[Classified Location]

Amit “Hacker” Nyz watched the stars through his cockpit, the bright points standing out against the vast blackness. A lot of people would find this view pretty, mesmerizing, perhaps even enchanting; Amit, however, thought it was rather boring.

He looked around him and saw the other Y-wings waiting in darkness like him. The R-22 Spearheads were a little further away, floating silently against the sea of black. For all he knew, the other pilots were as bored as he was, but because of the communications blackout, he didn’t have a way to know for certain.

I wish that blasted Imperial convoy would just get here already!

The two squadrons had been lying in wait, ready to pounce on a convoy that was due to resupply the Imperial blockade of Yavin. Things were tough enough on the moon without the Imps suddenly getting another shipment of AT-ATs to stomp through the jungle.

A flash appeared on his astromech translator screen. “No, Twist, I don’t know when they’re getting here. Have you been reading my mind?” The astromech bleeped at him from the rear and a series of characters scrolled on the screen. “It could happen. The galaxy is a very strange place.”

Amit ignored the responding beeps and watched as his sensor boards came alive with red dots. He looked up and saw several silhouettes take shape against the backdrop of the local star, and watched as a wedge-shaped starship came into the light.

That’s not right, he thought to himself as he focused his sensors on the starship. It’s much too small to be a star destroyer…

He brought up the starship’s information on his CMD and went wide-eyed. “Son of a—!”

The tactical mission frequency sparked to life. “All forces: it’s an ambush!” said Captain Joks, Sparrow Leader and operational commander for the mission. “The Imperials have an Interdictor Cruiser in play. Break off attack and return to base!”

“Easier said than done,” muttered Amit to himself. “Okay, trashcan, it’s time for us to find a way out of here.” He grinned to himself as he looked over the unfolding battleground. “Right past the gravity well generator of that cruiser.”

Twist bleated alarmingly at him as he brought his shields and weapons systems online. He punched the throttle up to full as the red dots got brighter on his sensors. Formations of dots appeared in front of him. He knew what they were, Imperial TIE Fighters, but at this distance the Imperial ships were nothing more than tiny specs.

Amit primed his port warhead launcher and lined up with the incoming TIEs, centering on one going straight at him. Green flashes of light began to fly toward him; he banked his Y-wing to avoid the lethal fire. He measured the distance to the lead TIE in his head, counting slowly, and then gently squeezed the trigger. A proton torpedo lashed out from his craft and impacted with the TIE, blowing it apart while Amit pulled back on his flight-stick to bring his Y-wing up and around.

“Hawk Seven,” came Joks’ voice in his ear, “what are you doing? Get back in formation and exit the system, now!”

Amit ignored the summons as he came in behind the disoriented TIEs. He popped off a handful of laser fire and made another Imperial pilot explode along with his fighter. Next he shot out a dual dose of his ion cannons and disabled the third TIE, watching as it slowly spun out of control into the darkness of space.

“I see what you’re doing, Seven,” came the voice of Amit’s wingmate. “I’m right there with you.”

“Thanks for the assistance, Eight,” he said into his headset microphone. “I was starting to get lonely out here.”

Amit’s sensor readout started flashing new information. He looked at it and then cursed mentally. “Hawk Seven to Alliance forces; I’ve just detected the arrival of assault Gunboats in the system. It looks as though the Empire intends on capturing us.”

“Confirmed, Hawk Seven. Now get back in formation and prepare to exit the battlefield!”

“I’m sorry, Sparrow Leader, what was that? You’re breaking up. I’ll have to get my communications gear fixed when we get back to base.” Amit toggled the frequency slightly to make it sound as though static was present. “I’m not sure if you’re getting this, sir, but I’ll continue on with the objective; you can count on me.”

Twist beeped and booped behind him, its translation scrolling across the screen. “I’m not disobeying him exactly; I’m just not immediately departing like everyone is trying to do. Someone’s got to take out that cruiser, or else we’ll all be stuck here awaiting a nice comfy ion cannon discharge.”

Amit ignored the astromech’s response as he shifted his shields and lasers to zero power drain, turning his Y-wing into a speed craft. He flew past more TIEs, weaving about to avoid the green laser fire. The cruiser got larger in his cockpit, its telltale triangular shape filling up his entire view. He checked the sensors to see that there were no Imperial fighters around him.

“Seven to Eight, you still with me?”

“Right with you, Seven. Ready to crack open the toy surprise?”

“I hope they have what we want; I’d be disappointed if I had to return it.” He reset his lasers and shields to maximum power and plunged forward. “Tackle the port tower while I hit the starboard.”

“Acknowledged.”

The two Y-wings raced clambered toward the Interdictor, their weapons primed and ready to let loose. Amit’s sensors showed several distant red blips behind him and one huge in front. Can’t believe they would leave it undefended.

“Undefended” being a relative term as anti-starfighter lasers began to shoot out toward him. “Good thing they’re Imperials and don’t know how to aim properly,” he muttered softly.

The countdown until he was within range of the shield towers neared its finish. He let his finger rest on the trigger when everything started to go wrong. His sensors showed several new enemy contacts practically on top of him; the “incoming warhead” klaxon began to sound loudly; and Twist began to shriek at a very high pitch.

Amit checked his sensors and cursed as he saw an entire flight of Gunboats now in his immediate area. They must have been playing dead; just like we were.

A warhead slammed into his craft, jolting him violently. Several systems went offline, others fluctuating. He scrambled to put as much power into the shields as he could, but a series of bright blue bolts peppered his Y-wing. Moments later, despite all he could do, his systems crashed and he was left floating in space.

He looked up and saw the cruiser ahead of him. Suddenly his disabled craft began to move toward the hanger bay. “Well, trashcan,” he said to Twist, knowing that the droid couldn’t hear him, “it looks like we get to see what an Interdictor looks like from the inside. Score one for Alliance Intelligence; too bad they won’t get to know about it.”

[Classified Location]

Meg Avern awoke with a jerk from a very annoying sound, the mattress leaving an imprinted pattern of squares on her body as she rose. She looked around and saw the holoprojector flashing “Ready To Receive Transmission?” in the air. Grumbling, she got up and quickly put on clothes. “Indentify,” she snapped at the projector in a half-yawn.

“Transmission from Secure Line Alpha Five,” answered the droid-like voice. “Ready to receive transmission?”

She ran a hand through her flattened pink hair, mussing it around with her fingertips. “Yes, receive transmission and encode in the usual fashion.” She didn’t bother to look at the projector as it gave form to the caller; only one person used Alpha Five to contact you. “Yes, General Nole, what can I do for you at this bright and early hour?” she asked as she sat down in front of the projector.

“Avern, you look a bit disheveled. I didn’t tear you away from anything—or anyone—important, did I?”

She glared at the Bothan’s holographic blue form for a moment, but it was enough to make the caller step back a bit. “You called?”

“We’ve got a mission for you to lead.”

“How many times have I told you that I don’t want to be in command of anyone? I work best alone, without having to worry about some grunt who gets it into her thick skull that I’m an inspiration. It’s bad enough Alexa has decided to follow me around until you nicked her for your little crusade.”

Furry blue paws swung out from the Bothan’s sides. “Ensign Marn’s presence is not the reason I called on you. It’s a rescue operation that requires your unique abilities.”

Avern scoffed at him and started fiddling with the butt of her blaster pistol. “Give me the specifics and I’ll think about it.”

Nole looked at a datapad for a moment. “Three days ago, two squadrons attempted to interdict an Imperial convoy believed to be on its way to resupply the ships blockading Yavin. It turns out the convoy was an ambush and nearly all of the pilots were killed or captured. One pilot was able to return and report the events.” He looked at her squarely, his big eyes gazing directly into hers. “We’re going to find the ones that were captured and bring them back.”

Avern nodded for a few moments, pretending to go over the information in her head. “No.”

Nole looked stunned, his mouth gaping open. “What?”

“No. I won’t do the job. It’s a waste of time.”

He stammered for a moment before catching his composure. “Flash—”

“Don’t call me that, General,” she spat at him. “You haven’t earned the right to use that name.”

Nole ignored her and continued with his statement. “—what the Sith are you talking about?”

Avern sighed and leaned back in her seat, looking very bored. “Your plan will end up costing more lives than it will rescue. I pay attention to the back channels, General; the Alliance is reeling from Yavin. Oh, sure, it gave a major blow to the Empire, but Palpatine is still better armed, better organized, and has way more Stormies for cannon fodder than your Alliance personnel put together. You try and rescue those crusaders of yours and you’ll be knee deep in Rebel bodies before they even get to the front door.” She shook her head slightly. “I don’t need to die for a bunch of fighter jocks that couldn’t run away properly.”

“They’re beings, Avern, just like you and I.”

“Then they know the score that the galaxy has given them, just like you and I.” She spun the blaster around the trigger guard. “Have you got anything else you want me to tackle?”

Nole seemed to ignore her question. “Intelligence reports that the survivors were moved to a prison ship, a cruiser that has been retrofitted to serve as a detention center. We can’t locate the ship, however; it’s very good at masking its presence. We need your skills as a tracker to find it so we can then take it down. That’s why you’re the key to this operation.”

“General, I’m not interested,” she said, standing up and reaching for the disconnect button on the projector.

“Our sources say the ‘captain’ of this little pleasure boat is a Mandalorian.”

Avern stopped for a moment. “Why should that bother me? There’s Mandalorians all over the galaxy. We’re a hearty bunch of beings. I wouldn’t put it past the Empire to contract some of them, just like you do with me.”

He made a big show of consulting his datapad. “Reports indicate that the Mando goes by the name of Caronte.” He looked at her with those eyes of his, burning into her.

She felt herself go stiff, her hand frozen on the disconnect button. She raised her head slight to look at Nole, her eyes becoming dark. “Caronte?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding sagely. “We don’t know much else, but according to our files, he was once a member of—”

“I’ll take the job,” said Avern quickly, pulling herself up to her full height.

“I’ve got an elite squad of marines who will handle the actual boarding operation, a squadron of X-wings to fly support, and a refitted Minstrel-class yacht that will serve as your command ship.”

“I don’t need any of that; I have my X-wing, my weapons, and my personality. That will be enough to blow a hole in the side of a Death Star. But, if you think it’s necessary…” She spun the blaster in her hand again, a look of satisfaction spreading across her face. “Thank you, General; you’ve just made my day.”

“I live to serve. Commander Vogel will be in touch with further details.”

“I’m sure he will,” said Avern as she pressed the disconnect button. She got up and went over to the holo-picture of her adoptive father, Orlen. “I’ve got his scent now, Or’buir; I’ll find him and avenge you.”

[Classified Location]

Kryan Nole watched as the transmission ended, the holographic form of Avern fading into nothingness. He ran a paw through his mane and sighed. “She took the bait.”

“Of course she did,” said a male voice from a darkened section of the conference room. “She’s a Mandalorian; their code demands that they take vengeance. She’ll serve us well.”

Nole looked toward the voice. “How did you find out about Caronte’s connection to Avern?”

“It’s what I do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to inform my marines about this upcoming operation.” The mysterious figure turned and walked further into the shadows. “Make sure that merc of yours doesn’t overstep herself, General, or my squad will take her down a notch regardless of what she means to you.”

Nole watched the man exit the room before looking back at the lifeless holoprojector. “Don’t screw up, Meg.”

[Aboard the Lone Star]

The Minstrel-class space yacht, Lone Star floated through space gently, her engines dark, as the craft continued its forward momentum. It was empty out here;, a solitary distant star being the only source of light. A dead end system was only useful to one type of group: criminals.

Standing on the bridge, Commander Richard “Hook” Vogel did not feel like a criminal; nor did he look like one. Grey hair started to creep into his hairline at the temples; his face was weathered, but not yet slack with age. With age, though, had come many things, and not all of them were negative. He was a more experienced man, wiser in the ways of both warfare and galactic politics. Serving during the Clone Wars would do that for you.

But Richard had also learned patience. It was something that his helm officer, Ensign Alexa “Blackhole” Marn, had yet to learn. This waiting was driving her crazy and the Kuati woman was not one to keep her opinion to herself. “They should have called by now. This is getting ridiculous. We need to get moving.”

Richard suppressed a sigh. Alexa was a good barge driver, capable of making even the largest of ships turn gracefully. Not that the Star was a large ship; she was an ex crime lord’s vessel, a gift to the Alliance after they’d helped one type of scum destroy another just to guarantee a trade deal. As far as Richard was concerned the vessel was a tainted gift, but he was too much of a pragmatist to get worked up about it. Besides, he wouldn’t have to deal with it for too much longer. He’d been told by Command that sooner or later he would be reassigned, as an XO on a larger ship. He preferred such a role, but was, on occasions such as this, not afraid to step up to the plate when needed.

“Ensign Marn, calm yourself. Patience is a virtue.”

“It’s also a way to get us killed quickly.”

“Then I will put my faith in your ability to get us out of any danger, Ensign,” Richard said with ever present patience. He turned to his engineer before Alexa could voice her opinion again. “How’s she looking, Tails?”

The tall Twi’lek man turned from his console and shrugged. “It’ll last as long as we don’t get into a battle too protracted. Perhaps five to six hours tops before we’d need a cool down.”

Richard nodded his thanks. You couldn’t go wrong with an engineer like Petty Officer Biba “Tails” Rar. He was as solid and dependable as you got—admittedly, he didn’t care much for politics and was only here for the money. However, as long as the credits kept rolling in, he kept his work solid. He was referring to the large unwieldy ion cannon strapped to the top of the Star. It made the craft look bizarre and drained all power from the other weapons aboard the ship, but it enabled a small craft to have a much bigger punch than one would have expected. Richard understood that it upset Alexa, making the balance of the ship ridiculous in the extreme, but he was unsurprised to see she had handled it with her typical aplomb.

But for now there was nothing to do. Nothing, but wait. A few minutes later and the waiting was over; “Commander Vogel? We have a transmission.”

Richard turned and walked so he was hovering over the shoulder of Ensign Runa “Chatter” Tills. The young Mon Calamari communications officer had been as quiet as ever, until needed. With a little nod from Richard, Runa opened the comms channel so Richard could speak. “General Nole.”

“Commander Vogel. Is this line secure?”

“As secure as we can make it, sir. Does this conversation need to be private?”

“No, Commander, I trust your bridge crew. I’ll keep it brief. The retrieval operation has been approved. Avern is onboard. You will be reporting to her for now.”

Richard nodded calmly, “Understood, General.”

“Good luck, Vogel. May the Force be with you. Nole out.”

Five minutes later and the Lone Star was on the move, entering hyperspace. “You seem to have cheered up, Alexa,” Richard said as the yacht completed its jump into the everlasting blue tunnel.

“Always pleased to be on an Op with Avern, Commander,” she said with a smile. “She knows how to have fun.”

Vogel narrowed his eyes, unsure what to make of the comment. Knowing Alexa, the commander wasn’t even sure if he wanted to know.

“Right...” he finally said. “Let’s get going.”

[Aboard the Demagol]

Mat “Wart” Warten groaned as he rubbed his head, the makings of a huge lump forming on the back. He opened his eyes and didn’t recognize where he was; it was dark, but he was certain that there were glowing bars a few feet in front of him.

“Finally woke up? Took you long enough.”

Warten turned to his right and saw a Quarren staring back at him. There was a gash on the being’s forehead and some dried blood nearby to match. “Hacker?”

“That’s my callsign, don’t wear it out. And try not to vomit on me either, please; I’ve had to deal with enough filth lately.”

Warten shook his head, a distant ringing sounding. He looked around again and frowned. “Where are we?”

“The inside of a prison ship, from what the others have told me. I can’t say I like the decorations, though; needs a touch of oceanic blue to make it more appealing.”

Warten smiled a little despite the pain of his head. “Remind me never to offer to back you up again. They were lying in wait for us.”

“That they were. But, it’s useless to beat ourselves up about it right now. We’ve got to focus on how we get out of here.”

Warten looked around more carefully this time. The darkness obscured most of his vision, but he could make out at least two more beings in a cell across from him wearing Alliance flightsuits. Could be more survivors of our operation. Then, in a deliberately slowed fashion, a Stormtrooper walked down the corridor, faceless behind his helmet. The darkened area made him seem much more menacing than normal.

“It doesn’t look as though we could easily escape. I’d have to know what kind of ship we were on before I could even guesstimate the best way.”

“A modified Carrack-class cruiser,” came a voice behind Warten.

He turned around to look at the new voice and took a step back. A few feet in front of him, behind a set of reinforced bars, sat an Imperial pilot still in his flightsuit, minus the life support gear. In the cell with the pilot was an Imperial technician, asleep on his bunk. The pilot who addressed him turned his way and gave a shrug as if to communicate in some way.

“And how exactly do you know that?”

“I’ve served on one of these ships before. This one is slightly different; I think the captain put in some personal touches, but I haven’t seen beyond my cell since I got here. That’s one dark fellow, though; count yourself lucky if you never get to meet him.”

Warten eyed him suspiciously before turning back to Amit. He leaned toward him and lowered his voice. “Okay, supposing we’re on a Carrack like the buckethead said. Do you know anything about the internal structure of one to get us out of here?”

“Won’t work,” commented the Imperial pilot. “Plus, I believe the term ‘buckethead’ is meant for a Stormie, not a pilot. Perhaps the all appropriate misnomer ‘figher jock’ or ‘fly boy’ would work.”

Warten looked back at the pilot and sneered. “What, exactly, won’t work?”

“Trying to escape from here. Even if you were able to get out of your cell, where would you go? We’re on a starship that is Force knows where. There are too many unknown variables.”

Warten just stared at the pilot for a few moments before nodding in reluctant agreement. “He’s right,” he whispered to Amit. “We’re going to have to stick it out here for the time being. Perhaps we can find some way to organize the other prisoners, present a united front to the Imperials. Perhaps the captain is too clueless to see it happening around him.”

“Perhaps I’m too stealthy for my prisoners to notice I’m standing right behind them,” came a voice from the darkened corridor. “Or perhaps my prisoners are just too stupid to pay attention to anything but what’s right in front of their faces!”

Warten and Amit whipped around to the front of their cell to look at a trio of men before them. One was a standard Imperial naval officer, his uniform nearly spotless and tailored exceptionally well—like all within the Imperial war machine—but the other two weren’t Imperials. They both wore specialized, tough-looking armor with two distinctive color schemes; the first was a dusty gray speckled by light blue in various places, while the second was a dark orange punctuated by gold at the shoulders.

“I take it you’re the captain,” he said to the Imperial officer.

The orange-armored man laughed with malevolence while the gray one just smiled knowingly. The Imperial officer smiled weakly at Warten. “I’m afraid not. Captain Caronte is the one you are looking for,” he said while indicating the orange-armored man. “I am Commander Jolese, first officer.”

Warten blinked at the man and then turned to the men in armor. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You,” he said while pointing to Jolese, “take orders from a Stormie-reject?”

“Reject!?” bellowed Caronte as he stepped forward. He was a lean man with an average build, a tight angular face his only beauty spot. While it didn’t look as though he had been in any fights, he certainly didn’t look as though he was going to be winning any contests. “I’m a Mandalorian, you uncivilized worm. Have you no sense of history? Have you not learned that the Mandalorians have stood at the forefront of galactic domination for four thousand years?” He yelled in some language that Warten did not understand, but showed him to be angry. “I am master of this vessel, little worm. And who are you to ask about me?”

“I’m a pilot. I’d just like to know about my host so I know who to send the shrapnel to once I’m finished tearing your ship apart from the inside out.”

Caronte grinned devilishly at Warten. “You’ll watch your mouth, fly boy, or I’ll watch it for you. And my stare will be the last thing you’ll see coming at you.”

“Oooh, I’m so scared!” mocked Warten. “Please don’t hurt me!”

“I didn’t say anything about hurting you; at least, not physically. “He walked over to one of the cells across from Warten and rapped on the bars with his armored foot. “Wake up, you lot, we’re going to have an impromptu lesson. Fly boy over here wants me to give him some learning, and I’m going to need some volunteers.”

There were a few shouts of “No!” and “Don’t do it!” from the darkness, from people that Warten couldn’t see. The people in the cell across, though, didn’t seem to get what Caronte wanted; they just sat there on their bunks, the faint light illuminating part of their Alliance flightsuits.

“Perhaps I wasn’t making myself clear,” continued Caronte. “Get up and come over here, now, before I have to walk into that cell and make you dance with a blaster embedded in your spinal cord.”

The two pilots complied and Warten immediately recognized their faces once they came more into the light. The one on the left was his commanding officer, Captain Barnes; the other, Captain Joks. Neither looked as though they had been well fed, and it seemed as though Joks had been put through the wringer a few times.

“Now, I need you,” said Caronte to Joks, “because the big bad Imperial military wants to know all your secrets, ‘Sparrow Leader,’ but your friend here is of little importance to me.”

It all happened in a blur. Caronte reached to his side and pulled out a blaster from its holster, pressed it against Barnes’ head, and pulled the trigger. Shouts rang out from all over the place, and Warten found himself joining in with a raised pitch of “Noooo!” Blood splattered the glowing bars and sizzled from an electric discharge.

Caronte smiled, his teeth seeming to shine in the darkness. “Let that be a lesson to you; I don’t need anyone in your squadron, but I do need him. If I see even the hint of ‘organized revolution’ amongst the degenerates you call your fellow prisoners, I won’t hesitate to set fire to each of you in turn. Starting with your cellmate there.” As if to make his point, Caronte aimed his blaster at Amit’s head. “Have you got it?”

Warten couldn’t speak. He just looked over at the headless form of his former commanding officer.

“I’ll take that silence to mean that you understand. Don’t make me repeat the lesson again, please; I hate students who have to do remedial work.” He holstered his blaster and walked off, the Imperial officer saying something that sounded like “was that really necessary?” in a whispered tone.

Warten couldn’t shake himself out of his daze until the Imperial pilot behind him spoke. “That’s why you don’t want to meet Caronte.”

Warten frowned and turned around. “What the Sith is a Mando doing in charge of an Imperial operation?”

“He’s brutal, efficient, and doesn’t stand incompetence. Sounds a lot like the Emperor, if you believe Rebel propaganda; but, of course, you do, don’t you? So, is he really that much of a surprise to you?”

“Just that I didn’t think the Emperor or the higher-ups in the military would farm out their jobs. They tend to keep things in-house, so they can dispose of potential problems easier.”

“Welcome to the real galaxy, my rebel friend, where the Emperor will use anyone he can so long as they don’t tick him off.”

[Denarii Station]

Avern looked up at the tavern called The Old ‘Port and grimaced inside her helmet. It looked just like any other dive in the galaxy, but this one had something she needed: information.

She walked through the entrance and immediately all eyes turned to her. Everyone was looking at her gray beskar-gam, clearly unsure what to make of her. Had she not had her helmet on, the chances are that many wouldn’t pay her as much attention; her gender and height had always made people underestimate her, usually with deadly results—for them.

Slowly she made her way to the bar, her helmet’s Heads-Up-Display catching sight of the people behind her whispering. Let them tell their tales about me; the reality would just hurt their heads.

The barman—a plump man who looked to be in his fifties—acknowledged her with a simple nod as he wiped clean a glass in his hands. Avern knew of this being, but had never personally interacted with him or his tavern. She didn’t much enjoy these types of establishments, but knew they were necessary for certain aspects of the galaxy.

“What can I get for you?” asked the man, still cleaning the glass. “We only have a small selection, I’m afraid, so it’ll be all you can get.”

“I need some information on a Mandalorian named Navaro,” she said through her voice filter. “I’ve been told you have information concerning the current whereabouts of my fellow Mando’ade.”

The barman started a bit and dropped the glass. The shattering of the glass hitting the floor sounded out through the silence of the tavern. “Navaro?” he asked, a slight quiver in his voice. “I don’t know the man. He’s a Mando; don’t you all keep tabs on each other?”

Avern grinned at inside her helmet. Ah, I love it when they slip up. “Funny,” she said, “I don’t think I mentioned it was a man.” She leaned over the bar and looked at the barman, poking his belly with a gloved-finger. “Give him up, fat man, or else I’ll make you wish you were wearing this armor instead of me.”

He looked past her to try and get the attention of the clientele—some of which were beginning to quickly leave the tavern. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, really!”

She looked at him and then stepped back from the bar. She just stood there for a few moments, motionless, and then quickly drew her blaster and fired a shot past the man’s shoulder. A light singe blackened his shirt and he cowered backward. She centered the weapon on him and shook the finger of her other hand. “Now, let’s try this again. Where can I find Navaro?”

He whimpered slightly tried to back up more than what the wall would allow. “I don’t know for certain! All I know is he’s the second-in-command for some crazy Mando named Caronte. I don’t know where he is now, but I know where he used to be.”

“That will have to do…for now.”

“He used to hang out at Spike’s Joint in the Torque system. Owed me some money, had it wired to me from there. Don’t know where he’s at right now, honest!”

She glared at him for a moment before putting away the blaster. “Don’t talk about this little exchange to anyone—especially Navaro. If I find out you’ve tattled, well, let’s just say that The Old ‘Port here will be looking for a new barman.”

“Of course…, you’ve got it…, not a word!” sputtered the man, still up against the wall behind the bar.

Avern turned toward the tavern’s exit and walked out, her booted feet hitting the station promenade’s deck plates. Just another stop on the find-Caronte-tour. She switched over to frequency inside her helmet and she was instantly greeted with a series of astromech beeps and whistles. “Dart,” she said to the droid on the other end of the transmission, “prepare the ship for departure. We’re heading to the Torque system”

[Kay Ron System]

Four X-wings flew patrol in the standard diamond formation.

The Kay Ron system was small, consisting of a single medium sized star and four planets. Of the four planets, two were inhabitable; one was called Kay and the other was called Ron—the names of their two discoverers thousands of years ago. It wasn't the most elegant of names, but neither Kay nor Ron were really the most elegant of people. The two men, pirates, made a base in the unnamed system and it remained a little known secret. When the two men shot each other in a dispute, the coordinates were lost. Eventually, a Rebel ship happened upon the system. The crew found the pirates’ ship and decoded the logs to learn of the system’s discovery. They decided to honor the two men for their discovery by naming the system after them. Afterwards, the system was turned into a secret base from which the Rebellion could stage assaults throughout the mid-rim.

The flight of X-wings swung around the planet Kay and started a route towards the edge of the system. As they flew they changed into a second arrow shaped formation, obviously taking time to practice different formations since they had the extra flight time during their four hour patrol. There were two starfighter squadrons at Kay Base, so that meant logging less hours so more pilots would be rested.

After passing the fourth, and last, planet, the four X-wings broke into a third formation and were about to start looping back when their sensor boards picked something up.

“Nine, this is Ten,” said a female voice. “I'm picking up a ship.”

“Copy that, Nine,” replied the Shistavanen flight leader, Lieutenant Sonn “Beserker” Ryles. “Let's break by pairs. Eleven, Twelve: you two hang back. Ten, with me.”

“Copy.”

“Copy.”

The four X-wings split by pairs and started to make their way towards the location of the signal. As they approached they noticed a Muurian-class transport that was heading their way. Just about everyone used the light freighters—Empire, Alliance, pirate, merchant, etc—so it could mean anything. The flight leader sighed... then spoke to his astromech. “Domer, patch me through to the transport.”

A moment later the patch was complete. “Unidentified transport, this is Bantha Nine. You have entered Alliance controlled space,” he said in a controlled voice. “Identify yourself or we'll be forced to consider you hostile and eliminate you.”

“Bantha Nine, do not fire. I repeat; do not fire,” replied the transport. “This is Ensign Nuvara Vin of the Alliance transport Time, we're SpecForce. I've got exhausted soldiers onboard and I'm low on fuel. Transmitting code now.”

Beserker looked at the code coming in and compared it to the code that had been given to him. It matched. His dog-like eyes narrowed as he looked at the transport for a moment and then nodded even though he knew he couldn't be seen. “Copy that, Time. Proceed. Banthas Eleven and Twelve will escort you.”

“Copy that, thanks, Bantha Nine.”

[Aboard the Demagol]

Collin Cillis cracked his neck as his fingers flew over the controls of the communications console, even though there was nothing going on. There wasn’t a lot of comm traffic to begin with for the Demagol, but the night shift had even less. He was beginning to get bored with his duties, but as a junior officer he knew the night shift was expected of him. Maybe I should have gone into piloting instead; I had all that training, and I decided on communications as a career. What an idiot.

“Ensign Cillis.”

Collin snapped around in his chair so fast that he wrenched his neck. And I just cracked it, too. “Lieutenant Olre!” he said to the officer-on-duty, who was now standing over his station. “Uh, what can I do for you, sir?”

“You can be yourself, Ensign,” said the superior officer, a smile spreading across his face. “Ease up, Collin; it’s the night shift. You’re so stiff that one would think you just graduated from the Academy this morning.”

Collin smiled uneasily at the lieutenant. He wasn’t sure what to make of his superiors trying to be friendly with him; it was the first time anyone but his fellow ensigns showed him the smallest measure of awareness beyond his duties. “I’ll try to get better at it, sir; just unused to so little activity. At the Academy, they ran me pretty ragged, and it’s been an adjustment here. I’m not even sure I know what it is, exactly, we do here, either.”

Olre’s smile faded and he lowered his voice. “It’s best not to ask too many questions, Ensign. Trust me on this; just do your duty, and don’t try to think about what goes on elsewhere aboard ship. You’ll live longer that way.” He gave Collin one last long glare before walking back to the center of the bridge.

Collin just blinked at the man and turned back to his console, trying to shake a nasty feeling swelling within him. I don’t want to know; I really don’t want to know.

The console started flashing before him and Collin nearly jumped in his seat. Moments ago he was complaining about there being no comm traffic, and suddenly he was receiving a transmission. His fingers danced over the controls once again. Hmmm, it looks to be a priority message for the ship’s commander. He studied the encryption coding closer. And it requires his immediate acknowledgement, Sithspit!.

Collin pulled the transmission off the mainframe and put it on a secure datapad. He secured his station and then stood up and walked over to Olre, coming to attention and saluting. “Permission to leave the bridge, sir.”

Olre stared at him for a moment before giving him permission to leave. Collin looked over his shoulder at the man for a moment before leaving the bridge; he could have sworn Olre looked as though he felt sorry for Collin.

He walked through several portions of the ship that he had never seen before; sometimes he had been restricted to the bridge and his quarters due to some sort of sensitive operation taking place, but most of the time he just had no real reason to go beyond the places he and his fellow crewmates lounged about. As he walked toward the cargo bay area—the last place the ship’s log showed Caronte to be—and became puzzled by the darkened lighting.

He heard some noise from up ahead and came to a stop. Voices became distinctive against the low hum of some electrical current, and soon he was able to make out words.

“I thought you learned your lesson earlier,” said the voice of Caronte. “But it seems as though I have to give another demonstration.”

“Wait,” said an unknown voice. “You don’t have to do this. We weren’t planning anything; we were just trying to get to know one another, to try and make this existence bearable!”

“Do you take me for a fool, fly boy? I know everything that goes on in here; this ship is my domain, my empire. And you’re beginning to foul it like a bad stench.”

Collin inched closer until he was just past the entrance to the cargo bay. He was shocked to see Caronte in front of what looked like a detention cell pointing a blaster to a man dressed in an orange flightsuit. A Rebel!

“I’m going to have to teach you another lesson, it seems. With some added incentive.” Caronte quickly turned his blaster to the Rebel’s cellmate, a Quarren in another orange flightsuit. He fired his blaster twice and the Quarren screamed in pain as both of his hands were blackened by the shots.

“Hacker!” yelled out the Rebel, helping his comrade keep upright.

“But, I’m not done yet, fly boy.” Caronte holstered his blaster and pulled out a long doubled-edged knife from his belt. He turned and walked out of view.

Collin inched even closer to the ordeal until his head turned the corner just in time to see Caronte enter another cell. A woman, wearing what looked like a physician’s operating gown, tried to back away from Caronte’s advances, her whimpered moans joining the outcry of anger from all around him.

Caronte stepped forward and plunged the knife into the woman’s chest, twisting the handle before pulling it out. The woman screamed in agony before falling to the floor, holding her chest tightly as blood gushed out.

“You Sithspawn!” yelled the Rebel. “She wasn’t even an Alliance prisoner; she looked as though she was a doctor!”

“She was; but, perhaps now you understand me better.” Caronte turned back around and looked at the Rebel. “Don’t try and toy with me, fly boy. I know what you do, when you do it, and how you try to get away with it. There won’t be another lesson; just a final examination.”

Collin was shocked at what he had just witnessed. Even though he knew the Empire believed in efficient tactics regardless of the moral outcomes, he had never personally seen something so horrible as what this Mandalorian just did on a whim. And he’s the one in charge of it all!.

Caronte turned around as if to leave and then saw Collin standing near the entrance. “Ah, Ensign Cillis, correct? Can I help you with something?”

Collin was too stunned to trust himself to speak. He held out the datapad for the man and tried as best as he could to come to full attention. Caronte took the datapad and glanced at it.

“Ah, a letter from the Admiralty. Hmmm, seems as though they want me to take on some more prisoners. Oh well, it’s not as if I don’t have room now.” He handed the datapad back to Collin and nodded. “Thank you, Ensign. You may return to the bridge.”

Collin saluted and then walked out of the cargo area as fast as he could without looking suspicious. He double-timed it back to the bridge, where Olre gave him a stare as he settled back into his seat.

He tried to get back to work on the comm traffic, but he couldn’t get the traumatic images out of his mind. What the Sith did I just witness? Who in the name of the Force is that guy?

It was then he knew that he had made a horrible mistake going to the Academy; he needed to get out of the Imperial Navy or else he’d die inside.

[Command Center Office; Kay Base; Kay Ron System]

“That's quite a story you got there, Captain,” replied Colonel Arneyan, commander of the base.

He was jowly and his hairline has receded behind his head already. The older man folded his hands together and set his elbows on the table. “But that doesn't excuse the fact that I sent you in with eight of the best Special Forces marines in the Rebel Alliance and you return with only five?”

“I'm... sorry, sir,” replied Captain Hal “Shadow” Striker, wearing his best dress uniform. “I—” he started to say, when he was cut off by the Colonel. “I—”

“And who are these three stragglers you brought with you?” he asked, and grabbed the datapad from his desk. He squinted at the pad for a moment before turning his head back to Hal. “Ri'chard? Mandal? Kx’li?”

“My new team members,” Hal replied immediately. It had already been decided on the trip here and he wasn't going to argue about it with the colonel. While the colonel was a marine himself apart from commander of Kay base, he still wasn't Hal's superior. Hal reported much higher up. “And, as such, you should treat them with the respect they deserve. They lost over half of their team. Sir.”

“Be careful how you speak to me, Captain, or I'll make sure you're diggin' trenches on Tatooine within the hour.” growled the colonel. His eyes narrowed as he stared the SpecForce officer down.

“I don't think so, Colonel.” replied Hal coolly. After that last mission, he was through dealing with issues like this. “I report to a man that reports directly to Mon Mothma, and I'm pretty sure that she can have you digging trenches on Tatooine within the next ten minutes.”

“You wouldn't dare.”

Hal stared back at him; he was clearly tired and didn't want to sit through this. Twenty-four hours ago he was fighting his way off of Corsin.

“If you would please hand me the comm unit, Colonel.”

[Command Center; Kay Base; Kay Ron System]

The new executive officer of Special Operations Squad Six or, as it was now known, the Red Rancors, preferred to stand. He stood, leaning against the metallic wall with his arms crossed and his eyes closed, though his ears were listening for the slightest sound of the door to his right to slide open. He occasionally heard raised voices, but wasn’t able to make out the words. He knew the conversation included him and his team—or what was left of them. The loss of life he’d had to edure recently was staggering.

The pips he wore on his collar belonged to a dead man—SOS Team Six’s XO was killed on Corsin—and it made the new lieutenant feel awkward wearing them. Captain Striker had asked him to take the man’s place as his XO just after he, Kyle, and Kx’li agreed to join up with the Rebel Alliance. How could he say no? For now, it was more like a field promotion and wouldn’t be official until it was on record.

Lieutenant Mitch “Rev” Ri'chard sighed deeply. He would honor the man.

There was a slight swoosh made by the door as it opened. Mitch immediately stood up and turned towards the door to see who would come out. For a moment no one did, and then Striker passed through and stopped. The door closed behind him and the younger man held the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed for a few moments. Mitch took a step towards his new CO.

“Are you alright?” he asked, lifting his right hand slightly.

“Ah? Rev, yeah. I'm fine,” Striker replied. He offered Mitch a half-hearted smile.

“Good.” Mitch shrugged. If Captain Striker said he was alright, then he must be. Mitch still didn't know the man that well; he knew it wouldn’t take long though before they were on a first name basis. He was tired, but, although he was in very good shape, he couldn't be sure if the younger man felt the effects the same way that he did. There were both, after all, getting older. Whatever the case, Mitch decided to change the subject before it became an uncomfortable moment. “So, what did Colonel Arneyan say?”

There was a pause and then Striker finally shrugged. He held his right hand and offered him a datapad. Mitch took it and started reading the text that scrolled down it.

“Welcome to the Rebel Alliance, here's our first mission, Lieutenant Ri'chard.”

[Torque System]

Avern walked through the dusty streets of the darkened city, standing out as usual with her beskar’gam. The “citizens” of this city seemed much more willing to give her a wide berth without the obnoxious stares—she most likely wasn’t the first Mandalorian to walk these streets, as criminal gang bosses loved to employ them for their dirty work.

Not far ahead was a lopsided sign flashing “Spike’s Joint” in Huttese and Galactic Basic alternately. Beings of all sort littered the area around the tavern, some publically intoxicated; one Zeltron was so badly juiced up that she was dancing around with very little clothing, even for a Zeltron. Avern ignored a wink from the woman as she walked by and through the entrance.

The tavern was full of beings, several intoxicated like the ones outside. No one seemed to pay her attention as she walked up to the bar and rapped her fist on the surface.

“What can I do you for?” asked a Twi’lek.

“I’m looking for Navaro. I’ve been told he was here for a while.”

The Twi’lek looked a little nervous and, for a moment, Avern thought she was going to have to tear this place apart, too. But, he wised up and cleared his throat. “I don’t know exactly where he is, but he has been known to do some jobs for Bwahl. The slug may be able to give you some better information; other than that, I can’t help you.”

Avern gave the Twi’lek a lengthy analysis before nodding and turning around. She knew it would probably come to this, and wished she had just gone to the Hutt first. Though she doubted she was going to get close to the slug, she was sure that she would be able to find something out from one of his lieutenants.

It didn’t take her long to trudge up to the Hutt’s headquarters, marked by the presence of several lackluster looking characters guarding the entrance. She walked up to one of them, a Weequay, and took him by the throat, being careful not to completely crush his windpipe. “I need to speak to Bwahl’s majordomo,” she said to the others who were aiming their weapons at her. “Now, please, before I snap his trachea.”

She was sure that several of them didn’t know what a trachea was, but one of the guards—a Rodian—left the scene and returned in a few minutes with a Twi’lek who looked as though he had just been woken up. “What do you want?” he asked, seeming to repress a yawn in his speech.

“Are you the majordomo?”

“That is me.”

“I require Navaro’s location. Not where he used to be, not where he’s likely at, but his current and up-to-date location.” She squeezed the Weequay’s throat a bit more to get her point across. “I have no quarrel with you or your boss, but I must know Navaro’s location.”

The Twi’lek just stared for a moment, as if contemplating what to do. Why should he really care if the Weequay died in service to Bwahl? It’s not as if the being was paid much, and there were plenty more where he came from. There always seemed to be an endless supply of miscreants devoted to doing the bidding of scum like the Hutts.

“Very well,” the majordomo said at last. He motioned for the others to lower their weapons. “He’s aboard a starship commanded by a fellow Mandalorian; the lot of you are everywhere it seems. I don’t know for certain where he is right now, but the ship is due to be in the Selitan system soon.”” He reached into his vest and pulled out a datapad and worked on it for a few moments before offering it to Avern. “It’s all on here. Completely verifiable.”

Avern let go of the Weequay, pushing him into several of the other guards. “Thank you,” she said while taking the datapad. “I trust I won’t ever have reason to come here again.”

“See that you don’t. Mandalorian or not, the guards will waste you before you get within fifty feet of the place.”

She grinned behind her helmet and walked away, keeping her right hand resting on the butt of her blaster just to make sure. Once the building was out of sight of her HUD, she relaxed a little bit as she journeyed back to the landing pads.

Once she got to her X-wing she looked at the small blue astromech. “Start her up, Dart. And bring up the communications protocols.” The droid bleeped a response as Avern climbed up the service ladder and settled herself into the cockpit. The starfighter’s systems began to spark to life and the low hum of the engines became music to her filtered ears.

The communications screen blinked before her. She punched up her personal protocols and encryptions and selected the most secure she could find. “Group Leader to Lone Star.”

A few moments passed and then a crisp male voice responded. “This is Lone Star. Go ahead, Group Leader.”

“Gather the forces, Commander,” she said as she finished preparing the X-wing for lift off. “We’ve got the ship’s location.” And soon I’ll have the man’s head.

[Kay Base; Kay Ron System]

“I don't like it.” Captain Dirr “Jet” Sol, leader of Bantha Squadron, crossed his arms. He furrowed his brow, an obvious sign of the balding man's annoyance. “It should be a Rebel saving Rebel prisoners, not some contracted merc. We're supposed to have higher standards than this; if not, we're just like the Empire!”

His executive officer, Lieutenant Chris “Lock” Layne, stood near him with a datapad in his hand. The two were alone in one of the base’s various briefing rooms. The lights were dimmed so the holoprojector could be seen more easily, and the notes from the mission briefing they had just gone over replayed over and over again. Lock was wearing his blue flight suit, completely contrasting his commanding officer in an orange one. The black haired man shrugged. “The plan is sound though, Jet.”

“I know it is.” Jet glared at Lock. “That's probably was annoys me the most.”

Lock chuckled. “Why?”

“I don't know, it just does.” Jet sighed and moved away from the holoprojector, pacing. “Plus, who does she think she is? Bantha is flying this Op; she should be on the command ship, leading like she's being paid to do... not flying right there! She doesn't even have a wingmate! She's going to throw off all the tactics we've been working on since we formed this squadron.”

“That was two weeks ago, Jet,” Lock said, trying to calm his friend. “I mean, we haven't even been on a mission yet. Things can change, trust me.”

“We'll see, we'll see.” Jet sighed and finally stopped, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. “How much longer until the rest of the squadron gets here?”

“I would assume that the first stragglers should be arriving right about—” Lock cut off as, right on cue, the first few pilots started arriving. They both remained silent until the ten remaining pilots of the squadron made it into the briefing room.

When they had finally all arrived, Jet stepped forward.

“So, we finally have a mission—”

[Kay Base; Kay Ron System]

“— and I know you're all tired, but this is a big one.”

Hal stood in front of seven soldiers. At his back, Lieutenant Ri’chard stood next to the holoprojector that would play the mission briefing when they got to it. The Red Rancors all looked as exhausted as Hal felt, and part of him wanted to say he was sorry for putting them in yet another dangerous position when so many of their friends had died so little time ago... but that was the way the Rebel Alliance worked. Desperation didn't leave much room for rest and mourning, no matter the situation.

One of the marines lifted his hand, a young Mandalorian. Corporal Kyle “Gnoizic” Mandal, one of Rev’s Rancors and a Mandalorian, was one of the youngest in the unit, but he fought like a beast—Hal had had the honor of fighting with him on the botched mission on Corsin, and Hal had readily welcomed him into the squad along with Rev and Guns, the Verpine named Kx'li.

“Already? I thought we'd get some rest,” said Mandal. “I mean, we only just got here.”

“I was hoping for some rest, too,” Hal answered, “but the Alliance is in dire straits. Yavin is still blockaded, so there are not as many personnel available as one might wish.” He looked at them, allowing his face to become somewhat more serious. “In any case, once you hear what the mission is about, I'm sure you'll understand the importance of it.”

“Mmruv wishes to know,” said the Togarian sergeant and the squad's medic, Mmruv “Feral” Frego.

“As you know, the Alliance has constantly been running the Imperial blockade trying to get supplies in and personnel out of the Yavin system. It's not as easy as we might hope, especially considering that we're outmanned and outgunned. Some ships make it and others...” Hal shook his head slightly. “Others simply don't make it... they're captured or destroyed. The Empire has been transferring all their prisoners to prison ships and have basically been collecting our people. A few days ago, two of our squadrons were captured while they attempted to destroy an Imperial convoy.”

Hal paused momentarily, and then added “Our mission is to get those pilots back.”

There was silence for a few moments. Then the Rancors’ Arkanian demolitions expert, Private Rin “Wreith” Kai, spoke up. “Where do you need me to set the charges, sir?”

A slight smile grew on Hal's lips. “Lieutenant, if you would please let Private Kai know.”

“It would be a pleasure, sir.” Ri’chard replied, and started walking the squad through the briefing.

[Jet's X-wing; Kay Ron System]

Thirteen X-wings flew towards the edge of the hidden star system, making their way to a nav buoy that would send them en route to their first mission together. Soon, they would be followed by their command ship, a yacht named Lone Star, and the transport Time, carrying the Red Rancors. The X-wings flew in three diamond formations, divided by flights; the second flight had an additional X-wing, making them five instead of the typical four.

“We're approaching the nav buoy,” said Bantha Leader.

“Copy that, Bantha Leader,” replied the female voice of Captain Avern. She was the overall commander of this mission and would be known as “Group Leader” throughout the operation. “Proceed to hyperspace by flights, everyone knows their positions. As soon as we reach the target system we will keep comm silence until my signal.”

“Copy that, Group Leader.” Jet's voice did not show any of the annoyance he'd had the day before at the briefing. He seemed to be keeping his cool; now wasn't the time for any of that. He needed to get the mission done and make sure all of his people came home alive. He would be speaking to his superiors upon his return, though. “You heard the captain, Banthas. Three Flight, you're first.”

“Copy, Lead.” The four X-wings of Three Flight lead by Beserker boosted their speed and went on ahead. They passed the buoy and activated their hyperspace engines. Seconds later, they were gone.

“Two Flight, you're up next.”

Lock didn't reply immediately but he did start to throttle up his fighter. His flight followed suit. Just as they passed the buoy Jet heard his XO's voice, “See you on the other side.”

Before Jet could reply, Two Flight plus Group Leader had jumped to hyperspace. The pilot sighed and started maneuvering towards the buoy. He pulled on his yoke and noticed that his wingmate, Iddo “Wire” Geva, kept up with him. He and Lock had really picked out the best of the batch at that training facility. Smiling to himself, Jet reassured himself. Everything is going to be alright, he thought as they passed the buoy.

“Alright, One Flight. You know the drill,” he said into his comm. “Prepare for hyperspace jump in three... two... one... mark!”

The final four X-wings of Bantha Squadron jumped into hyperspace in unison.

[Selitan System]

The Selitan System was little known, truth be told, and if not for its positioning in the blockaded Gordian Reach that covered the sector in which Yavin was located, the planet would remain largely ignored. It was a mining planet of little or no importance; even the available information about it didn't say what they mined there. Sometimes ships would pass through this system or set down on the planet to get provisions or to escape notice, but, other than that, it was very unimportant.

Several million klicks from the planet was a fairly large asteroid belt that circled the entire system, walling away the world in its disc-shaped formation that floated in slow rotation around the Selitan sun.

A Carrack-class cruiser exited hyperspace near this asteroid belt and started to slowly make its way with it. There was a certain area, little known to most spacers, in which the metals in the rocks created a scramble effect on long-range sensors that would impede any passersby in the system to even realize that there was a ship floating out there. Perhaps the only real way for someone to notice was to know the exact calibrations needed for the sensors or to physically see the ship floating out there. Both of these were highly unlikely.

The Carrack floated slowly into the sensor shadow and stopped its engines on the edge of the asteroid belt and waited silently. It did not wait long; minutes later, another ship appeared in the area, a simple Corellian corvette with the markings of an Imperial ship. It floated up to the Carrack and positioned itself alongside its beat up hull. A boarding tube started to slide from its side and the Carrack did the same, meeting each other half way. There was a lock.

Transfer could begin.

[Aboard the Demagol; Selitan System]

Collin was still very uneasy about what he saw the other day in the cargo bay. That the Empire was occasionally cruel in its efficiency was nothing new to him—they had drilled that into him at the Academy—but to just murder someone who didn’t even have a chance of fighting back, who wasn’t even an enemy combatant…It just didn’t sit right with him, and it made him question everything he had been taught.

He gave a side glance to Caronte as he stood in the center of the bridge. The incident didn’t seem to have bothered the Mandalorian at all. Of course it wouldn’t; Mandos are crazy. And here they were, about to take on even more prisoners—playthings for the good captain to enjoy.

Collin turned back to his console just in time to see a small flash appear on one of the lower communication bands. Frowning, he brought up a list of protocols and encryptions that both the Empire and Caronte’s personal friends used and couldn’t match the signal. He double-checked to make sure it wasn’t coming from the corvette; it wasn’t.

Leaning over his console, Collin’s fingers danced on the controls until he was able to pinpoint the source of the transmissions. He couldn’t find a single source; it was as if there were several grouped together in close proximity. Finally, working on a hunch, he ran the transmissions through a personal identification program he constructed and matched them to low-level transmissions coming from and going to astromech droids.

His mind raced for a moment. Imperial starships sometimes had astromechs, but none were ever jacked into a communication terminal. No Imperial starfighters were capable of having astromechs, and pirates usually opted for the quick strike option which meant interceptors. That left only one conclusion: Rebel Alliance fighters were about to attack the Demagol.

Collin turned toward the Mandalorian and started to open his mouth, but quickly stopped himself. He had no real love for the Rebels, but he really didn’t care for Caronte. Staying aboard this Force-forsaken ship would only continue to kill him inside; and he knew he would never be able to stand up to Caronte, or else he’d end up in that cargo bay himself—or worse.

He sat there and thought about the possible outcomes of a Rebel attack. Sure, he may die in the process, but there was an equal chance that Caronte would, too. And if for some reason Collin survived, he wouldn’t have to see another execution from the Empire’s favorite Mando—unless it was his own.

He turned back to the console and looked at his detailed program results. Looking around to make sure no one was paying him attention, Collin quickly deleted the details of his program and went so far as to purge the program itself. He sat there a moment and smiled slightly at his handiwork and awaited the inevitable.

Come and get it.

[Lock's X-wing; Selitan System]

“There they are,” Avern's voice broke the comm silence that had reigned for the past two hours, making Lock sit up in his ejection seat and start touching buttons.

His starfighter started coming to life; the bleeps of the buttons, the hum of his engines and the powering up of his cockpit prepped the ex-Imperial pilot. He felt that typical anxiety that was felt before missions... he hadn't flown in combat for nearly three months; he could only wonder what the other pilots in Bantha Squadron were feeling. Apart from himself and Jet, only Beserker and Diah “Alien” Drugo had any combat experience, and neither had as much of it as one could hope of it. Lock pushed these thoughts away. He had trained these pilots; he knew what they were capable of. They were the best out of the batch... they would prove their worth today.

“This is Bantha Leader,” Lock heard the voice of his CO come up on the communications line. “All fighters prepare for combat. I repeat; all fighters prepare for combat. Follow your flight leaders; you know your orders. May the Force be with you all.”

Lock clicked a response and heard the rest of the squadron comply. He then hit a different button and changed the comm frequency priorities. “Fate,” he said, speaking to the black R2 unit that was tucked into the back of his fighter. R2-F8 had been with him since he joined the Rebel Alliance and started flying X-wings. “Put Two Flight's comm frequency as a priority, but filter in the comm chatter from the rest of the squad a little lower in. Make sure that I can hear whatever Group Leader says.”

The beeped a response and Lock thanked him, before hitting the comm button. “Alright, Two Flight. You know the drill. If anything comes out of that Carrack, it belongs to us. We'll be breaking into a pair and a shield trio for this mission. Group Leader, you're with me.”

“Copy, Five,” replied Avern and Lock smiled slightly. At least she wasn't arguing with him like he had half expected; sometimes operational commanders would let their egos get in the way of how missions should be run. Her starfighter settled to the right of Lock creating a wedge-shaped formation between himself, her and Bantha Six, the younger pilot Toro, a Devaronian.

“As soon as we encounter the enemy, we break and start picking them off. Remember, Carracks carry a maximum compliment of six fighters. This should be a piece of cake.”

“Speak for yourself, Five.” replied Alien, Bantha Eight. “You can keep the cake, sir, I’ll keep my life.”

Lock chuckled slightly. “Let's get moving. On my mark. Three, two, one. Mark!”

Five X-wing fighters lifted up from the asteroids they were hiding on. It had taken a little bit but they had managed to land on the larger ones and, with their shields up, they had been able to avoid any pieces of rock that might damage their fighters. At a distance, Lock could see Jet's One Flight lifting off from their asteroid and start making their way towards their designated target, the corvette and its compliment of starfighters.

It took mere minutes for the X-wings to clear the asteroids and start making their way towards their target. As they flew, Lock made sure everything was in order and fiddled around with his shield settings and laser settings as they charged forward. It didn't take long for his wingmate's voice to come over the comm. Toro was one of the better pilots among the new guys in the squadron and had been assigned to Lock for fear that some of the others might not be able to keep up with him.

[Aboard the Demagol; Selitan System]

“Captain!” shouted Olre from his tactical station. “I’m picking up several new contacts on an approach vector. They’re too far out to make a clear identification, but I don’t think they’re friendlies.”

Caronte quickly walked over to the tactical station and peered over Olre’s shoulder. He frowned as he looked over the information and then cursed in Mando’a. “Someone decided to come knocking on our front door. Power up the defensive systems, Lieutenant, and prepare to engage. Send out the TIEs and tell the corvette to do the same.”

He walked over to the communications console and peered down at the young ensign. “Cillis, send out the following Imperial code in all directions: Alpha-Seven-Nine-Two-Tango.”

Cillis looked up at the Mandalorian with a puzzled expression. “Sir, that’s not any Imperial code that I’m aware of.”

Caronte stared at the man. “Send the code, Ensign, or else I’ll make sure you take an EV walk, without the benefit of a life-support system.” He walked back to the center of the bridge and stood there like an attraction piece. “All hands, prepare to engage the enemy.”

[Lock’s X-wing; Selitan System]

“Five, Six here, my R2 is reporting six TIE Fighters launching from the Carrack,” said the younger pilot that was flying to the left of Lock.

Fate had already reported this, though, so Lock was well-informed by the time that the Devaronian pilot spoke up. “Copy that, Six,” he replied and set his starfighter to point straight at the incoming TIEs.

Lock recalled his Imperial training and knew that the TIEs would probably be flying in groups of three considering that the odds were overwhelming. Including the four TIE Fighters that launched from the corvette--Fate had just reported this launch—enemy forces came out undermanned and undergunned. A TIE Fighter was no match for an X-wing unless in the hands of a very, very good pilot, most of which would be in better squadrons rather than defending a beat up old ship like the one they were attacking. In total, it was ten TIE Fighters against twelve X-wings... Surely, the pilots flying the Imperial fighters already knew that they were probably going to die under salvos of red laser fire. One part of Lock actually felt bad for them; he'd been in the same position for many years and, if not for the massacre which was called the “Battle of Crolles,” he might still be in one of those death cans. Well, honestly, probably not. He was too good to waste on a TIE Fighter, he'd probably be flying a TIE Interceptor like he had used to fly. A sly grin grew on his lips.

“Better you than us,” he said finally, to himself since no one would be able to hear him.

“This is Bantha Leader,” came Jet's voice over the comm. “We have contact.”

“Copy, Lead,” Lock replied and looked forward.

The TIE Fighters that his flight would be engaging were still two kilometers away... any moment now they would be in weapons range. He toggled his cannons to quad-fire and aimed directly at the cockpit of the lead TIE. His HUD suddenly picked up the target and Fate whistled out a tone from behind him. Without doubting, Lock squeezed the trigger and four red bolts raced toward their target.

“This is Five, Two Flight has contact.”

[Meg Avern's X-wing; Selitan System]

As soon as contact was made with the flight of TIE Fighters, all chaos broke out.

“That should even out the odds,” said Lock.

“Nice shot, Five,” said Avern, complementing the pilot.

Lock's well placed shot tore through the cockpit of its target and the remaining five TIEs broke off to reform. She, of course, didn't plan to allow them enough time to do so. Targeting a new TIE she set her throttle to full and pushed forward with Lock and Toro in an attempt to hunt down the fighters that remained. She noticed her target making a wild brake to the left and she pulled on the yoke in an attempt to follow it.

“Group Leader breaking off,” she said quickly into the commlink and veered towards her target. She was already well on her way by the time she received the confirmation from Lock.

The TIE was doing its best to survive, although Avern considered it a futile attempt. No one escaped when they had a Mandalorian on their tail, even if the Mando had to chase them to the end of the galaxy. Hopefully, though, this wouldn't be the case. The TIE was rolling this way and that, twisting itself with the fighter's well known uncanny agility which made it hard to get off a clean shot.

Her lasers were on dual-link and she fired a couple of times, testing which way the pilot would react. Her first shot had skimmed to the left of it and it rapidly juked to the right. The next shot she placed slightly to the right of it, forcing the TIE to spin wildly to the left. Avern quickly decided that this pilot did things by the book... standard evasive maneuvers, nothing “outside the box” and nothing that she couldn't handle.

She pushed her throttle forward, closing the space between her and her objective as much as she could as she followed the enemy as closely as possible. When she got in closer she toggled through her firing displays and set her lasers on quad-fire.

Quad-fire always made things a little bit harder; it meant that the pilot had to shoot right on target to make sure that the full power of all four cannons landed on the objective. If not, there was a higher amount of energy wasted. Some pilots preferred to always go full quad, though, which was something that Avern found a little hard to do herself. There were circumstances, though, in which quads were better... and at this close range, it was one of them.

Just as she was about to squeeze the trigger, the TIE Fighter ducked behind one of the asteroids, forcing Avern to follow. She pulled hard on her stick to skim the surface of the asteroid as she pulled up behind the TIE. She looked up momentarily, noticing that the surface of the asteroid was no more than five feet above her head.

She trimmed down her speed and twisted her flight stick so she could follow her objective on a long loop and settled behind the TIE Fighter. She did not waste the opportunity; she squeezed the trigger and the four red lasers tore through the eyeball shaped cockpit of the TIE, blowing it up instantly. Avern doubted that the pilot had even realized that he'd been hit before his body was torn to shreds by the explosion.

“One more eyeball down.”

“Copy that, Group Leader. There's a few more back here if you want seconds,” Lock replied. Though his tone seemed calm, it was clear that there was some anxiety behind the typical pilot bravado.

Avern realized that in her attempt to take down the TIE she'd gotten separated from the rest of the flight and was about two kilometers out. She cursed to herself and set a course back towards the carrack. “Copy, Five, be there in a minute. Save me one.”

“Can't promise you anything, Group Leader. Banthas are really tearing up these eyeballs.”

Avern couldn't help but grin.

[Liz's X-wing; Selitan System]

Unlike most other reptilian species, Trandoshans had no tails and therefore could fit into the cockpit of an X-wing fighter. This was the case with Bantha Four, Flight Officer Thasskai “Liz” Lisskar.

Liz knew that she was probably the only Trandoshan in the Rebellion, but she didn't care—she was bound by her honor to battle the Empire in all its forms. The daughter of a Trandoshan slaver, her entire family had been slain at the hands of Imperial officers after a deal for Wookiee slaves had gone wrong. The Trandoshan deity known as “The Scorekeeper” demanded that Liz exact revenge. Who knew what would await her in the afterlife if she didn't?

Her wingmate, a Human with the callsign of Rapier, followed her as she veered, juked and rolled behind the TIE Fighter that was her prey. The TIE's pilot was doing his best to survive. Liz did not appreciate this.

“Ssstupid eyeball!” she yelled to no one in particular, slamming her foot on the floor of the cockpit in frustration.

“Calm down, Three,” said the squadron commander. “Keep your head cool and you'll get him.”

“Yessssir,”...” she replied and forced herself to relax. Suddenly she noticed that she had lost the TIE Fighter that she'd been chasing. Anger immediately struck her as she swung her X-wing to the left and scoured the sensor board in search of her elusive prey... only to realize that—

“Three! Juke left!” yelled her wingmate.

Liz responded immediately, throwing her craft to the side just as a volley of green death went past where Liz had just been. She yanked on the stick again and rolled her craft and started weaving as fast as she could as she avoided the various green blasts that flew past her. Various hits landed on her rear shields and her free hand toggled through switches and shield settings to make sure they didn't collapse and expose the engines.

“Turn left, Three, I've got you!”

“Copy, Four!”

She turned hard to the left again and flew straight, knowing that the TIE was on her tail. She instinctively wanted to crane her neck and look around for Rapier's X-wing, but she knew that if she did so she would become distracted, and a much easier target for the TIE on her back.

Suddenly, she saw Rapier's X-wing right in front of her and she knew what he was up to. She waited a second more before cutting her speed down and pointing the nose of her fighter straight down and throttling to full speed. It was a sharp turn that hopefully would surprise the TIE pilot and give Rapier the few seconds he needed to get the shot off and save her from her assailant.

“Got him!”

The TIE started turning to follow, but he had reacted too late. Red lasers from the X-wing slammed into the cockpit of the TIE Fighter, destroying it almost instantly.

“Thanksss, Four,” she replied, somewhat annoyed. It had been her kill, but she had allowed it to escape. She started to look for a new prey when Jet's voice came over the comm.

“All TIEs cleared here.”

Liz cursed.

“Five reporting, we've dealt with these TIEs, too,” said Lock from another point in the battlefield.

Liz cursed again.

“Copy that, One and Five.” Now it was Captain Avern talking. “I'll inform the Lone Star that we're ready for her. One Flight, work on that Carrack’s shields and make sure that it doesn't get away.”

Liz was about to curse again when she looked at their new target.

It was pretty big prey.

[Aboard the Lone Star; Selitan System]

“Sir, we've received the signal from Group Leader.”

Richard looked at Ensign Tills from his captain's chair and stood up. He had a serious expression on his face—they were about to go into a combat situation aboard a bucket-like pleasure barge with an ion cannon welded onto it. He folded his arms and looked directly ahead.

“Take us in,” he ordered.

He didn't need a response from the helm. He immediately felt Alexa move the ship into the microjump and, for a moment, the stars blended into a blue vortex seconds later they were appearing in system.

He immediately saw that all thirteen X-wings were still there and that they'd cleared all the TIE Fighters in a matter of minutes. Now, One Flight was attacking the cruiser's shields. Richard couldn't help but let a slight grin grow on his lips. The mission was going perfectly as planned.

“Tell the Rancors to launch. Bring us into position,” the commander said, gearing up for the battle. “Let's get this over with... we're on the clock!”

[Aboard the Time; Selitan System]

“Here we go!” Ensign Nuvara “Nick” Vin, the Twi’lek pilot of the newly formed Red Rancors’ dropship, Time, shouted to his passengers. His hands then proceeded to dart all over the controls of the Muurian Transport. They hadn’t had much time to prepare for this mission. Who knew what surprises could await them.

Hal acknowledged the pilot’s warning from the rear of the ship. “Thanks, Nick. Let us know as soon as we’re ready to begin docking procedures.”

“Roger that, sir.”

Hal turned to his squad sitting around him. They looked tired. It was only a couple days ago that they were fighting for their lives to escape Corsin. And, they were only able to get away because of the sacrifice of a few of his men, and that of several of Ri’chard’s men. He hadn’t even had enough time to put them in for posthumous awards for bravery when this mission came up.

“Okay,” Hal said as he looked at each one of his squad, “I know this came up rather quickly and we haven’t really had time to properly plan, but that’s just how it goes in our line of work. You all know that. Anyway, this is a simple board and disable. Let’s quickly go over again what we’re doing. Mitch…you, Kaiana, and Ciero get to the bridge and lock it down tight. With the corvette docked, she’s not going to be able to power up and get away very quickly, so we’ll have a few minutes to take the bridge and keep it there.”

“Will do,” Ri’chard answered.

Hal turned slightly to face Ri’chard and added, “Mitch, I know that you’re not used to working with Kaiana and Ciero yet, but we have to make this work.”

“No problem.” Ri’chard put his arms around the two beings sitting on either side of him. “I’m sure we’ll be fast friends by the end of this.”

Ciero bared his teeth. It was the Cathar equivalent to a smile. Kaiana just bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement. Of course, it could have just been that her long Kaminoan neck was getting tired from the lack of head clearance.

“Glad to hear it,” Hal said as he moved on. “Mmruv, your team is last out. Make the seal and let Nick know when he’s clear. Then get to the other side and get rid of the corvette. After that, it’ll be Bantha’s job to take care of the corvette. Then get to the cargo hold and take out any guards and secure the prisoners so that, when the Lone Star docks, we’ll be able to quickly transfer them over from the cruiser. You’ll have Mandal and Guns.”

Sergeant Frego held up his large clawed hand. “Mmruv gladly accepts Mandal and Guns’ help in liberating the prisoners.”

Hal nodded his head in agreement then continued, “Kai and Rybs, you’ll be with me. We’re going to disable the engines so the Carrack can’t go anywhere while we get the prisoners off and onto the Lone Star.”

“Yes, sir,” said Privates Kai and Rybayan “Rybs” Sivrak in unison.

“Everyone, check your gear and do a quick comms check. We should be there and ready to roll in no time at all.”

With that the squad broke up into their respective fireteams and did a once over of their gear. After some very brief comms checks, they were all ready to go.

[Aboard the Demagol; Selitan System]

The Time very quickly moved into position to initiate a docking procedure with the Degamol, on the opposite side from the docked corvette. Vin was an excellent freighter pilot. To him, this little maneuver was old hat.

Vin got his callsign after several times getting the SOS Team 6 squad in and out of tight situations. He was known for being there right in the nick of time. So, Nuvara joked to anyone that would listen, “They call me the Nick of Time…ya get it? Nick…of Time!” Most of the time the response was just a little chuckle like someone forced to laugh at something that wasn’t really all that funny. All that was missing was the drum and symbol crash.

Vin brought the transport to a halt on a dime and started the docking sequence. Striker and the rest of the Rancors waited patiently for the distinct sound of the vacuum seal and then sprang into action. One by one they jumped through the docking tube into the belly of the cruiser. They only had a second to wait before the blaster fire erupted.

“Ok! Get going!” Striker yelled into his throat comm. Then he turned to his right and started down the corridor, followed by Kai and Sivrak, to the rear of the ship where they would find the engine room…and their mission objective.

Ri’chard turned left and went the opposite way towards the bridge. Kaiana and Ciero were right behind him.

Mmruv barked directions to Mandal and Kx’li to lay down suppression fire while he sealed the hole in which they all came so that the Time could break the docking connection. Then they’d be on their own until the Lone Star docked.

It only took Mmruv half a minute to make a seal and comm Vin that the Time was clear to go. He heard the connection break and just barely heard the sound of the transport’s engines powering up, then turned to his next objective…which was on the opposite side of the cruiser from where they were now.

“Okay, the Time’s free. Let’s get going.”

The three of them advanced into the corridor, picking off Stormtroopers one at a time. There were more than they had anticipated though, so their advance to the hatch between the cruiser and the corvette was slower than they had liked.

As they carefully rounded the corner, Mmruv could see the guards posted on either side of the docking hatch. Fortunately, it looked like the Imperials were already finishing up the prisoner transfer, so they should be able to rescue all of them. But, to do so, they needed to get to that hatch and break the connection.

Before he could turn his head, Kx’li had taken a flash bang off of his bandoleer and tossed it between them and the guards. The three of them were prepared with the appropriate gear and the flash of bright light had no effect on them. That was not the case for the Imperials or the prisoners in the corridor. In the seconds they had before the guards would be able to recover, the three marines rushed for the hatch where the corvette was docked to the cruiser. A quick blaster butt to the nose was all it took to put the guards by the hatch down.

Another few seconds and Mmruv had that hatch sealed. The explosives he planted inside the docking tube did the rest. He’d be sure to thank Kaiana for rigging that charge for them. The corvette, now venting air, was for the Banthas to take care of. The Rancors still had a job to do here.

[Sensei's X-wing; Selitan System]

One Flight had been positioned to handle the TIEs launch from the corvette and Two Flight had been positioned to handle the TIEs launching from the Carrack cruiser. Then, when the TIEs were dealt with, One and Two Flights would proceed to reform and start attacking the shields of the cruiser so it would be disabled as quickly as possible so that the marines from the Red Rancors could get onboard and rescue the prisoners. Then the Lone Star would come in to take on the prisoners while One and Two Flights took care of the corvette.

Three Flight, on the other hand, had received the boring duty.

They had launched from the edge of the asteroid field and would make a long loop around in a standard patrol formation and deal with any variables in the attack plan and then proceed to attack the larger ships from the rear. Apparently, though, the plan had gone through without a hitch and there would be no variables—just boring patrol flying in empty space.

So much for my first mission, Sensei thought to himself.

“Hey, Twelve,” Gremlin's voice came over the comm. The Xexto checked and realized that she had had her astromech patch through to his on a private channel. “Are you as bored as I am?”

“Probably more,” he replied in a melodic tone, followed by a heavy sigh.

“I was hoping for—wait, what's that?”

The moment she paused, Sensei looked at his own sensor boards and realized that there was something there that really wasn't supposed to be there. He cursed in his native tongue and switched out comm frequencies to the squadron. “This is Twelve! We have twelve—I repeat, twelve, one-two—Gunboats jumping in system. Two different entry points, I'm reading six in each group!”

He hadn't realized it, but his voice had become slightly raised. He was feeling a little jittery... Sensei suddenly realized just how scared he was of dying. Part of him wanted to turn tail and run, but... if he did that, then Gremlin, Saber, and Beserker might die because they were outnumbered.

Gunboats were probably the most dangerous Imperial fighter out there. They were sturdy and had good weapons, speed, maneuverability, and the one thing that most other starfighters in the service of the Empire lacked...shields. Shields were what allowed a pilot to survive errors and essentially become a lethal fighter. This was something that the Rebels had realized early on; the more they survived the better they got. Gunboat pilots had the same advantage and, not only that, but it was to assume that these pilots had mountains of experience compared to the pilots of Bantha Squadron, who had only graduated two weeks ago... early, at that.

And then, the six Gunboats fell on the flight of four X-wings.

They had exited hyperspace not even two kilometers from the starfighters positions, and had a clear line of fire almost immediately. Green lasers started pulsing from the cannons of the six Gunboats, forcing the X-wings to scatter.

The Xexto's heart was pumping hard.

His palm felt sweaty.

He was ducking and weaving for his life so much that he'd lost his wingmate's position.

A grin suddenly grew on his thin lips.

This was going to be fun.

[Jet's X-wing; Selitan System]

The moment that Sensei's voice came through the channel, Jet swung his X-wing towards Three Flight's coordinates. His flight followed suit without him even having to tell them anything. They were well trained. He listened to the comm chatter coming from Three Flight that was already under assault as he tried to get orders through to them:

“Ten! Juke left!”

“I can't shake him!”

“I'm on my way!”

“Three Flight, this is One—”

“Careful, Twelve, you've got two on you!”

“Get 'em off, get 'em off!”

“I can't—I've got two on me, too!”

“Hold on, Three Flight!” he said into his comm as he tried pushed the throttle forward, the ships he'd been attacking completely forgotten now that his pilots were in trouble. “One Flight is on the way! Two Flight, deal with the second wave! They should be on vector two-two-three!”

“Belay that, Bantha Leader.”

[Meg Avern's X-wing; Selitan System]

“What!?” The irritation in Jet's voice was noticeable even over the comm.

Avern sighed slightly. “One Flight, stay with the Carrack and the corvette. Cover the marines, protect the Lone Star. Make sure that neither of those ships escape.” She knew that he wouldn't like those orders, but, from a tactical stand point, they were the right thing to do. “Three Flight, handle those Gunboats. Two Flight, attack the second group.”

“Wait a minute—!”

“Bantha Leader, do you have a problem?” she asked, switching over to a private frequency so she could talk to him in private and not humiliate him in front of his pilots. Avern's tone turned to ice and she didn't give him a chance to respond to her question. “Follow your orders or the mission will fail and we'll lose the prisoners. We won't have another chance at this!”

There was a pause. “Copy, Group Leader.”

She could tell his voice was subdued, but he would definitely have something to say later. He could say whatever he wanted later, because later it wouldn't be her problem.

Avern switched back to the squadron frequency. “You got your orders, Banthas.”

She swung her X-wing into formation with Lock and Toro as the five X-wings headed towards the six Gunboats in the second group that was heading straight for them.

[Aboard the Demagol; Selitan System]

As Mitch stalked the corridors, his team keeping close to him, he felt the tension grow. He needed to rest, to sleep, to gather his thoughts. So many things had happened on Corsin in such a short amount of time, but now here he was, an official member of the Alliance, attempting to take over an entire Carrack cruiser—even if only long enough to get their prisoners back. The cruiser was a prison ship and not up to normal military spec for troop numbers, but this was nonetheless more than most normal people could bear.

But Mitch knew he wasn’t alone; he hadn’t been alone for some time now. He knew Y’shua was always with him; and that gave him strength. And, now, he had the Red Rancors. Maybe not yet, but he knew they’d become his family…just like Rev’s Rancors had. He would not be overcome, not today. His team was determined, too, moving along stealthily. Kaiana’s large round eyes had set into a sort of frown while her long legs allowed her to cover terrain quickly, while Ciero’s face had set into a look of grim determination.

Mitch’s instincts were screaming at him as he progressed and his experienced tactical mind was in quiet agreement with his nerves. No bridge assault should be this simple. “Find cover, Rancors, something is—”

A hail of laser fire greeted the group and they threw themselves into cover behind some crates. The noise of laser fire was intense, as was the heat from the scarlet beams passing overhead and occasionally into the solid metal of their cover. Mitch offered a little prayer of thanks to Y’shua for the fact that the cover was solid enough to withstand the constant hail of fire. It wasn’t ordinary laser fire either, it sounded heavy.

“E-web!” Kaiana shouted, and Mitch gritted his teeth. An E-web was the standard heavy blaster in Imperial armies, and deadly when mounted on a tripod.

“There’s more,” he shouted back over the din, “Several troops and at least two auto-turrets.”

“I can maybe disable the auto-turrets,” Ciero said waving his datapad. “I can probably hack their security if you can distract them for long enough.”

“Get to it,” Mitch said, pulling his sniper rifle from his back. “Kaiana, how about throwing something in there to shake things up?”

The Kamonian shook her head. “Sorry, L.T., but they’d just chuck them back. Unless they’re somehow distracted.”

“Understood. Alright, let’s do what we can.”

Diving from cover, Mitch managed to make it to the opposite side of the corridor behind another stack of crates. He popped up just long enough to crack a shot off with his rifle. He downed one trooper, then ducking again as more fire erupted from the E-web. I don’t know how long we can keep this up...

[Aboard the Demagol; Selitan System]

There were a few words that could describe the interior of the Demagol. Dark, moldy, smelly, damp and “get me the kriffing hell outta here” were the first things that came to Hal’s mind as he advanced down the corridors toward the engine room with Kai and Sivrak.

Most of the lights were out. Bulbs were broken or simple disrepair had caused the circuits in some areas around the ship to corrode. At some point in the past the water storage or the coolant had developed a leak and you could see the water stains, covered by moss of many different colors, on the bulkheads. The passages went forward into a misty darkness that made their route seem infinite. If they hadn’t been elite Special Forces, Hal wasn’t sure how easy it would’ve been to keep his team on the mission. He wasn’t sure if he’d have been able to handle something so... freaky, either.

The team progressed slowly down the corridor, Hal taking point. This was tough going, various pipes were venting steam, making infrared vision useless in this dark environment, so they had to rely on sound and Sivrak’s nose. The Shistavenen was trying his best, but the dampness created by the steam made it hard for him to detect any smell.

It all happened very quickly. There was a flash of grey…armor, Hal determined later…and, suddenly blaster bolts struck out at him. A combination of luck and experience saved him, as he threw himself to the floor and threw a detonator into the darkness. It exploded seconds later, illuminating the area for all of a second.

A second was all Hal needed. He saw one body go down, but a further three retreating back into the darkness, one of them wearing unusual armor. Mandolorian armor. Hal did not fire, and motioned to Kai and Sivrak to hold their fire, too. In this darkness, firing your blaster would only give away your position. Instead, he drew his knife and motioned forward. Sivrak’s eyes lit up as he followed suit.

A few seconds later, the Imperials lashed out, not using their blasters as they had learned what would happen, but that would be their mistake. One went for Sivrak, but the look of abject terror on his face in the darkness made it clear what he thought of the bulky Shistavanen. Sivrak, in return, roared and grabbed the man, throwing him towards the soldier attempting to stab Kai. Hal, meanwhile, was enjoying a much more balanced fight: The Mandalorian armored man had come at him with a long blade in his hand. He was using it expertly, keeping Hal on his toes. This guy was a pro.

But Hal had other things to think about. Three versus three, but it was absolutely critical that the engines of the Carrack were disabled as soon as possible. Perhaps Hal was an equal for this Mando; and he knew Sivrak was ana expert in hand-to-hand combat. The wolfman could handle two opponents easily. That left just his demolitions expert, Kai.

“Kai! Engines! NOW!”

She did not hesitate and went flying past the combatants. The Mandalorian snarled like a brute, “She will not last long once I am done with you.”

Hal did not reply, ducking under a sweep of the man’s blade. Talking meant using up oxygen and brain power needed in a fight; It was only worth it if you could use it as a weapon to distract your opponent. This man seemed too brutishly simple to be distracted. Hal could hear Sivrak snarling in the background as he fought with his two opponents.

Hal’s comm crackled to life as he ducked under another swipe and parried a blow. “Mmruv to Striker...”

[Aboard the Demagol; Selitan System]

Mmruv moved along the corridors swiftly, Mandal and Kx’li close on his heels. So far Mmruv’s hadn’t encountered any more resistance; and, for a short while, Mmruv thought that this rescue operation would be easier than hunting tusked m’kt’cha rodents.

Right up until a blaster bolt shot over his feline head and impacted the bulkhead.

The three marines dropped and took cover behind an alcove. Mmruv counted to three in his head and then rounded around the alcove, firing a quick burst from his bowcaster at a group of Stormtroopers several meters away. The shots hit one of the troopers in the chest, passing through his cheaply manufactured armor, and instantly killing the man. As the rest sought cover, another one of the Stormtroopers caught a bolt in an unprotected section of his armor and crumpled to the floor, nearly knocking over another beside him.

“Well, this just got fun,” said Mandal as he reached around to fire a burst of his own from a more common blaster rifle.

“We’ve got to get to the prisoners,” Kx’li commented as he, too, fired at the Stormtroopers.

“Mmruv will take care of puny bucketheads,” Mmruv said as pulled out a grenade and chucked it down the corridor. Shouts came a moment later, soon followed by a very large bang! that seemed to rock the whole ship. He peeked back out from the alcove to see the area littered with Stormtroopers. “Grenade make big boom.”

“You’re a riot, Sarge,” said Mandal as he stood up and took point. “I think I hear something this way.”

“Go. Mmruv will follow.” Mmruv stood up and fell in behind Mandal and Kx’li, his eyes alert for more Imperial troops.

The trio ventured carefully through the corridors, checking every bypass and room they came upon. They encountered a handful of technicians and support personnel—and quickly rendered them unable to offer any discernible resistance—but came upon no more Stormtroopers or Imperial personnel. Mmruv was, once again, beginning to believe, though somewhat disappointed, that it would turn out to be an easy operation; until they neared the cargo bay.

“Why’d they put the prisoners in here?” asked Mandal, watching the fireteam’s rear guard as they ventured toward the entrance of the bay. “Surely there was enough room in the detention cells.”

“When on hunt, Mmruv does not attempt to distinguish between the thoughts of two different prey. Mmruv concentrates on the hunt and prey at hand,” commented Mmruv as he crept toward the entrance. “Mmruv believes that this may be your first mistake.” He suddenly stopped short and signaled for the others to get as low as they could. “Mmruv’s hunter eyes cannot see through dark smoke. Mmruv believes Kx’li can help.”

“On it,” said the Verpine. He got took out his sniper scope and attached it to the rifle he was carrying, and then aimed it at the entrance. “There are some more Stormtroopers in a very darkened cargo bay; and what looks to be some non-Imperial personnel walking around with weapons. Mercs, to venture a guess.”

“Can you take them out from this distance?” asked the Mandalorian marine.

“Easily. But, there’s no way to tell exactly where the prisoners are in relation to the guards. It’s best to only take out one or two and move in for the rest.”

“Great, hand-to-hand combat. How I love being in the marines.” Mandal checked the power pack in his blaster and then nodded to Kx’li.

Mmruv growled a “Do it” to the Verpine.

Kx’li lined up his shot and pulled the trigger twice. Two shots flew past Mandal and Mmruv to hit one of the Stormtroppers and mercs each. They both crumpled to the deck as the three marines rushed toward the cargo bay, their blasters firing wildly at anyone carrying a weapon.

The surviving guards began firing their own weapons at the intruders, their shots wild and uncontrolled. They didn’t care if they hit the prisoners, so long as they were able to take out their targets.

The surviving mercs, however, were even more uncontrolled. They opened fire in all directions, even shooting some of the Stormtroopers in their efforts to take out the rushing marines. Mmruv didn’t mind too much in that regard; it meant less for him and the others to take out.

He fired several times, and then ducked behind a crate to reload his bowcaster. Blaster fire exploded on the crate, but he was thankful it was there to absorb the energy. While he was preparing to retaliate, Mandal called out to him from another area.

“Sarge! You’ve got to take a look around.”

Mmruv risked a glance around the cargo bay and saw what was being illuminated by the blaster fire. The place was huge, with what looked to be reinforced holding cells strung all over. While there was no way for him to do a full count, he knew that there were way more prisoners in the cargo bay than what the Lone Star, could hold. Even if the Time was brought in too; there were just too many prisoners. Some looked to be Alliance comrades, while others appeared to be civilians and there were even a handful of Imperials.

“Grrrr...” he growled and pulled out his commlink. He clicked it on to the shared tactical frequency with the entire operation. “Mmruv to Striker.”

Captain Striker responded after a couple seconds. “Striker here. Go ahead, Mmruv.” Striker’s voice seemed somewhat strained as if he was in the middle of a firefight himself.”

“Mmruv has made it to the cargo bay with Mandal and Kx’li. We have found our quarry... but Mmruv believes that there may be too many to take home with us to the feast...”

[Meg Avern's X-wing; Selitan System]

Avern cursed in Mando’a as Striker finished explaining the situation that his Togorian sergeant had reported. She should have suspected that something like this would happen. It wasn’t enough that the Gunboats had shown up.

Caronte loves to have his trophies, she thought.

“Have Team Three hold their position and await further orders, and Teams One and Two continue with their objectives.” She thought for a moment as she flew along the perimeter of the engagement zone. There was no way that she would just give up on the operation in the middle of it; it had been too well planned, and she couldn’t just leave all those prisoners at the mercy of the Empire—or worse, Caronte.

“Group Leader to Lone Star.”

Vogel’s voice came back immediately; he was probably monitoring the conversation closely. “Lone Star here.”

“Commander, the plan’s changed. You’re no longer going to dock with the cruiser and take on personnel. I want you to use your ion cannon to disable that Carrack while the marines capture it.”

There was silence for a moment before Vogel replied. “Captain, that’s a cruiser, and there are only nine marines. You expect nine marines to capture an entire vessel by themselves?

“If they’re the right kind of marines, Commander.” She pulled the X-wing around and vectored straight for the cruiser. “You have your orders, Commander. Take the Star in and get me that ship.”

[Aboard the Demagol; Selitan System]

Warten had been annoyed when the battle alert alarms sounded. He was a prisoner on a starship that was about to be assaulted by who knows what—Rebels possibly, but pirates most likely—and he was stuck doing nothing but listening to the clutter of Stormtroopers running around.

When the intruder alert alarms sounded, however, he had become a bit more hopeful.

And when three Alliance marines shot their way into the cargo bay that served as his prison, his hope turned to ecstatic joy.

“Hacker!” he whispered urgently to his wingmate. “Hacker, wake up! You won’t believe what’s going on!”

The Quarren stirred, his hands still blackened by the events from the other day. He sat up from his bunk and looked at the ensuing firefight taking place around him. He then looked over at Warten and gave the equivalent of a grin. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a rescue party going on.”

“Yeah,” said Warten as he looked at the blaster fight. He also noticed, for the first time, just how big the cargo area was in the illuminated blaster bolts, and he kicked himself for not trying harder to organize the other prisoners. There’s so many of them; we could have taken over the ship!”

There came a sound from behind them and Warten turned to see the Imperial pilot watching the firefight. “Looks as though I was wrong this time around, my Rebel friend. Think that your comrades would mind busting me out along with you?”

Warten smiled at him for a moment before he looked back at the marines. “Only if you haven’t somehow offended them in the past. Planning on going back to the Empire once you’re out of here?”

“Force no. I think I may even join up with the Alliance, if they’ll have me.”

“I don’t see why not,” said the Y-wingwing pilot. “By the way, what’s your name?”

The Imperial just smiled out at the ensuing chaos. “Lieutenant Paul Sweet, late of the Galactic Empire. But, feel free to call me Reaver.”

[Lock's X-wing; Selitan System]

Lock had never flown a Gunboat, but he'd flown against them plenty of times. When he was training to become a starfighter pilot for the Empire, they would often be pitted against Gunboats in simulations to simulate the shielded Rebel Fighters that they were “sure to encounter” in the vast galaxy. During that time, he had discovered that Gunboats had few weaknesses and, overall, were a serious pain in the rear to fight against. They were maneuverable and generally had good pilots with very good armament and very good shields. They carried lasers, ion cannons, and warheads as well as countermeasures... making them one tough beast to take down. Part of Lock wondered if that’s what TIE pilots felt when they were confronted by a squadron of X-wings. After a moment's consideration, he decided that he'd find out if any had survived the battle and would ask them.

For now, though, he was busy.

He was on his own. As soon as the chaos of the dogfight had broken out, he had ordered Toro with Avern. Toro was a good pilot, but Lock didn't need to be looking out for a newbie; he was better alone anyways. During the previous dogfight, Toro kept slipping up and then Lock would have to find him and save him or whatever. Lock didn't need that kind of worry right now. Avern seemed like a good pilot, anyways, closer to Toro's skill level so the two would work well together for the moment.

He squeezed his trigger and red bolts slammed into the rear shields of the Gunboat as it tried to roll out of Lock's sights. Lock stayed on it, matching its maneuvers before the pilot in the Gunboat even knew what he was going to do himself. Lock had seen countless battles, and throughout his entire life he'd been force-fed dogfighting tactics from his father. This was all second nature to him. Fate whistled from behind him; the Gunboat's shields were finally down.

The Corellian quickly linked his lasers together and swooped in from the left to the right, knowing full well that the pilot in the Gunboat would turn to the left to avoid him. As Lock did his movement, he slowed his throttle slightly and turned his craft so that, when the Gunboat did try to make the quick escape, it would be an easy target. Luck went the way of Lock and he squeezed his trigger again.

As the Gunboat exploded and Lock turned his fighter to find another victim, he realized that he would have to get the mechanics at his next stop to start another row of kills.

[Aboard the Demagol; Selitan System]

Private Kai hurried along the dark corridor, demo equipment in hand. She had no idea how long it would be for Striker to be done with the Mandalorian, but their mission was to disable the cruiser’s engines. Right now, she was the only one in a position to do so. She had hated to leave her CO like that, but trusted his judgment. She noticed a disturbing fact about Carrack cruisers in the briefing—they had the same top speed as an X-wing. If the engines weren’t disabled, then it was just possible the cruiser would be able to flee before the Banthas got the shields down, or worse, move into a position where it could assist the corvette against the Lone Star.

She arrived at the main engine bay, devoid of personnel. Engineers were located on the bridge and only sent when the engines needed repairs. She began casting an expert eye over the room, remembering the schematics she had studied. How to do the damage, but not blow them all up was the question.

Kai let her fingers flutter with expert precision and placed the charge on a cooling pipe. It was rather simple, really—if this pipe blew, the hypermatter reactor core would be in serious danger of overheating and override systems would force the control rods to enter the core and stop it from operating. In order to repair it, a new coolant pipe and some replacement coolant were needed, something that took time to do. Kai knew the score: If they were disabling a ship this large, there was no way the ever resourceful Alliance would not make use of it.

Smiling, she ran back and hit the detonator.

[Aboard the Demagol; Selitan System]

Sivrak was having a hell of a time. He was taunting his two assailants who stood on either side of him, in order to get them more and more frustrated. “Coward! Coward coward coward cannot even fight alien like me!”

One soldier snarled and launched at him. Sivrak neatly side stepped the charging man, sending him straight into his unsuspecting partner. Then he turned and went down with his blade, intending to tear the men apart.

Hal sidestepped as the Mandalorian muscle mass brought his long blade down where, not so long ago, Hal’s head had been. “You cannot beat me, you fool!” the Mando was roared. “I am Navaro! You will get tired before I do.”

Hal lashed out with his foot, connecting with the man’s knee. He grunted and toppled back, but, before Hal could get his blade in, the man swung his sword, coming extremely close to bisecting the marine from hip to hip. Hal wiped the sweat from his brow and hopped from foot to foot. When Navaro did not step forward, he went for his blaster, but quickly snapped his hand away from his holster when the man swung again, forcing Hal into a roll.

Suddenly an explosion roared the decks. The explosion was small and concentrated, but it did have one drastic effect on the fighters: steam vented through the cracks at a much higher pressure as coolant vaporized.

For Sivrak, it was a useful distraction. With both men suddenly unable to see each other the Shistavenen was able to dispatch them far more easily.

For Hal, the consequences were even greater—he was on the floor, facing an incoming swing from Navaro, when the steam suddenly blinded them both. When it cleared, Navaro couldn’t see Hal anywhere. “Don’t be a coward, Rebel! I will find you eventually! You cannot get the drop on a Mando—”

Hal’s knife was still in his hand, the blood fresh from cutting Navaro’s throat. The man never even heard Hal approaching.

Sivrak simply nodded at Hal. “I would have shot him, but the steam—”

“It’s not a problem, Private.”

The Shistavenen gave a bear-like grin. “I see why they call you Shadow.”

Hal was unable to reply before Kai came running back, a big grin on her face. “Engines are toast.”

“We felt it. Nice work, Private. Hang tight, you two.” Hal clicked on his comm, “Group Leader, this is Rancor Lead. Engines are down.”

[Wire's X-wing; Selitan System]

Wire swung his X-wing around as he followed Bantha Leader on another pass across the bow of the Demagol. They were working hard on the shields, repetitively firing as they passed over and over the large ship. Jet would fly in front to attract what little laser fire was coming from the ship while Wire followed close behind. Wire would fire on the ship’s turrets and, little by little, the Carrack weakened, both offensively and defensively.

Nearby, Liz and Rapier were doing the same thing. They were like hornets swarming a larger prey, stinging it over and over until it eventually weakened to a point where they could go for the killing blow.

Though a Carrack was one tough little ship, its shields still weren’t enough to withstand so much punishment from a flight of starfighters. Soon enough, its shields were down.

“Alright, Lone Star, the shields are down. Move in with that cannon,” Jet told the yacht that was making its way towards the battle scene. After he got confirmation from the yacht, Jet changed frequencies to talk with his pilots. “Form up, Flight One, we’re protecting that yacht.”

[Aboard the Demagol; Selitan System]

Mmruv continued to fire bowcaster shots towards the enemy, while Mandal and Kx’li began making their way to the cells. Most of the prisoners were already awake and eager to escape what Mmruv could only imagine to be a fate worse than death. Some, most notably the Alliance prisoners, began throwing every little thing they could get their hands on in their cells at the various Imperial and merc soldiers—or what few soldiers there were left.

“Sarge!” shouted Mandal over the blaster fire. “I’ve found Sparrow Leader, he’s still alive!”

“Mmruv suggests you keep it that way,” replied the sergeant as he fired shot after shot, taking out the last remaining merc in the process.

The last two Stormtroopers seemed to have lost any sense of survival and rushed from their place of cover. They practically lunged at Mmruv until two blaster shots hit them both squarely in the neck, dropping them immediately to the floor. Mmruv looked over and saw Kx’li giving him a thumbs up behind his sniper rifle.

“Mmruv had them,” he said seriously, but his face slowly evolved into a feline smile. “But Kx’li has Mmruv’s gratitude.”

He looked around to be sure there were no more troops to worry about and then headed over to the cell where Mandal was helping Sparrow Leader to his feet. He stopped in front of a Human that looked to be in his thirties and snapped off a salute. “Captain Joks, Mmruv is pleased to see you’re in somewhat reasonable condition.”

“I wouldn’t say that exactly, Sergeant.” He looked as though he had haunted eyes. “You really don’t want to know what’s gone on here. Caronte’s a madman.”

Mmruv looked around and nodded. “Mmruv thinks you’re right about not wanting to know. Are you able to walk, sir?”

“I’m fine, Sergeant, just need to get my bearings.” He looked back at the marine and then his eyes widened at something behind Mmruv. Before he could say anything, a bolt caught him right in the chest, the blackened hole already starting to spread over his heart. He groaned once before sagging in Mandal’s arms.

“Sithspit!” came a voice from behind. Mmruv spun around to see a man wearing Mandalorian armor with a smoking blaster in his hand. He had to be Caronte. “I needed him alive! The Empire wanted to know all his secrets. Now see what you’ve made me do!”

Mmruv instantly jumped behind some cover and started firing at the Mando. The screams of prisoners echoed throughout the cargo bay as the madman’s shots hit some of them. Mmruv growled at the man as Mandal shouted, “Give it up! You can’t win this!”

“Winning has nothing to do with it, Rebel scum,” Caronte shouted back as he fired off another shot. “I’m a man of my word, and I said I would deliver him,” gesturing with his blaster to the slumped over body. “But I can’t very well do that, now can I? It’s not as if I was going to allow you to just walk off with a valuable resource like that pathetic excuse for an operational commander.”

Kx’li pulled the trigger and a high velocity blaster bolt caught Caronte in the arm, causing him to drop the pistol.

Mmruv gave a very predatory grin at the man and stepped forward just as the madman reached to his belt and drew a very sharp knife. Mmruv moved back just a moment before drawing his own blade and moving toward the Mando once again. “Mmruv suggests you put down weapon.”

“You think you can take me? I am Mando’ade! I am the master of this vessel, and I’m not going to let some little upstart with a toy-knife take me down.”

“Mmruv care not if you are Mando’ade or if you are Jedi...Mmruv is a warrior, a great hunter. Mmruv never lets his prey escape.” Mmruv swooped forward and lunged the blade toward the man’s leg. The Mando spun around and backhanded Mmruv in the head as he went past, knocking him downward.

Mandal fired at him before he could converge on Mmruv any further. Caronte spun around and produced a holdout blaster, firing at Mandal in return. A bolt zipped past the marine’s arm, causing the fabric to blacken slightly.

Mmruv jumped up and kicked Caronte in the back, knocking him onto the deck. The Togorian bent his knees and sat on the man’s back, pinning him down. “Mmruv is amused. Mando tells Mmruv he is special, just like female pilot. Mandos always think Mandos know what they’re doing, but Mmruv knows that Mandos like you are just Sithspit.”

Caronte let out cruel, menacing laugh. “Another Mando is here? Oh, this is fabulous. Who is she, I wonder; you obviously know. Come now, tell me, tell me; I must know all about her.”

“Mmruv suggests you be quiet...” growled Mmruv as he kept the man pinned down. “Unless foolish Mando would prefer that Mmruv rip his throat out. If not, Mmruv will keep you alive until the hunt leader arrives. She can do with you what she pleases... Mmruv not care.”

[Saber's X-wing; Selitan System]

“I can’t shake them!”

“Hang in there, Ten, I’m right behind you!”

The blonde haired woman from Contruum pulled on her flight stick, doing her best to avoid shots from the Gunboat on her tail. It had latched on at the beginning of the dogfight and, no matter what she attempted, it stuck on her. She was on the verge of panicking already.

She had lost Beskerker towards the beginning of the fight—he had too many fighters to deal with himself and everyone had sort of separated. Luckily, the Zeltron pilot, Gremlin, had come to try and help her—although the Gunboat pilot was making it difficult. Saber knew that the Gunboat pilot was better than her, and, obviously, was more experienced.

“I’m not going to make it, Eleven!”

“Shut up and fly, Ten!”

“I can’t, Eleven... he’s better than me...”

“Stop that, Ten! Stop it!”

“My arm... it’s so tired...”

“Ten!”

Saber’s arm stiffened. Suddenly, she couldn’t move it. She had given up; fear had gotten the best of her. She closed her eyes and tears of self-pity began to roll down her cheeks. She couldn’t do this anymore...and even if she survived, she would only be put into this situation time and time again. Saber just couldn’t do it...She was scared.

“I’m sorry...”

[Gremlin's X-wing; Selitan System]

“Saber!” If Gemilan could have stood up in her X-wing she would’ve.

Before her, Saber’s X-wing started to drift to the side and became easy prey for the Gunboat chasing her. Its lasers rained down without mercy upon the fighter. Soon enough the shields buckled and the X-wing was torn apart. There was no fiery explosion; it was simply torn apart and nearly disintegrated by the barrage of laser fire.

Gemilan could suddenly do nothing. She was frozen... Saber just died...Gemilan hadn’t been able to stop it. Just two weeks ago she’d been a cadet on Rainworld and now...

“Eleven! What are you doing!? Get out of there! Break left!”

Sensei’s voice brought her back to reality and the shrieking of her astromech only drew her to the conclusion that she was in some very deep problem. Whatever it was, she yanked on her flight stick and broke to the left just in time to avoid a barrage of green laser fire. She twisted the stick and pulled upwards in an attempt to avoid the fighter suddenly on her tail. It was only after a moment that she realized that it was Saber’s assassin.

“Thanks, Twelve! Give me some cover—I’m taking out this Gunboat!” she said into her comm unit as she rolled, ducked, and weaved as erratically as she could. She thought back to the Academy, how the better pilots had learned to become unpredictable when they had hot shot pilots or instructors on their tails.

This Gunboat, though, managed to follow her as closely as they had followed Saber. Gemilan turn portside and was surprised to feel her ship begin to shake—what felt like dozens of laser blasts slammed against her shields. Behind her, Lil Leo wailed; and suddenly her shields were out.

“Sithspit!!” Gemilan cursed and pulled her fighter out of range. She was kriffed; completely vulnerable without shields.

The red skinned pilot twisted and turned, doing her best to avoid death. “Leo! I need shields! Get me some shields!” she yelled at the astromech as she did her best to survive the next few minutes. The red R2 unit screamed back at her. “I don’t care if the system is fried—just do it! Do it now!”

Sensei’s voice came over the comm again. “Get out of there, Eleven! He’s trying to corral you!”

“I’m working on it, Twelve!”

Suddenly, she felt more bolts hit her ship. This time, though, the lasers weren’t green but blue in color; ion cannons. The blue lasers wouldn’t damage the fighter, but it would wreak havoc on her fighter’s already damaged systems. Hopefully, nothing would be permanent. That thought was wishful thinking though. After only a couple hits, Lil Leo pulled up a repair list and Gemilan saw that her lasers would need another minute of repairs, and her shields would take at least five minutes. She was in some deep—

More ion shots piled into her X-wing and suddenly she felt her ship stop abruptly; she was dead in space. “Lil Leo!” No answer. He was gone, too. She checked all of the comm systems, but none of them were responsive. She was completely dead in space…

She didn’t give up, though, and started fumbling with the latches in the cockpit and soon enough she had it opened. Her EV suit immediately kicked in, creating a thin protective shield around her body that would keep body heat and oxygen from escaping, as well as making sure she didn’t bloat up, explode and die. There was no structural damage to her fighter. Her systems were simply down and she was dead in space. Gemilan pulled out her survival blaster and looked around for her assailant...she didn’t plan to go down so easily.

She saw the Gunboat turn around and start a run towards her. It seemed to be taking it’s time...which only served to annoy the Zeltron. She steadied herself in the cockpit of her craft and aimed at the incoming fighter. Almost...almost...Her finger tensed on the trigger and...

BOOM!

Two concussion missiles came out of nowhere and slammed into the Gunboat approaching her. A Muurian-class transport flew into the dogfight, firing like crazy. The Gunboat was slammed off course as two X-wings, Beserker’s and Sensei’s, came up from behind, lighting up the Gunboat. Attacked from three different directions, the Gunboat didn’t have a chance. It exploded, ending the life of the pilot that had ended Saber’s life and had nearly taken Gremlin’s. With a heavy sigh, she sat back into the cockpit of her X-wing and latched it.

She’d been saved in the nick of time.

Now, she needed to get her fighter up and running...she was sitting here like a nerf, and there were still Gunboats out there.

[Aboard the Lone Star; Selitan System]

Commander Vogel was doing his best to keep the bridge crew calm, but the battle was starting to creep in on their minds. The sudden appearance of the Gunboats, the change of tactics, and the ever prevalent corvette were starting to fray nerves. However, Richard’s calm voice cut through their nerves and focused them to the task. “Helm, line us up for a shot. Engineering, I want that cannon ready to fire in less than thirty. Comms, inform the squadron that we’re making our move.”

The yacht rolled slowly, a surprisingly graceful move for a ship so out of balance. Ensign Marn gritted her teeth at the controls, moving the levers slowly. It was one thing to get in position to make the shot, another to make sure the corvette would not be able to hit the yacht so easily. After all, a ship like this was hardly abundantly equipped when it came to shielding.

“In position, need to fire, guys,” Alexa spat.

“Hold it, Ensign,” Richard said. “Engineering?”

“Ready in ten.”

“Make it count, people.”

“Five, four, three, two, one, ion cannon is online.”

“Fire.”

There was a sudden shake of the ship and a blue beam shot from atop the bridge, heading straight for the Carrack. It landed on the ship’s prow, sending blue lightning crackling over the nose of the cruiser. A few lights winked on and off, but the cruiser continued to operate.

“We need to get moving,” Alexa said at the controls. “That corvette is coming right for us.”

“Hold it, Ensign, we must disable that cruiser!” Richard said, his voice rising above the din. “Engineering?”

“Online in ten.”

“Fire when ready!”

Again the yacht shook violently as the oversized ion cannon released its energy, creating a hell of a kickback for Alexa to deal with. This time the ion beam struck the Carrack cruiser with a full frontal blast, ending any hopes of escape or reigning death on the yacht. All the lights winked off and the cruiser began to drift, powerless, in space. However, aboard the Lone Star there was no time to celebrate.

“Shut down that ion cannon, divert power to shields!”

But it was too late.

The corvette’s lasers impacted upon the yacht, creating the kind of shudder that every captain knew and loathed. If it wasn’t for the deft work of Tails at the engineering console, the second salvo would have punched through the shields and left the yacht for scrap. Alexa, however, was already punching the throttle at full, attempting to get as much distance between the corvette and the space yacht as she could. The two crafts were similar in size, but the corvette was a more nimble ship, not to mention better equipped for this fight.

“Get us between the Carrack and the corvette,” Richard said to Alexa. “We’ll use it as cover.”

“Can’t we just blast them out the sky?” Alexa shouted.

“The ion cannon drains our shield power, we’ll be toast before we can use it.” Richard turned to Runa. “Chatter, get on the X-wings and tell them if someone doesn’t take that corvette down then we’re going down instead!”

[Alien’s X-wing; Selitan System]

Alien struggled with her fighter, the battle a mess. She’d managed to bag one Gunboat already and was rapidly chasing another. Things were heating up heavily for Flight Two, though, and in the melee she had gotten separated from her wingmate, Rei “Rider” Liorca. It was typical of her, she thought bitterly as she threw the X-wing into another dive in an attempt to break a missile lock. She could fly by the seat of her pants, but she never thought about the bigger picture.

There, suddenly in her sights, was Lock. The stupid man was trying to lead two Gunboats on a merry chase. “Five, break to mark zero five!”

He didn’t respond, but simply followed her request and sent the fighter spearing upwards. Alien sent hers spiraling down. Before either Lock or the Gunboats could respond, she’d let fly a torpedo, punching through one Gunboat’s shields and in a matter of seconds she let the hot light fly, taking the Gunboat apart.

“Nice shooting, Eight!”

“Why do you always got to get yourself in trouble, Lock?” Alien grinned, even though Lock wouldn’t be able to see it. He wasn’t a bad sort; she decided some time ago. He could certainly fly. But, in her moment of calm, Alien had forgotten about the second Gunboat, even though it had not forgotten about her. The torpedo impacted on her left side, sending the X-wing corkscrewing across the blackness.

“You still with me, Eight?”

“Lost shields!”

“Sithspawn.”

Alien’s astromech squealed. Missile lock. No shields. “Ah, kriff.”

“Eject, Eight, eject!”

Alien hit the eject button, but the system came back with an error. Something had gotten knocked loose in the blast. She swore and punched the button repeatedly, “Five, get the kriffing mission done!”

The ejector seat suddenly kicked in. The torpedo impacted. Alien’s world went black.

[Aboard the Demagol; Selitan System]

“Rev!”

The shout was enough to cause Mitch to dive back into cover, after having managed to take down another of the troopers. “What is it, Ciero?”

“I got through security!” he half shouted, half signed. “I can turn those auto-turrets on the soldiers for maybe five seconds, tops, but then they’ll revert control back to security.”

“What about the E-Web gunner?”

“He’s protected from the turrets because of that armor barricade they’ve set up around him. I can’t do anything about him.”

“Alright. Kaiana?”

Private Kaiana ducked back down from her firing position. Her blaster rifle wasn’t able to reach the troops at the end of the long corridor with much accuracy, but it was plenty to make some of the troopers wince. “Yes?”

“Have a remote charge ready to fly on my command. When I give the signal, Ciero, you turn those auto-turrets on the troopers. Then, Kaiana, I want you to throw in the charge.”

The Kaminoan woman was already wiring the demo pack and nodded. “But what about the E-Web? He’ll cut me down in seconds.”

Mitch smiled and patted his sniper rifle. “Don’t worry about it. With the troopers momentarily distracted, I’ll be able to get a good shot on him.”

“What about all the armor around him?” Ciero asked uncertainly.

“Trust me. It’s what I do. Ready?”

The marines nodded at him. Mitch smiled. “Mark!”

Ciero hit the datapad. Kaiana threw the explosive charge.

The auto-turrets turned on the soldiers, forcing them to react to the new direction of fire. Mitch quickly aimed his favorite custom made rifle, breathed in, held his breath it, and depressed the trigger. A second later, the demo pack landed on the floor, amongst the soldiers and turrets. The soldier on the E-Web collapsed, a hole in his forehead. The demo pack exploded, taking apart the auto-turrets and remaining soldiers. The way was clear.

Without hesitating, Mitch slung his sniper rifle over his back and pulled out his DL-22 blaster pistol as he got up and moved forward. “Let’s move, Rancors!”

Seconds later they were on the bridge, Mitch pointing his blaster at the two remaining crew members on the bridge. “Alright people, drop your weapons and it doesn’t have to get any more messy.”

The senior of the two, a lieutenant, nodded and, as Mitch stepped toward him, the man suddenly drew a blaster. Mitch instantly dove to his left as he heard the sound of a blaster fire. Rolling back to his feet he realized he was fine; the Imperial, however, was not. Standing over the dead man’s body was a young ensign, looking very shaken up. “They’re all mad here,” he said looking down at the dead body. “He would have had us both killed. All the commanders are like that and then there’s the kriffing Mandalorian; how could they put someone like him in charge?”

The young man looked up at Mitch. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

“What’s your name, son?” Mitch asked gently.

“Ensign Colin Cillis, Sir. Most people call me Seagulls.”

Mitch took a step closer to the man, his DL-22 in his right hand pointing towards him to be cautious. Holding out his left hand, he said, “Pass me your blaster, please, Colin.”

Colin looked at the blaster in his hand like it had only just appeared out of nowhere and passed it to “I....where can I go now?”

“Well, Seagulls,” Mitch said, taking the blaster and passing it to Ciero, “perhaps you can think about joining us? For now, I’m going to have to ask you to let me cuff you and sit you down.”

Colin nodded weakly. He wasn’t a fool; he knew the Rebels wouldn’t just leave him to run around. While Ciero gently cuffed the young man and led him to a seat, Mitch opened his comms line. “This is Rev; we have the bridge.”

[Meg Avern’s X-wing; Selitan System]

Avern pulled back hard on her flight-stick and caused her X-wing to move out of the way of a series of green laser bolts soaring past. The Gunboat flew past her previous spot as she maneuvered her X-wing around behind it, her lasers at full strength. The Gunboat tried to get out of the way, banking from left to right, but finally Avern had had enough and switched over to warheads. A moment later, death in the shape of a blue flame shot outward and impacted the Gunboat.

“Nice shot,” said Rider. “Wish I could pull that off.”

“You’ll have your chance, Seven; there are still some targets hanging about.” She spun her craft around and headed back to the engagement zone, keeping a careful eye on the status of the Lone Star and the enemy ships.

“Incoming!” shouted Rider over the comm.

Avern looked upward and saw another Gunboat darting straight for her. She banked hard to port to get out of the way just as Rider positioned herself where Avern used to be. She swore under her breath as she brought the X-wing back around. “Seven, get out of range; you just made yourself a target.”

“Just trying to get the Imp’s attention, Group Leader.” Rider swung her X-wing around and came back toward the Gunboat, her lasers firing wildly. The Gunboat was so surprised that it broke off contact and went starboard down.

A moment later it reappeared right behind Rider, its lasers blasting away at the X-wing’s shields. No matter how much Rider tried to break free, the GunboatGunboat continued to pour its ammunition into the Alliance fighter.

“Seven, break free; now!” shouted Avern.

“I can’t! It’s on me tight, I can’t shake it!”

Avern spun her X-wing around and headed straight for the Gunboat like Rider had done earlier; this time, however, the Gunboat didn’t break free. It kept firing on Rider, pounding away at her shields until they were completely drained and started creating hull damage on the fuselage.

“This is Bantha Seven, I am declaring an emergency! My shields are gone, I’m losing power!”

“Hang on, Seven,” said Avern. “I’ll see if I can swat it off of you.” She turned back around again, once more trying to pursue the Gunboat. She finally got it in range and opened fire, but, at the same time, the Gunboat fired two concussion missiles at Rider. “Seven! Eject, eject!”

“Ejection systems are gone. I can’t—”

Avern watched as Rider’s X-wing blew apart before her. “NO!” she screamed and pulled harder on the trigger, trying her best to force the lasers to lash out at the Gunboat at a faster pace. The Gunboat juked and weaved about, but Avern determined to stay with it. Finally, the Gunboat pulled to the port and accelerated onward.

Avern turned as well and boosted her speed to full power. She armed her warheads once more and slated them for dual fire mode. She counted down in her head, as the X-wing got closer and closer to the Gunboat until, finally, mere meters away, she dumbfired the torpedoes and then pulled up hard on her flight-stick.

Below her a ball of fire erupted in space as the Gunboat blew apart from the two warheads. Briefly satisfied, Avern turned back once more toward the engagement zone, the loss of her temporary wingmate sobering her for a moment. I hate flying with others.

[Jet's X-wing; Selitan System]

Wire followed faithfully as Jet maneuvered behind the corvette, trying to get at its weak spot. Whoever’s flying that crate is quite the hotshot, Jet thought to himself. Everything he’d tried hadn’t work. The corvette’s pilot had maneuvered expertly and was pounding on the Lone Star with its guns. Jet was finding it excruciatingly difficult to get into the blind spot located just behind the engines.

“Let’s switch up our tactics a little bit, One Flight,” said Jet as an idea popped into his head. “Two, break off and join up with Three and Four. I want the three of you to do a strafing run. Entertain the corvette... torp it if you have to. I’ll get behind and give them a special delivery. Go, go, go!”

Wire broke off and made his way to the other two members of One Flight. Jet then turned his own fighter and started to swoop around, making his way around the Carrack and the yacht.

“This is Three,” said Liz’s raspy voice. “We’re commencing our strafing run.”

As Jet pulled around the larger ship and back towards the corvette, he saw the three X-wings converge on the corvette. Jet saw his chance—the blind spot was exposed. Without doubting for even a moment, Jet swooped in and switched from lasers to torpedoes. “R2, switch to single launch platform.”

The astromech hooted a response and Jet pulled the trigger. The first proton torpedo flew with a blue streak towards the corvette, followed closely by a second torpedo... The corvette’s shields were weakened to such a point by now that they would not stop a torpedo, much less two, meaning that the corvette’s engines were completely unprotected...

[Aboard the Lone Star; Selitan System]

“Shields down to 5%, hull integrity at 32%.”

“I can’t keep us out of their line of fire!”

Richard swiveled in his seat. “Give me the stats on the corvette, not us, Tails! Just do what you can, Alexa! Chatter, what are those X-wings doing?”

There was an explosion. Richard turned his head and winced involuntarily, but he needn’t have panicked. It was the corvette going up in flames, not the Star, thanks to the work of Flight One. “Status report?”

“Commander,” Biba said sullenly. “Core got hit. I’m diverting everything to keeping it contained but—”

“Understood,” Richard said stiffly. “Biba, buy us some time with the core. Alexa, get us lined up so we’re in no danger of colliding with the downed Carrack. Chatter, inform all hands and Group Leader: the Lone Star is going down. Abandon ship.”

There was no delay. Everybody moved from their seats quickly. Alexa went to grab Richard’s arm, to drag him along, but was surprised to find he was already moving with her. “Everything alright, Ensign Marn?”

“I just expected to have to drag you to the escape pods sir. Going down with the ship and all that is what most captains do.”

Richard smiled. “I’m a commander, not a captain. Now, let’s get off this rust bucket.”

“Aye -aye, sir!”

[Lock’s X-wing; Selitan System]

Fifteen minutes after the battle had ended, the X-wings from Bantha Squadron still had not landed on the Carrack. The exhausted pilots would have to stay in their cockpits as people worked onboard the snip in an attempt to clear out the cargo bay. The Lone Star had gone critical, but not before most of the crew had gotten to escape pods. When the ship blew, a few of the escape pods had been consumed in the blast and the Star had lost a good number of its people. The Rancors’ dropship, though, had already gotten to work picking up the survivors.

Lock flew past the Carrack in formation with Toro, his last remaining wingmate, and watched as the Muurian transport docked with the disabled ship to drop off the Star’s crew. As soon as the Quarren pilot finished, he would go out again and pick up Bantha pilots that had gone EV. Gremlin was okay; apart from her fighter being offline, she was safe, if a little cold and uncomfortable, and her fighter could be repaired within hours, as soon as the mechanics could get a hold of it. Rider, though, was a definite KIA—her ejection system had malfunctioned—and, as far as Lock knew, the same went for Saber, who had just given up. Alien, though, might still be alive.

He felt uneasy. He’d survived yet another engagement, and people had died. Not just people...two of his cadets. Pilots he’d trained, pilots he’d taken out of training early for a cause... they needed more time. They hadn’t been ready and he’d put them into a situation where they could be killed. Most of them had gotten through alive, but... Lock sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. There was no point in lamenting now. The surviving pilots wouldn’t be going back, and they needed him to stay focused to make sure no others died.

Lock opened his eyes and started climbing with his fighter along his patrol path. Behind him, Toro followed faithfully as ever. For a brief moment, he wondered how long it would be before Toro, too, stopped following him.

The Corellian pilot’s stomach turned. He felt sick.

[Aboard the Demagol; Selitan System]

Avern popped the seal on her canopy and started to climb out of the cockpit as her X-wing engines powered down. At times it was difficult to maneuver over the side while in her beskar’gam, but, today, she didn’t even mind the annoyance as she jumped down onto the deck below. She removed her helmet and held it under her arm.

“Captain Avern!” came a familiar voice.

She spun around and came face-to-face with Richard Vogel, former commanding officer of the Lone Star. “Commander Vogel; I’m sorry about the loss of your ship, and so many of your crew.”

The man looked a bit somber. “Thank you, Captain. You’ll be pleased to know that Ensign Marn survived as well. She mentioned that the two of you were rather close friends.”

Avern stammered a bit at the mention of Alexa. She didn’t know that the woman had been aboard the Star. She was relieved to know the woman was alive. “That’s, uh, good to know, Commander. But for now, I believe we still have some work to do.”

“Quite right. The ship’s ‘captain’ is in the cargo bay, and he won’t shut up about wanting to see who the Mando is we’ve got hanging around with us. I’m assuming that’s you, Captain.”

Avern smiled just a little. “Very astute, Commander. But, I believe one of the marines is of Mandalorian stock, too, so perhaps Caronte was referring to him.”

“I doubt it; Mandal’s not female. If you would be so kind as to follow me?” he asked, indicating a direction with the gesture of his left arm.

Avern followed him through the darkened corridors and took in the damage. The cruiser had taken a lot of fire throughout the engagement, thanks in part to the now-gone Lone Star, and it seemed as though it was barely hanging on out of sheer stubbornness.

She could also see there were Rebels peppered about throughout the corridors. Some were the survivors of the Lone Star’s crew, but the majority seemed to be have been prisoners of this Force-forsaken prison ship, trying their best to help secure the cruiser. They were probably happy to get out of whatever holes Caronte had them locked in.

Finally, they arrived at the main cargo bay, with handheld lights strung up all along the perimeter. The area was still pretty dark, but Avern was able to make out shapes and, occasionally, faces of Alliance marines gathered around a man in beskar’gam. The man had a smug smile on his face, as though he was waiting for something to happen, and as soon as Avern caught his eye, she knew he had been waiting for her.

“Ah,” said the man, “a fellow Mando’ade! Well, it’s not as if this is the first time siblings have been on opposite sides of a battle. But, surely, my sister, there are better causes to fight for than this pathetic little insurrection. Have you no sense of honor, or pride?”

Avern glowered at the man as she stepped before him, the marines moved back a little to give her a wide berth. “You dare to speak to me about honor when you have none yourself?” She spat at him, hitting him in the face. “I have seen more honor in some of the Imperial despots than I have from you. You have brought shame to your clan, and to your people, Caronte!”

Caronte looked bemused at Avern’s verbal assault. “And what do you know of me, my sister? We have never met, and I know no one who has had contact with a whelp like you. So how have I wronged a fellow child of Mandalore?”

She looked deep into his eyes, trying her best to get him to recognize her, but failing. “You really don’t know me, do you? You knew my buir; knew him well enough to cause his death and stain my whole world with blood. You shall pay for your misgivings, Caronte; that I promise you.”

“Your father? I have never killed a fellow Mando’ade!”

“You didn’t directly kill him, but you were responsible for his death. You betrayed him and Shysa’s rebellion to your Imperial masters and they executed him, publicly. You know perfectly well what that means to a warrior; because of you, he was denied a proper death!”

Realization began to dawn on Caronte’s face. At first, he looked as though he was stunned by the revelation, but then his smug smile returned in full force. “Ah, so that’s who you are. You’re Orlen’s daughter. Nice to see that you’ve fully embraced the way of the warrior, my dear.”

“I should kill you where you stand.”

“Ah, but you won’t.” His grin grew wide. “Way I see it, if I was going to be shot for just being who I am, these fine marines would have done me in a long time ago. Yet, here I still stand. You must be under orders not to kill me.”

Avern smiled at him, a cold and deviously looking grin. “Caronte, I’m the one in charge of this operation.” She pulled out her blaster and pointed it at the man’s face. “Besides, how do you know that I didn’t want to save you all for myself? A little vengeance for what you did to my father?”

One of the marines stepped forward and spoke in a low voice. “Captain, I really don’t think the general would want us to throw away a valuable resource like him. He could provide extensive information about Imperial operations.”

She never took her eyes off of Caronte while she responded to the marine. “Captain Striker, isn’t it? Well, Captain, Caronte here isn’t an Imperial officer; he’s a merc with a lot of blood on his hands. And I doubt he knows anything about Imperial operations than what went on aboard this little deathtrap of his.” She bared her teeth at the orange-armored Mandalorian. “I don’t think anyone would really miss him.”

There was an intake of breath and Avern could hear someone clicking off the safety on a blaster rifle. “Captain, I strongly suggest you put down the weapon. Please don’t force my hand in this matter.”

She risked a brief glance over her shoulder and saw several of the marines with their weapons pointed at the deck. Their hands, however, were twitchy, and Striker’s pistol was close to coming up to firing position—in her direction.

She cursed silently and lowered her blaster, holstering it once more. Caronte grinned at him, triumph spreading across his face. “Tough luck, my sister.”

“Lock him in one of those cells, Captain, and make sure we vent the key into space.” She turned around and began walking away when everything happened fast.

Caronte lunged forward and grabbed the blade from her belt. She wasn’t sure what he said—something like “prepare to join your buir, whelp”—as she spun around in time to see him raising his now-armed right hand. He started a downward motion, but before the blade connected, two blaster bolts lanced out from beside her and impacted the madman in the face.

Blackened wounds began to spread across Caronte’s features, burning away his eyes and leaving nothing but the smug smile. The man was dead; her chance to mete out justice gone in two quick shots in order to save her life. She felt disgusted, yet satisfied, that he had finally met his end, regardless of who fired the shots.

Avern spun around again to find Vogel holding a blaster with a smoking barrel. Her heart racing, she moved forward and grasped his arm. “Thank you, Commander. I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“Well, I could use some help with this cruiser, Captain. And I’ve been told you’re pretty handy with an X-wing. Perhaps you might consider sticking around once your ‘job’ is finished.”

She nodded absently, still considering what had just happened. “I’ll think about it, Commander; that’s the best I can do.”

“That’s all an old navy man like me can ask for, Captain Avern.” He holstered the blaster and nodded to the other mercs and captured Imperials. “Now, shall we ‘interrogate’ some of the other prisoners? I think they may be a bit more cooperative now that their whacko of a leader is gone.”

Avern smiled a little and nodded once again. “After you, Commander.”

[Classified Location]

Kryan Nole watched the holographic form of Meg Avern take shape before him. She was in her Mandalorian armor, and it looked as though her face was peppered with a little bit of blood. Must have been some battle. “Captain Avern, good to see you’re still in one piece.”

“I try my best, General. I’ve sent you a preliminary report a few minutes ago on what happened during the battle.”

Nole held up the datapad in his right paw. “Yes, I’ve just been reviewing it. Sorry to see the Lone Star go. But, at least you were able to get most of the people aboard the cruiser. What about Caronte? He’s not in this report.”

Avern was silent for a moment. “An...incident...with Caronte just happened a moment ago, General. Suffice it to say, he was killed during an attempt to kill me. Somehow, I think it’s what he was planning on. What better way for a madman to end, then to deny his captors the chance to interrogate him?”

Nole glared at the woman for a moment. Part of him wanted to believe that she had let it happen just so she could avenge her father, but he knew her better than that. For all of her bluster about being a solitary figure, she still had a moral center to her. “Very well, please forward that to me as well. I guess that pretty much wraps up this operation, then.”

“General,” she said quickly, as Nole reached for the disconnect button. “I’m not sure if my report completely showed just how much damage this cruiser took. We really could use some supplies, some crew to help repair it and get us going. I’ve talked it over with Commander Vogel, and we think that the ship could easily be converted for our needs. Plus, where else are these people going to go? We don’t have the resources to ferry everyone to a destination out of the combat zone.”

Nole grinned and let out a soft chuckle, his fur bristling slightly.

“General?”

He shook his head and held up a paw at her. “I’m okay, Avern, it’s just...you’re using ‘we’ an awful lot. Could it be that you’re finally beginning to see yourself as part of the Alliance? After all this time?”

Apparently that statement wasn’t the best thing to say; the Mando suddenly became flushed in the face at the compliment. “I still haven’t signed on, General. And you know I am not likely to.”

“An old man can dream. But, going back to the topic, you said something about supplies and personnel? We’re already putting together a convoy with the necessary resources. They should be leaving relatively soon, and I estimate they’ll be there in about, oh, four hours. Think you can handle things until them?”

“I’m Mando’ade; that should be answer enough for you.”

“Indeed. Good work on the Op, Captain Avern. And try not to do anymore good work, or else I’ll have to convince you to take a provisional promotion to Commander.”

“Only you would believe in futile causes, General. Avern, out,” and the holoprojecter went inactive.

Nole stared at the projector again with a smile on his face. “I told you she would work out.”

The mysterious figure moved out of the shadows. “The future has yet to be fully written, General. My marines tell me she nearly shot Caronte. She’s volatile and dangerous; but perhaps that’s just the kind of person we need at the moment.” He moved toward the door, and said over his shoulder, “Send the convoy; my marines need some rest, and the sooner more personnel arrive, the sooner they can sack out.”

Continued, in A New Front: Part Two