, sitrep."

"Sniper One sights cold…"

"Sniper Two sights hot. Priority target."

"Do it," Carjoun ordered.

Sniper Two pulled back on the trigger. A needle-thin laser blast flashed across several hundred meters and through the Imperial commander's head in a tiny fraction of a second.

"Kill," the sniper reported calmly. "Acquiring second target."

The stormtroopers started to turn, looking for the shooter who had felled their officer.

"Strikers, fire at will!" Carjoun shouted and opened fire himself, peppering the battlefield with blaster bolts.

One of the Strikers unleashed multiple rocket strikes at the troop carrier, caving in its side and turning it into a flaming ruin. The snipers efficiently took down one troop at a time from a safe distance, while the rest of the team members poured on the supporting fire to distract the Imperials and give Psychos a chance to get away from open ground.

With the attention of most of the Imperials drawn elsewhere, Psychos grabbed weapons that littered the ground and ran towards the exit, stopping once in a while to give cover fire for one another. Lynk looked to his left and saw Tricks taking deliberate aim at the control tower. She was one of his snipers. A shot and the tower blew up. She had targeted the power regulator for the antenna.

"Good shot, now let’s get out of here," Lynk shouted. He turned to Empress who was flanking him with Hydra slightly ahead. "How’s Team Two doing?"

"I can’t reach them, Lead!" she replied. "I can’t even raise Ten and Five."

"Damn! All right, let’s get to the jungle and some cover before we try again!"

They were running for their lives. Adrenaline rushed through their bodies giving them that extra edge, but the enemy was superior in number. Hydra was shot while he was covering for his team-mates. Multiple shots went through his midsection, pitching him to the ground.

"Nine!" Empress cried out when she saw what happened, but she continued running. They all wanted to turn back and recover his body but the Imperials were too close and too many. They kept running.

Empress was next to be hit, but the shot only went through her leg. She crumpled to the ground. Lynk stopped and hoisted her on his shoulder while Tricks covered him. As he was running he turned to Tricks and shouted.

"What ever happens to me you keep running, you got it?"

"Like hell I will!"

"That’s an order, Two! Someone has to report back to Madine about this fiasco! We have a mole inside! A mole we missed the last time we made a sweep!"

"I do not hear you, Lead!"

"Damn it, Tricks!"

"Just run, you idiot! We’ll talk about this later!"

"Sniper One to Lead, I see troop transports converging in front of the facilities. Look like Storm Commando transports!"

"S Lead to One Strike, pull back to extraction zone!" Carjoun ordered. "One Strike to Two Strike, sitrep!"

"Taking heavy casualties! Psycho Team Two are boxed in! We can’t reach them!"

"S Lead to Team Two, sitrep!"

"Boxed in, Major. Look like we’ve had it. I suggest you pull your men out while you still can! You’ll need them to get out of this mess!"

"Are you sure there’s no other way out?"

"None that we can see, Major. We're running out of blaster clips and people! Go on, we’ll provide a diversion! And tell our CO we enjoyed working with him! Team Two out!"

"Two Strike pull out! Get back to the extraction zone!"

"But, sir…!"

"That’s an order, lieutenant! There’s no way you can get them out!" Major Carjoun switched off and gave the Imperial troops running towards their location one last angry look, accompanied by a blaster bolt, before picking up his gear and retreating into the jungle.

Storm Commandos filed out of the transport, carrying heavy blaster rifles and rail guns. They let loose their explosive armament as soon as they were in the clear. Rail detonators streaked into the air with a whoosh and landed in the jungle surrounding the facility, shredding trees and undergrowth.

Lynk stumbled and lost his grip on Empress as the ground shook from a blast a dozen meters away. He had just turned to pick her up when an even closer explosion picked him up and flung him against a tree. He blacked out.

When he came to, he was being carried by his fiancé who was hurt herself from another explosion. Blood ran down her face from a head wound.

"Put me down, Tricks," Lynk said. "I can walk."

"If you say so," Tricks answered lowering him to the ground. He stood under his own power, though he still felt a bit dizzy.

"I told you to keep going if anything happened to me!"

"Shut up, Lynk!"

They both started walking again. The explosions were further behind them, now at a different location.

"Where’s Empress?" Lynk asked.

Tricks turned away before answering. "She didn't make it. A rocket landed right on her," she said. No tears were on her dirty cheeks. Those would come later when they were safely away from this place.

A whine of repulsorlifts from behind them caused them to turn. A scout patrol had found them. Tricks pushed Lynk down and was hit by the shots targeted for him.

"TRICKS!"

Lynk snatched up her blaster rifle and returned fire. His first shot took out the lead scout trooper, who fell next to him as his speeder bike sped past. The rest of the troopers zoomed away before starting to come back. He used the time he'd bought to drag Tricks behind cover. She was bleeding badly from her new wounds.

"How are you feeling?" Lynk asked.

"What do you expect? Lousy… and urgh… it hurts, Lynk…"

"Hang on," he said as he broke open an emergency med kit and took out a painkiller. He pressed the small vial to her arm and saw her eyes dilate as it took effect.

He heard repulsors again and ducked as a blaster bolt whizzed over his head to char the jungle undergrowth, popping up to fire off a return shot at the scout trooper just as the white-armored rider disappeared behind a tree. They were running low on power and there was only one blaster rifle. Peering out from cover again, he was welcomed with shots. But his eye fell on the dead scout trooper, lying not far away, and his utility belt.

Lynk turned to Tricks. She was breathing easier now, but still looked bad. "Can you hold a rifle?"

"I’m not promising anything spectacular."

"Just cover me."

"Okay," she answered, still shaking from the effect of the painkiller.

"Ready… Now!" Lynk shouted as he dived out of cover. Tricks fought to bring the rifle up and aim steadily, while he scampered for the scout leader's body. Pain flashed through his leg as one of the other troopers scored a hit. He screamed and fell but kept going, crawling now, his body working on automatic. His world narrowed to the white figure before him. His hands closed on the dead man's leg and, as Tricks laid down covering fire, he dragged the corpse back to cover behind the tree.

Tricks looked at Lynk and saw him bleeding from the new wound. "Go, get out of here. I’ll cover you."

"I won't get far on this leg. And I can’t leave you here."

"Now you know why... I couldn’t leave… you… back there…" she stuttered. "Lynk, I…"

The scout troopers fired again and splinters flew around them. The tree began to topple, leaving only a ragged stump to hide behind as the trunk and leafy top crashed into the jungle off to one side. Gritting his teeth against the pain of his wound, Lynk clawed at the utility belt and extracted a pair of thermal detonators. He depressed both triggers with his thumbs and gave a nod to Tricks. She nodded back, then fired at the troopers to keep their heads down while Lynk pulled himself up and threw the first detonator.

The scout troopers saw the small sphere arcing toward them and jumped away. But the Rebels had been expecting this, and Tricks picked off one while Lynk calmly lobbed his second detonator into the path of the other. The explosion at his feet flipped the trooper into the air. As the body crashed back into the undergrowth, Lynk sat back gasping and looked at his fiancé.

"Tricks, like I said, I can’t walk. So I guess we’ll just have to stay here until someone finds us."

"Lynk… I… don’t think I can hold on," she said.

Lynk held her close to him. "Maybe we should have let them take us in."

"No, Lynk. Whatever happens, one of us has to get back home." Her face twisted and she clutched at her wound. "Ngh… it still hurts…"

"Wait, I’ll give you another one," he said, reaching for the med kit.

"No, I… have to talk… to you. Another one of those and I’ll be unconscious." She looked up at her fiancé. "I need you to promise me something."

"What?"

"Don’t tell, my sister what… really… happened. Keep it from …her. Keisya’s very vindictive, I’m… I’m afraid she’ll do… something stupid."

"Okay, Tricks… I promise," Lynk said, feeling dizzy and increasingly cold. Lost too much blood... going into shock.

"And another thing…" she pulled him close and whispered into his ear.

Lynk blinked. "No, I can’t do that, Tricks…"

"Please... I… I… love you, Lynk."

"I know, Tricks. I know." Lynk said, fighting drowsiness.

"I’m so sleepy, Lynk. So sleepy…"

She shut her eyes. Lynk looked at her face as the pain bled out of it, leaving only peace. That was the last thing he saw before he drifted off too.

"She died in your arms?"

"Yes, Leo. I saw her die, but I didn't realise it then. If I did, I wouldn’t be here."

"How did you escape?" Leo asked, curious. "Your leg was shot and you can’t walk."

Yale looked back into the past again. "The Strikers found us and took me and her body back to the extraction zone. We were lucky that the Imperials were overconfident. With all those troops on the ground and Star Destroyers in orbit, they hadn't brought a single Interdictor to keep us from hyperspacing out. Our two command ships flew in and extracted us in record time. By the time the Imperials managed to scramble fighters, we were already on our way out."

"I spent almost a month in a bacta tank. All that time, no one told me what happened to my team and my fiancé. When I finally found out, I... I went a little crazy. I spent a while longer being detained."

"Did they find the mole?" Leo asked.

"Yes. A high ranking officer in Intel, plus his confederates. I blamed myself for what happened to my team since it was my investigation that missed out those moles."

"What do you mean?" Leo asked.

"Part of my team’s duties was counter espionage. Just before that mission we did a sweep mission. Desk work, mostly. Maybe I was too anxious to get back out into the field... anyway, I didn't discover them and my team paid for it. My whole team and nearly half of the Strikers."

"It’s not your fault, Yale. You know that."

"It always will be my fault, Leo."

"Okay, so...," said Leo, trying to change the subject. "You say Tricks was just her codename. Why does Trixel’s nickname affect you so much?"

"I always called her Tricks, even when we were not on a mission. It was her petname," Yale answered. "Y' know something... maybe would have been better if they hadn’t recovered her body as well."

"What do you mean?"

"It's stupid, but... without a body, there’s always a chance she is still alive somewhere," Yale said, sighing. "Like with my father. But I was there at her funeral. I saw her in the casket. I saw the hatred and sadness in her sister’s eyes but I couldn’t do a thing about it. I promised."

"It must have been hard for you to carry the secret for that long," Leo said.

"I never had any friends since then. It hurts when you lose friends, so I vowed never to have one again. Spending time around Intel made it easy." Yale paused. "Until I came here and found back what was missing in my life. Friends and trust. Now you know, Leo."

Yale sighed, then turned to Zoom. "You haven’t said a thing since you sat down. What was it you wanted to tell us?"

"After hearing your story, I’m not sure how to say this," Zoom said, his voice thick. "But I have to. It’s about Vape."

"What about her?" Yale asked, familiar dread resurfacing.

"While we were in refit, I authorised her to go on a personal mission…"

"Alone?"

"Yes, alone."

"And?"

"She didn't make it. She and her mother were both killed."*
(*as told in Vape's Farewell)

"What?" Yale shouted, attracting attention to his booth. His next move caught Zoom by surprise: a punch that landed squarely on his chin and knocked the CO to the floor. Leo jumped over the table and held on to Yale. This was the first time he'd seen Yale really lose it, and it scared him.

Yale continued to scream at his squadron leader. "You bloody idiot! What the @#$% were you thinking? She’s just a kid for crying out loud!"

"I KNOW!" Zoom yelled back. "Don't you think I don't know?! I thought she could pull it off! And you weren't around! No one was around!"

"You could have reached me. I could have helped her. I’m her wingmate, dammit! You could have at least tell her to wait for one of us to give her a hand!"

"I tried… but she was determined to get her mother out! I would have gone out with her if I wasn’t so damned busy pushing data!"

Yale just stared at Zoom for another moment, then shrugged Leo off and stormed out of the Mug. The few off-duty crewmen had remained still and silent during the whole confrontation. Now one of the larger engineer's mates stepped forward. "You want me to go after him, sir?" he asked.

"No, it’s okay," Zoom answered, getting to his feet with Leo's help. "Let him walk it off, get it out of his system. I wish I could."

"Sir, Vape is dead?"

Zoom sighed and nodded, looking pained by more than the blow to his jaw. "Yes, Leo. We’ll be holding a small service later, before we get under way."

"You want me to tell Yale?"

"No, I'll handle it. Just pass the word, all right? And see if you can make less of a mess of it than I did."

Yale sat alone in his quarters, his thoughts a muddle. Just when he thought he had recovered, something like this happened. He should not have reacted that way. Zoom had done what he thought best, with the information at hand. The way he did three years ago, when he took his team into an ambush.

Faces of his former team members floated in his mind. Aden, a brash youngster whose slicing skills got them out of many "complications." Lefler, a man whose hands could kill but whose undying passion was music. Yale could still hear the melodies he used to play before they went on a mission. Hetrick, the one pilot he'd ever met whose humility matched his skill. Morrs, their research expert who let them blend in anywhere.

Teebron, who loved antiques so much that they once risked capture to get him one as a birthday present. Eyla, "Empress," who both he and Tricks had thought of as their sister. Devyn, the demolition expert and the only one who really understood CeeFour’s pyromaniacal tendencies. "Sparks" Zerwiki, communication expert who never failed to get a signal in or out of a sticky situation.

Lastly, Tricks, his fiancé. There was none that could ever replace her. Another might come along but it would never be the same. He drew a slug thrower pistol from the holster at the small of his back and looked at it. Blue steel, beautiful but deadly. It had been hers; the team chipped in and gave it to her after she saved them all with some of her trick shooting.

"Promise to forget me, Lynk. We aren't destined to be together. There are others for you. Don’t think about the past."

His hand brushed their engagement ring that he still wore in her memory. "No, Patresya. We will always be together."

A beep told him there was someone at the door.

"Open."

Zoom entered the semi-darkened room and was startled to see Yale holding a gun. He stopped and said very carefully, "You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?"

Yale shook his head, reholstering the weapon as he stood up. "I apologise for the incident, Commander. I’ll write a more formal apology later."

"Forget it, Yale. The fault was mine as it was yours. The last few weeks have been hell... I’m sorry I snapped at you."

"As you said, it was my fault as well. What can I do for you, sir?"

"We’ll be holding a small remembrance service for Vape later. I hope you could attend. But it's not an order."

"I’ll be there, sir."

The rest of the squadron was assembled on the main hangar deck, along with some of the Regis's officers and crew, as Zoom, Kyp and Yale lifted off in their X-wings. Cruising out into space at half throttle, they took up the "missing man" formation and swung back around to pass in front of the hangar. Ranger raised his voice to issue an order. "Honour Guard, salute!"

The holographic Alliance flag that had been hoisted on the Regis's comm mast, flapping in a non-existent breeze, was now lowered to the halfway point. The funeral party came to attention and saluted. Redjed was among them, his lightsaber clipped to his belt; Vape had been teaching him swordsmanship, and the two of them had been close. But all the Reds mourned her, even if they did not show their emotions outwardly. No one could handle the death of someone close without something tearing apart inside. Circumstances had thrown strangers together into a squadron, but they were no longer strangers. They had become a strange sort of family.

Yale saw all of this from his cockpit as his fighter passed in review. Even CeeFour was silent, mourning in his own electronic way. Sazril had been to many funerals over the years, too many to remember. But he did know that he would never, ever like them. No matter if they were a part of life.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow," he said on the open channel, remembering a poem he heard when he was a child. "Vape, you will always be in our hearts. May your light always shine bright within us and give us strength to complete our journey and meet again. May the Force be with you in your new journey and with us to complete what you and us have started. Until we meet again."

He switched off his radio and added, "Tricks, I won't be joining you for a while. So here is someone who will keep you company with her smiles until I get there. I’m sorry I still haven’t kept my promise. I guess I never will. Vape, keep her company, please. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me, my friend."

Swinging away from the other two fighters and the Regis, Yale squeezed his yoke's trigger and a single blue shaft leapt into the endless night. The modified proton torpedo carried an extra memento: earlier, he had carefully placed the portrait he'd once drawn of her into the casing. The torp flew straight as an arrow for several klicks before exploding in a burst of fireworks.

"Peace be with you, Vape. Wherever you are."

"Yes, sir. I’m sure," Yale answered. "I wasn’t around when Vape needed me. If anyone else needs me, I want to be here."

"Very well, I’ll put in your request for permanent transfer to Starfighter Command with my support."

"Thank you, sir," Yale said. He saluted and turned to leave.

"Sazril, a question?"

Yale paused on the threshold. "Yes, sir?"

"Does it ever go away?"

"The pain? No, sir. The pain will never go away. It will always come back to haunt us. We’ll just have to learn to live with it. And hope we can handle it whenever it rears its head."

"Thanks, Yale."

"Always a pleasure to help a friend, sir."