by Rob "Biggs" Baden

The insistent beeping woke Rob in the middle of the night and he was not happy about it. Grumbling about how rude some people could be, he walked over to his small Holo-Net tranceiver and switched it on. "Baden Repairs."

The ghost-like silhouette of a young, short woman with blond hair wavered into existence, smiling broadly. "Rob! It’s so good to see you!"

Rob could hardly contain how happy he was. "Lela! I didn’t think you would be able to call from Golanda III. You've got a transmitter up already?"

"Some Alliance personnel are taking a leave here on the planet and they helped the colonial engineers. I couldn’t wait to talk to you. Oh..." she suddenly said, her face frowning. "You were asleep, weren’t you? Oh, I woke you up!"

Laughing lightly to himself, Rob just smiled. "It’s all right. I planned to get up in five hours anyways." He saw her face flush a little—very hard to see on a Holo-Net transmission—and smiled to her. "By the Force, it’s good to see you. Where are you at, on the colony that is."

"We’re in the southern hemisphere, the north is too much of a desert for agricultural development. You know how us Alderaanians love green worlds."

Her smile sent warmth through Rob’s body that bled away any sense of cold he had. This is the time, he thought. Even if she is lightyears away, this is the time! "Uh, Lela, I have something very important to talk to you about."

The look on Lela’s face was one of confusion and even a little fear. "Rob, there isn’t something wrong is there? I mean, everything is okay, isn’t it?"

He laughed at that, trying to cut through the tension. "No, not at all, everything is great. There’s just one thing that would make it perfect." Before she could ask about that statement, Rob took a deep breath and looked at her intently. "Lela, in order for everything to be perfect, I would have to be married to you. So, my dear, would you do me the honor of marrying me?"

For a moment she was silent, and Rob feared that she was thinking of a way to say no to him. But then, suddenly, a smile crossed her face and Rob could swear that he saw tears forming at her eyes. "Of course I’ll marry you! It took you long enough to ask me!"

That brought a little surprised laughter from Rob. "I wanted to make sure that you would agree. I didn’t want to ask knowing that you would one hundred percent say no to me." His smile widened. "But, now I do know, so there’s no reason to be mad at me for not asking you sooner."

"You’re strange, you know that, don’t you?"

"Yep! But only because I love you." He smiled at her, but his face suddenly became that of a confused frown. "Hey, why are all those people running behind you? What’s going on?"

The image of Lela turned around briefly and from the corner of the holo-image Rob could make out a grey shape overhead, swooping down towards the center of the holo. Lela turned back around to see Rob again, her face distraught and full of fear. "Rob, something’s going on. The Empire is here."

Rob could not hide his worry—nor would he even try—but he did try to maintain a calm voice. "Lela, I want you to seek cover, okay? Find some bunker or underground facility, but get to some cover immediately. Do you understand?"

Her eyes were full on fear and worry, but Rob could tell that she was trying to be strong, trying to live up to her heritage as a proud Alderaanian. "I…I understand. Goodbye, Rob, I’ll send a message as soon as I can. I love you." She immediately took off running, heading in the same direction as the rest of the people, forgetting to turn off the transmitter.

Rob, unable to look away, watched with careful intent as TIE Bombers made low-altitude strafing runs. The image of Lela went out of transmission range and he sighed in relief, believing her to be out of danger.

That thought died shortly as the holo whited out from a nearby explosion, then returned, tilted and filled with static. Looking about, Rob saw the lifeless bodies of many men and women—mostly human, though there were a few Wookiees and Sullustans. In the left corner of the image, he could just make out a bloody hand wearing a silvery bracelet, with a green and blue stone he knew to be a replica of murdered Alderaan.

Rob staggered backwards from the projector, the shock hitting him like being hammered into a bulkhead. He fell back to the floor, landing hard on one of his tool kits at the small of his back, but the pain of the physical contact was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.

Still looking at the holo image, Rob saw a squad on Stormtroopers advance through the colony, shooting at people who were still alive. One trooper noticed the damaged transmitter, leveled his blaster at it, and fired. Reflexively, Rob ducked, and when he turned back to the projector, there was nothing but static.

Still on the floor, Rob just sat there, trying to piece together what he had just seen, his mind a jumble of what happened. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but at some point he got up, took a hydrospanner from a tool kit, and hit the holo projector’s main computer core.

Once the Holo-Net transmitter was smashed into an irreparable state, Rob set about smashing other items in his quarters. By the time Torch, his R5 unit, came into investigate the noise, half of Rob’s computer instruments and prized items—such as his award for being the best mechanic in a local contest—were beyond any recognizable fashion. The astromech’s insistent chirping at a high pitch was enough to even wake Rob’s partner, Jeff, who was known for sleeping during a ground quake.

Jeff, still tired and sleepy-eyed, rushed into Rob’s quarters and just stood in shock. "Rob, what happened here? What are you doing?"

Rob turned around, stared at Jeff for a minute or so, and then just slumped his shoulders and sagged to the floor, exhaustion taking him at last. It took him a couple of minutes before he could gather the emotional strength to actually explain to Jeff and Torch about what he had witnessed. When he was done he was on the verge of another emotional outburst; his reason and calmness pushed to their limits. His voice was full of venom, of rage, as he looked at the droid and teenage boy standing before him and said, "pack your things immediately. We’re leaving."

Not willing—or rather not wanting to take the risk—of arguing with Rob, Jeff and Torch set out to collect their things. Rob started packing what was left of his personal items and headed towards the YT-2400 transport sitting in the main hanger of the shop. He opened it up and walked up the ramp, turning immediately to the small two-person cabin in the main hold. He set down his bag—which was not all together very big—and walked to the cockpit. Once seated in the pilot’s seat he began the checklist. It wasn’t long before Torch and Jeff trotted up the ramp and entered the cockpit.

"We’re all set, Rob. Uh…where are we going?"

Without saying a word, Rob started the ion engines and remotely opened the hanger doors. Once the rest of the checklist was done and passed he hit the accelerator, the ship taking off through the high airway traffic of Nar Shadda. "Nar Shadda Control," said Rob into the communications console. "Request permission to leave planetary control and embark on outward bound traffic beacon two-two-five-eight."

A small static discharge hit the speakers, and then the gruff voice of a man with a very thick Coruscant accent filled the cockpit. "Unknown YT-2400, please state your name. You don’t have a registered designation."

Rob was silent for a moment and then, without really paying much attention to the others, he simply stated, "List the ship as the Pride of Alderaan, captained by Rob Baden. Now, may we have permission to leave?"

"Wait a moment." There was the typing of fingers on keys and then the voice returned. "Permission granted, you may turn to beacon two-two-five-eight. Good flying, Pride."

Rob boosted the engines and made for space, the city lights of Nar Shadda falling fast behind. Once outside the beacon and well into the space traffic lanes, he cut in the hyperspace coordinates for Kashyyyk, the Wookiee homeworld and a known Alliance world, and flew into lightspeed.

"Captain, we have a light freighter coming out of hyperspace in sector ten."

Jackson Valore looked up from his data screen to see his young tactical officer, a Bothan named Velick Kol`fer, standing before him. Shifting slightly in his chair, Jackson gave him an intent stare, one that would let him know that he was waiting for him to continue.

"Its registration is new, just out of Nar Shadda, called the Pride of Alderaan. Owner is a Rob Baden, originally of Corellia."

"Any communication from it yet, Lieutenant?"

"Not yet sir, but I suspect-"

The communications officer on duty, a small Sullustan, even for her species, interrupted Kol`fer. "Sir, I'm receiving a transmission from the Pride. She's asking for permission to dock with us and wishes to talk to someone concerning joining the Alliance."

Swerving in his chair Jackson returned his gaze to the Bothan. "Tactical analysis."

"A modified Corellian YT-2400. Standard armament, plus a couple of extras that I assume was put on by the owner. Can hold four crew, two gunners, and, at max, four passengers, probably more if it were crammed."

Jackson turned to the Sullustan. "Signal a docking clearance and have a security team standing by." Getting up from his chair he turned to take in the rest of the bridge crew. "Alert me if anything happens. Lieutenant Kol`fer, you're with me. Commander Naven," he said, turning towards his first officer. "You have the bridge." A very low "aye, sir" was the last thing her heard before the lift doors closed, incasing Kol`fer and himself in the cramped, incredibly uncomfortable tube.

It wasn't long before Kol`fer turned to him, his mouth open and ready to speak. But, before he could say a word, Jackson cut him off.

"I know what you're going to say, and, yes, I'm sure. Now let's leave it at that and be done with it, shall we?" He turned back to the doors, not wanting to even make the slightest suggestion to Kol`fer that they would even discuss the subject. It wasn't too long before the lift doors opened and the small foyer separating the hanger bay from the pilot briefing room came into existence before him. Stepping out, Jackson and Kol`fer were greeted with nine Alliance security personnel, eight of them with BlasTech E-11 assault rifles, the ninth with a DL-44 blaster carbine, who saluted them.

"Personnel assembled and ready, sir."

Jackson nodded. "Good. Form up into three teams. Team one will cover the cockpit, team two will cover the docking hatch in case someone tries to get offship without our noticing, and team three will cover the ramp."

The lean man saluted. "At once, sir." He turned to his security personnel and started giving them orders.

Jackson was uninterested in what the sergeant was doing. He was focusing on YT-2400 touching down in the small hanger bay, settling down with such precision that he wondered if the man piloting her could turn out to be a good starfighter pilot. When the "all-clear" siren sounded, the security personnel rushed out and took up their positions. After the sergeant gave a clear signal, Jackson and Kol`fer walked towards the descending ramp.

By the time they got there a young man of about twenty or so slowly came down, his arms up and showing that he wasn't carrying any weapons-at least visible ones. Behind him trotted a youth of sixteen and an unusually quiet R5 astromech unit.

Jackson extended his hand. "I'm Captain Jackson Valore of the Alliance dreadnought Remembrance. This is my tactical officer, Lieutenant Velick Kol`fer."

The other man accepted Jackson's hand and shook it briefly, almost as if he did not enjoy touching another person in the slightest fashion. "Captain, Lieutenant." He turned to his ship, and Jackson could just make out the slight movement of the security personnel, their rifles moving to keep trained on the new arrival. "This is my ship, the Pride of Alderaan which, if your security is as tight as it already is, you already know about. And you already know my name, so I'll move right along to that of my crew, as it were. This," he said, indicating the teenager, "is my associate and co-pilot, Jeff Gerlach. And the droid behind him is my navigator and security astromech, R5-G8, nick-named Torch."

Jackson gave a polite nod to the other two, but didn't take his eyes off Baden. Searching the man's face he came to the conclusion that whatever had prompted his decision to join the Alliance's struggle had to have been a personal tragedy. His face was full of hatred, full of loss, his eyes looking like they were nothing but empty vessels. Jackson almost became lost in this train of thought, and it took a brief move from one of the security troopers to shake him back to reality.

"Welcome aboard, Mister Baden. Tell me, how did you find out we were here?"

"Kashyyyk is a known supporter of the Alliance. I believe a Wookiee sits on the Alliance's Provisional Council, if I'm not mistaken. Now, the part about you being here, that I didn't know about. My intention was to come here, try to find some way to communicate with the government on the planet below, and sign up with the Alliance. Since you are here, it makes my job a little easier."

Jackson nodded, the explanation making sense to him. "Well, Mister Baden, you understand-for security sake-that we'll have to hold you for the moment until we do a background check on your story." He nodded to the security sergeant and then turned to Kol`fer. "Lieutenant Kol`fer will see to your every need, but please do not try to go where you are not directed, and please do not attempt to, for lack of a better word, aggravate the security people."

Baden nodded at him. "I understand, sir." He and his party gladly filed into a position that the security personnel used to quickly surround them. Before they started to move, however, Baden turned and looked at Jackson. "Oh, and Captain? Please make sure no harm comes to my ship."

"We'll do our best, Mister Baden." That was all he could really state at the moment. If, indeed, this was a clever ploy on the dying Empire's part, and there was a device discovered onboard the Pride…well, the ship would most likely meet with an untimely fate.

Apparently satisfied by the statement-or at least satisfied by the extent to which it could cover-Baden turned forward again and walked off with the security personnel, his "crew" following behind him. Moments after they disappeared into the lift tube, another slew of security personnel, outfitted with scanners, appeared. Without saying a word, Jackson gestured to the Pride and they set out to work. Jackson, himself, moved towards the lift, his mind shifting about with possible outcomes to this new equation in his life.

"Why are we here?"

Rob just sat in his chair, looking about the small cabin that had been given to him, Jeff, and Torch. While small, even for a military ship, the cabin had a cozy, almost soothing sense to it. They were provided with two bunk beds, and there was even a converted power coupling for Torch to plug into when he wanted to recharge.

Rob, looking like he wasn't paying any attention at all t Jeff, turned just the slightest of turns, and said, "I believe my statement to Captain Valore was self-evident. I assume you were listening, or were you daydreaming again? A most unbecoming habit, Jeff, you should do away with it."

"Blast it, Rob, don't give me that." Jeff's sounded as if he was on the verge of an outbreak. "I want to know why we are here, and no excuses, a true reason."

Feeling just the bit full of irritation, and even more so of anger, Rob just turned and stared at Jeff, his eyes full of flame and death. When Jeff saw this he backed away and kept a respectful distance from him. Rob, on the other hand, didn't let it go at that. He stood up; his tall figure that of a looming one in such small confines, and kept starting at Jeff. "I just lost the woman I was going to marry to a twelve-ship squadron of TIE Bombers and a twenty-man platoon of Stormtroopers who's only reason for killing her was that she was sympathetic towards the Rebellion and decided to help a refugee colony of her own people by sharing her skills!" Almost as if he knew what he was doing, he sat down, trying very hard to control his outrage. After a moment or two, he turned to Jeff again. "The both of us-and don't you dare try to deny it-have lost too much because of the Empire. With the Battle of Endor over with and the Empire on the retreat, it's apparent that the Alliance is the right side to be on. Do you honestly believe that we'd have the kind of trouble we've had if Palpatine and his puppet Vader hadn't come to power?"

Jeff just stood there, his mouth open in a surprised expression. After a minute he sat down in his own chair, the low humming of the power coupling's energy flow bringing about a soothing background. "I'm sorry, Rob," was all he could manage to say. "I truly am, I know how much you cared for Lela. But, honestly, what can we do for the Alliance at this time?"

"While it may be rather non-combative, there is plenty of risk in the venture that I believe we are well suited for at the moment." After a moment's silence, Rob spoke again. "Shipping and supply runs."

"Shipping and supply runs! Wow, brilliant plan, Rob. We'll truly help to bring about a new galactic order by running supplies!" He threw his arms up in the air, hands moving about in excitement. "Name one person who contributed to the Alliance by running supplies."

Without even missing a beat Rob just grinned and stated, almost matter-of-factly, "Han Solo. Wedge Antilles. Mirax Terrik. Need I go on."

"Oh, shut up," and he folded his arms in a sulking fashion.

Just then the doors to their cabin opened up and in walked the Bothan, Kol`fer, along with Captain Valore. Rob noticed, with a sense of ease, that during the entire time the door was open no security personnel, for the first time, was present outside. He took this to be a good sign. Standing up, Rob stared at them both. "Lieutenant, Captain. Pleasant surprise. I'm sorry if the place is a mess, we just moved in."

"Dispense with the sarcasm if you would, Mister Baden," said Valore. He came further into the room and sat down at the small desk opposite the table Rob and Jeff were seated at. "I've just come from a meeting with High Command. We checked on your story and it seems that you're telling the truth." The captain seemed to tense for a moment and then said, "On a more personal note, I'm deeply sorry for your loss."

Rob bowed in respect, but immediately turned to the task at hand. "So, I assume that we're allowed to join the Alliance since we're no longer under guard," his head gesturing towards the door where there were no security people around.

"Quite perceptive, Mister Baden. Yes, you and your 'crew' will be allowed to join the Alliance." Valore sat forward, his hands on his knees as he looked at Rob directly. "And in what fashion may I tell them?"

Without even bothering to take the time to look up, Rob stated, with a confidence he felt-which he was not sure was genuine or just the feeling of the moment-, "Shipping and supply running. For now."

"Well, Mister Baden," said Valore, his hand extended one more time as such was earlier on the hanger deck. "Welcome to the Alliance. May the Force be with you."

Rob shook the hand and seated himself back into the chair. "Thank you, Captain. Now, do you know when I can get started earning my keep?"

"Funny you should mention that." He walked towards the door. "We're in need of someone to ship some supplies from Kashyyyk to the advanced fleet. If you stop by the conference room at sixteen hundred hours today I'll fill you in on all the details. Until then, you're free to move about the ship." He walked out the door, the Bothan lieutenant fast on his heels. The last thing that could be heard was Valore's voice saying, "Good day, gentlemen."

Rob turned to Jeff and gave a wry grin. "Let's get back to the Pride and make sure nothing is out of place. Then, I want you to practice on the gunnery controls. It's a far off chance that we'll see any action, but I want to be sure we're prepared."

"I hope you know what you're doing. I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Oh, be quiet, you always say that, and you're always wrong." Rob stood up and headed out the door, Torch rolling beside him. "Come on," he said over his shoulder. "We're Rebels now. Let's go act like it.

And with that, Jeff followed, the three of them making their way to the lift and, from there, to the hanger deck, to the Pride, and, from there, to their future, however perilous it would be.

The white, almost pure, wall of hyperspace surrounded the Pride of Alderaan as it sped towards its destination. Jeff looked up into the vastness around him and made a very loud and exasperated sigh. So loud, in fact, that a moment later Rob poked his head up the tunnel at him.

"What's wrong now?"

Jeff fought back a retort. Instead, all he said was, "Nothing at all, Rob, just thinking about the stars."

"Well, don't day dream." Rob turned and walked off, but Jeff could still hear him as he talked. "I swear, for the past three weeks you've done nothing but day dream about flying. As if our working for the Alliance in this capacity wasn't enough, you want more."

Jeff just shook his head. Of course I want more. Since they joined the Alliance the closest they have come to taking damage was a run-in with an Imperial frigate during their first run to the advanced fleet. After that, many of the jobs they had took them into the deeper, more fortified regions of Alliance-controlled space. "I just think that we should be doing more than what we're doing, especially if we really want to contribute to the Alliance's advance."

"I heard that," came a distant voice from below.

"Oy." Jeff climbed down from the gun turret and entered into the main hold where Torch was. "You know, Torch, sometimes I wonder if our lives will ever be simple." He turned towards the cockpit and started walking in a slow fashion, not really in a big rush to get there. Finally, when he entered the cockpit he looked around, more out of habit than anything else. To the right was, of course, the copilot's seat and half of the navigational & scanner equipment. To the left was the pilot's seat—currently occupied by Rob—and the other half of the navigational & scanner equipment. Moving forward he took his seat to the right and began pulling up commands for reversion to sub-light. "We're all set for re-entry."

"Jeff," came a reply. "There's no need to be disappointed. I'm sure you'll find your sense of adventure soon."

Jeff just groaned a reply and hit the lever. "Reverting to real space…now."

The bright, white wall of hyperspace disappeared into detailed pinpoints of light marking independent stars or stellar bodies that shone brightly in the vastness of space. Off to port was the image of a Mon Calamari MC-80a cruiser with several small gunships and corvettes. But the most important aspect of the scene was the Victory-class Star Destroyer on the starboard with its frigate escorts.

"Ah, blast it!" swore Rob. "Well, there you go, Jeff, you got some excitement."

Ignoring his jab, Jeff's hands flew over the controls. "Sensors are reading a full wing of TIEs, ranging from eyeballs to squints. I even seen some dupes in the mix, no doubt trying take out some of our caps." An alarm sounded and Jeff checked his instruments once more. "Great, we've been spotted by some 'balls, they're changing course for us."

"Take the turret controls, Jeff. Torch! Plug into the engineering section and try and get us some more speed."

Since there was only two people who could work the turrets—Rob and himself—Jeff had come up with the idea of installing a separate control device to link the turrets to the instruments in the main hold, making it much easier to track and target hostels in without having to work the controls manually. Getting up from his seat, Jeff rushed back to the main hold just as he felt the ship shudder from the impact of a laser shot, Torch rushing past him to the engineering corner of the hold. Jeff seated himself in the small chair—which was originally a scavenged ejection seat from a battered Z-95 that came into their shop last year—and brought the controls online. "Turrets ready, Rob."

"Good, we're going to need 'em. Here they come!"

Jeff's HUD came alive with the image of an eyeball bearing right in on his top turret. He hit the controls, adjusted the turret, and pressed the trigger, and, in a few seconds, there was a fast-expanding cloud of ionized gas—which was originally the ion engines of the fighter—in the spot where an Imperial pilot was before. "Scratch one."

"This is the Pride of Alderaan to Alliance ships, we are under attack and could do with some assistance. This isn't a snubfighter, you know!" Rob's voice was on the verge of crying out, or at least that's what Jeff sensed.

"Keep tight, Pride, we're sending tow fighters out to give you a hand," came the reply over the internal speakers of the ship. "They'll be with you in two minutes."

Jeff tracked another eyeball as it flew past, making a strafing run, and hit the trigger just as it turned. One of the solar panels broke off and the remainder of the fighter spun out of control, the change in balance causing it's pilot considerable trouble. He spun into another flight of TIEs and collided with a squint, both exploding in a bright flash of light.

"What was that," asked Rob from the cockpit.

"Let's just say we killed two myknocks with one stone." He tracked another fighter coming in, but before he could do anything about it a quad burst of green laser fire hit the lower turret. Sparks flew from the controls and Jeff jumped back, surprised more then afraid. After a moment Jeff tried the controls and found that he couldn't operate them. Rushing to the turret tunnel he looked down and saw that the turret was a pile of junk. Looking up he saw the upper turret was still functional so he climbed up. Once he was in the seat and strapped on the harness, he put on the headset and a burst of static gave way to the voice of Rob.

"What are you doing down there?"

"Squint took out the controls and the lower turret, this one still works, but on manual." He hit the trigger and blasted another TIE as it passed in front of him. "Where's our blasted support?"

Almost as if an answer to his question, two X-wings flew by in front of his view port. "Patience, patience. We're here, Pride," came the voice of one of the pilots. "Stick tight and we'll protect you till you land."

"Thanks, X-wings," said Rob. We'll be there soon anyways, only about another klick to go."

The rest of the trip to the Mon Cal Cruiser Glorious was pretty much uneventful, up, until, the last moment, just before the Pride entered the hanger bay. A stray missile—shot from an Imperial Stormtrooper Transport—struck the upper turret cannon, the one that Jeff was still stationed in.

The impact caused Jeff to be thrown back, causing his chair to give way to the pressure. The individual gravitational field surrounding the turret collapsed and the chair, loosened from the force of Jeff's body hitting it hard and fast, began tumbling down the tunnel to the other end. Just when it was about to hit the chair of the lower turret control seat, the upper view port burst open and vacuum began sucking all the air out. Jeff started being pulled upward and was just about to be sucked out into space—

When the Pride passed through the MagCon field and Jeff—still attached to the seat—flew up out of the turret port and hit the ceiling of the hanger bay hard, falling back to the deck at a tremendous speed.

The last thing that Jeff saw before his vision blacked out was the feet of several people rushing towards him. He couldn't look up, but he was sure that Rob would be there soon, as soon as the Pride set down. But, before Rob arrived, his vision went black.

Rob stared at the image of Jeff in a bacta tank, his feet kicking reflexively, the pink color of the medicine blurring the details of his face. He turned around and looked at the doctor—a female Mon Calamari—in charge of the sickbay. "How's he doing?"

She looked at him as well, her fish-like features doing nothing to hide the pain in her eyes. "He's responding well to treatments, but it will be a couple of weeks before he can emerge from the tank, and then he'll have to spend two more weeks recuperating. He was very lucky."

"That he was," was all that Rob could really say. He turned back to the tank and just stared for a moment. "Thank you, Doctor. Please take care of him."

"Of course. Are you going somewhere, sir?"

Rob just gave a wry grin. "The captain asked to see me for some reason, says he wants to give me the opportunity to get some payback. I'm assuming that means I have to leave ship." Without saying another word he turned on his heel and walked out of the sickbay and down the corridor. While he was walking he took the liberty of studying the structural design of the cruiser, intrigued by the organic feel that it gave him, almost as if he was walking around inside of a living creature. Rob was aware, as were most people, that Mon Cal ships resembled several organic life forms, almost as if they were extensions of the creatures of Mon Calamari's oceans, but it wasn't until he was actually inside the vessel that he experienced an awe for it.

He became so engrossed in his thinking that he did not notice that he had reached the end of the corridor. Rob, his face now chagrined, turned around and hurried back down to the proper room that he was suppose to enter, the Tactical Briefing Room. Upon entering he was made aware that Captain Dansner—a human in his mid forties—was not the only person in the room. There was a Bothan and another human, both males. Before he could say a word, or even just give a quizzical look, Dansner spoke.

"Mister Baden, if you could take a seat, please, we'll get started."

Rob did as he was told and reluctantly sat down. "Um, before we do 'get started' why am I here?"

"Your ship was damaged in the recent attack, as well as your co-pilot being injured, correct?" asked the Bothan.

"Yes, that is correct."

"You want payback, don't you?"

"Yes…"

"You're getting your chance, Mister Baden."

Rob didn't know what the Bothan meant by that. "Exactly what do you meant?"

"Intelligence has discovered that the missile that hit your ship was from a Stormtrooper Transport that was carrying the Sixteenth Ground Forces Platoon," said Dansner. "A very troublesome platoon for the Alliance. It's been renowned for capturing bases and ships and being extremely brutal in their process, even so for Imperials."

"We're putting together an operation," cut in the Bothan. Rob guessed he was the local Intelligence liaison. We've discovered—or more to the point, Intelligence has discovered—that they're being based on a planet in the Melone Sector. We can't tell you more than that at the moment, security and all. But we have a team in place ready to hit them hard."

"We want you to be on that team, Mister Baden," said Dansner, once again taking the helm of the briefing. "We're offering you a chance to help take them out."

"Why me?" was about all he could manage to say at the moment. "I'm not a Gro-Po. Yes, I've practiced with a few blaster rifles and carbines, but usually just to keep my eyes sharp."

"Well, your ship is out of commission at the moment, but you're still able to help out. We need good men and women on the ground, and we feel that this could be your start as a good trooper."

"I'll take it," he said after a moment. "Where do I report?"

Dansner pointed to the other human in the room. "This is Sergeant Packnerold, he'll be leading the team. You'll be given a full briefing on the situation after you leave ship. You'll also be given a field commission of Private and armed with some pretty heavy stuff. Just follow Packnerold's instructions and you'll do fine." He stood up and gave Rob a salute. "Good luck, Private Baden."

Rob, for lack of any other thought, returned the salute and followed Packnerold out the door. He couldn't get the feeling out of his head that he was supposed to do this; that it was something he was made for. He only hoped that his feelings were right.

Chapter 4: Payback

Taking one last look at the battle-scorched hull of his Pride of Alderaan before he walked into the assault transport Attendance, Rob's heart began to sink. He'd lost his mother due to complications during his childbirth. He'd lost his father to a drunken Selonian in a run-down bar on Corellia. He'd lost Lela to a bomb dropped by an Imperial pilot who could care less. And he had come very close to losing his adopted brother to a stray missile from an Imperial transport. His sense of rage, or outcry, started rising in him and he was sure he was about to burst.

"Private Baden!" came a shout from the ramp of the transport, one of the other commandos waving to him. "Come on, we're ready to get going!"

The sound of his new "rank" jeered Rob out of his thoughts and he hurriedly walked into the shuttle, the ramp closing behind him. He settled into his seat, the gear he was wearing feeling unusually comfortable. Looking around him he saw several men and women, but just humans, no non-humans at all. Well, he thought, it does make some sense, since we'll most likely have to do some infiltration.

The transport lifted off from the deck of the Glorious and flew out the MagCon field holding in the air that many of the Alliance member beings needed to survive. About a minute later there was a small lurch and the transport flew into hyperspace, the velocity of lightspeed taking hold briefly before the internal compositors could take hold. Sergeant Packnerold stood up and looked at the rest of the commandos, his intent obviously to speak about the mission.

"Okay, listen up!" Once everyone's attention was on him he continued. "In two hours we will be coming out of hyperspace in the Golanda system, which was taken by the Empire about a month ago."

Golanda, thought Rob. Why does that name sound familiar? Where have I heard it before?

"We'll be entering the third planet's atmosphere three hundred klicks from the established Imperial garrison and will set down thirty klicks away. From there we will high tail it to the garrison where we'll have three objectives. Objective One will be to infiltrate the base—I'll be handing out assignments for that team in a moment—and obtain as much information from the database as possible. This will be a time consuming operation and will most likely take about a week to work out. Once that is achieved the team will leave immediately and rendezvous with the rest of the force.

"Objective Two will be to plant charges around the base, barracks, and escape vehicles to impede their possible chance of getting off planet and bringing us trouble in the future. If—and it's a big if—there are any civilians around, do your best to avoid hitting them. We're not butchers. Once that is achieved, we'll withdraw to a safe distance, activate the charges, and make sure all the buildings that contain important and valuable resources that can be used for their retrieval off planet are destroyed.

"Objective Three will be withdrawing to the transport and getting off that rock before they can get a bead on us. Once we're space-side and on our way, we can start celebrating.

"Any questions?"

Rob, for some reason, raised his hand. Well, it's always better to ask a stupid question than be overconfident. "Sergeant, for some reason I've heard the name Golanda before. Can you try and jeer my memory?"

There was some light murmuring from the other troops, but that quickly died when Packnerold gave them a glare. When it was quiet again, he looked at Rob directly and said, "It was an Alderaanian colony, one of the few places that they have now. It came under attack from Saber Squadron—a TIE Bomber unit—and the Sixteenth Ground Forces Platoon, which you are familiar with already. I take it you can pretty guess what happened. They then took control of the remaining buildings—which weren't many—and set it up as their new field base of operations. Does that help, Private?"

Rob just sat there, his heart threatening to give out at what he had just heard. Not trusting himself to speak he nodded in the direction of Packnerold.

"Good. Now everyone relax for the next hour, no sense in stressing ourselves when we have nothing to do." He sat back down and everyone started chatting about this and that.

Rob, on the other hand, felt like he was going to rip someone's heart out. Preferably a Saber Squadron pilot. After about a month of dealing with Lela's death—and now the near-death of Jeff—at the hands of these…these butchers, he was able to pay them back in full, at least some of them, for the pain that they had given him.

Rob took out his dagger—one of the new items given to him when he agreed to take this assignment—and took out a slab of metal that he had. He began to sharpen his blade in a methodical fashion, his intuition and instinct making up for the lack of ever doing it before. Others around him gave him a little look of confusion since he obviously was not starting to relax. Rob paid them no mind, his thoughts turning to vengeance and readiness.

And so it begins.

In orbit around Golanda III there are no satellites to warn the people of ships entering the atmosphere. There are no early-warning systems on a full half of the planet, the other half protected by a sensory net common to most Imperial field bases. There are no starfighter patrols guarding the system, and there are only a few anti-air defense turrets on the ground surrounding the base perimeter.

With all of this lack of protection no one saw or detected the assault transport dropping from hyperspace on the far side of the planet. Quickly scanning to see if there were any ship or fighters in the area, the assault transport sped towards the atmosphere of Golanda III, it's passengers preparing for immediate action.

Very soon, and with no action to speak of, the assault transport entered Golanda III's ionosphere, it's hull beginning to burn a little from the pressure and heat. Once completely inside of the atmosphere, the transport dropped down to treetop level and did a terran following course, crossing the forest's trail. After about two hundred klicks, the transport started slowing down, cautious so as not to alert the base of its arrival. For a while it continued to travel at low speed, its pilots satisfied that they were keeping themselves well out of danger.

That thought didn't last long, however. Less then ten klicks from their planned touchdown spot, a blast from an E-web laser cannon took out one of their engines. Because they were running silent, their shields were done to cut back on the energy output in hopes of not being spotted. It obviously did not help.

Moments later, the transport began rushing into the trees, the forest walls battering its hull. It didn't take long until the transport crashed into a tree and settled, rather roughly, to the forest ground. A fire began to break out in the cockpit area while a blast from the rear took out its boarding ramp. Several people started piling out of the back, running for cover. A moment later, just after the last trooper was clear, the transport exploded in a bright flash, debris flying everywhere.

Rob ducked as he felt, rather than heard, the explosion behind him. He was lucky that he got out just in time. It was, however, unlucky how the pilots didn't even have a chance to get out of the cockpit.

Picking himself off the ground, Rob rushed over to where the other troopers were gathering, Packnerold in the center. Once he got there, the sergeant took a deep breath and began giving instructions.

"All right. It's obvious that our plan has gone wrong. So, change of plans." He thought for a moment. "We'll proceed with Objective One as discussed before. Henderson, Baden, Jockner, Oxman, Miller, Malore, Vack, Vib, and Holland, you'll stake out the base, get to know their routine, and then obtain all the information you can. It might take a while, so make sure you get some food while you're there.

"Now, Objective Two will have to change. Once Team One has finished obtaining the data we're going to have to plant charges on most of the buildings and transport craft. We'll secure a transport craft for out use and get out before we activate the charges. Because of the nature of our departure changing we're going to need some cover. Now, does anyone have piloting experience?"

Rob raised his hand, as well as three other people.

"Good. We'll secure two starfighters. Baden and Collen, you'll pilot those. Henderson and Xiver, you'll pilot the transport craft. Are there any questions?"

Xiver held up her hand. "Once Team One is finished how will we know?"

"They'll signal us and we'll meet in the base's main hanger. Everyone clear on that?" There were murmurs of affirmative from everyone. "Good, then Team One, get going, we'll make our way to the south side of the base to await your signal. It may be a week or so before we see each other, so good luck, and may the Force be with you."

Rob and the other eight commandos, Corporal Henderson the leader, secured their packs and started to high tail in the direction of the base. As he hefted more and more towards the base, one thought kept going through his head. It's time for some payback!

Everyone was in good shape—you almost always had to be in order to be a commando—and they made it to the north side of the base perimeter in good time. Henderson, a young woman just a little older than Rob, and quite short, even for a woman, held up a hand signaling them to take cover.

A moment later a squad of scout troopers walked by their hiding spot. No one moved, they were all well trained to know not to even attempt to take the scouts out. It wasn't long before they were gone and Henderson signaled them to move on up to the base wall, attempting to find a spot that they could easily enter.

"All right," said Henderson. "We'll split into three units. Unit One will attempt a remote access of the computers. Oxman, you're the slicer, so you'll be on the unit, Vack and Miller will be with you as well. Unit Two will try to find the main hanger to help later. If they'll attempt to gain access to it. Baden, Vib, and Malore will be on that unit. The rest will be with me, we'll try to secure some food and supplies.

"We'll meet back at the end of the day and report on our progress. Okay, let's get going. Oxman, find us a computer outlet and open a gate for us."

All nine people rushed to the nearest gate, which was lightly defended. Once Oxman hacked into the remote computer systems and overrode the commands for the gate, Henderson and Vack took out the stormies guarding it. In just a few minutes all of the commandos were inside the base and split up into their three separate units.

Baden, for the life of him, couldn't remember ever being this close to a stormtrooper in over fifteen years. It didn't seem to help matters much that both of them were members of the Sixteenth Ground Forces Platoon, the unit patch evident on their shoulders. Fighting back the urge to unload a couple of bolts into their helmets, Rob turned and rushed off towards the hanger with Vib and Malore, himself bringing up the rear.

It didn't take them long to find it. At the end of the road—if you could call the dirt level that—a makeshift hanger stood, two assault transports and nearly a full flight of TIEs within it. Baden, despite his trying to hold it in, whistled low. They're not just TIEs, he thought. They're TIE Advanced!

Just then he heard the sound of a E-11 assault rifle being switched on and a microphone accompanied voice saying, "Hold it right there."

Slowly turning around, Rob, Vib, and Malore came face to face with four stormies. Out of reflex they put their hands behind their head in standard military fashion. This is not good.

Rob looked with his eyes at Vib and Malore, both of whom were so professional in their surrender that he wondered if they had done this kind of action with their arms on numerous occasions. Both of them caught his look and gave a subtle nod in his direction, thus telling him that they were good to go on his signal. He may not have as much combat experience as others on his team, but he did have the ability to pick up things quickly.

The stormies had confiscated their blaster carbines as well as their comm links, but they hadn't gotten around to taking their daggers. Two of them were checking over the comm links while a third was holding out a pack in which the former two were preparing to put the links in. The forth was keeping watch with an assault rifle, his attention divided between his companions and his prisoners.

"Hey, look at this," said one of the stormies, holding up Rob's carbine—his own personal carbine, the one he had before he joined the Alliance. "It's got some inscription on it."

The stormie guarding them turned his head towards his comrade and that's when Rob made his move. He pulled out his dagger in one swift move and moved in on the stormie, slicing him just under his protective armor. Vib took out his own blade—one Rob had never seen before, must have been a custom-made job—and jumped across the now-dying stormie Rob had hit, kicked the pack out of the third stormie and used the same technique that Rob did, but in a much better fashion. Both Rob and Malore converged on the two remaining stormies, knocking the comm links out of their hands and dealing with them swiftly. Within thirty seconds, all four of the stormtroopers lay dying before them. Rob took out a cloth and cleaned his dagger and the sheathed it again as his comrades did the same thing.

He then caught look at the four dead troopers on the ground and just faltered for a moment before he moved to retrieve his comm link and his DL-44. He should have been disturbed by having to kill the troopers, but he wasn't. What did disturb him was how easily he did it and with such an effortless fashion. But he really couldn't think about that at the moment, he needed to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"We've got to get these stormies out of the way before someone notices they're gone. Vib, stare here and keep watch while we take care of these guys." Rob picked up one of the bodies and dragged it to one of the storage lockers, Malore following suit with another of the bodies. They repeated this action until the other two bodies were in the locker as well. Once done they returned to the front of the hanger where Vib was standing watch. "Okay, we found the hanger, so we've pretty much completed our assignment. But we got a little problem on our hands."

"More like four of them," murmured Malore.

"Exactly. Now, in those lockers I found some uniforms, two for a stormtrooper and one for a low-level army officer. Now, with those guys missing"—he gestured to the storage locker at the end of the hanger—"we're going to have trouble moving about easily. So we need to be in cover. Malore, go ahead and get changed." The short, thin man took off to the locker. "Vib, try to find a speeder or something for us to travel in, I'll keep watch." Vib took off as well, leaving Rob to his thoughts, which, at the moment, was becoming very full of dark and disturbing reality at what he had done. By the Force, I've killed.

Henderson looked at her chrono, the time indicating that the day was nearly over. Oxmen and his unit had returned, telling her that the computers were impossible to remotely slice into. That news was not exactly the best she had heard all day. What was little better was the fact that most of the food supplies were heavily guarded. Apparently the Empire had been rationing out the food to the remaining survivors of the colony—which was over fifty individuals—though most of the "good" stuff was being kept to feed their troops.

The only bad really bad thing was that no one heard anything Baden and his unit, and it was getting really dark. She was around ready to activate her comm link and call into him when she heard the familiar sound of a speeder truck heading towards her position. "Get down!" she said to the other five troopers around her, taking cover herself.

And, indeed, a speeder truck was heading to the gate that they broke into earlier. "Give me those micro binocs," he said to another trooper who produced it out of his pack. Henderson put them up to her eyes and stared. "I don't believe it."

"What is it?" asked Oxmen.

Without saying a word Henderson handed the binocs to Oxmen and just sat back as he preformed a similar observation. "Well, I see two stormies standing guard with what looks like an army lieutenant driving the truck." He turned to her with a quizzical look. "I don't see anything unusual about that."

"Look at the face of the lieutenant."

Oxmen turned around again and took another look. He was surprised by what he saw that he had to take another look just to be certain. "Is that who I think it is?"

"Yep. It's Baden." She got up from her crouched position and cautiously walked over to the gate just as Baden drove the speeder truck through it and onward towards the hiding place, obviously getting the truck under cover. Henderson turned around and ran, again, towards the speeder truck just as it shut off and Baden jumped down from its cab. "Private, where have you been?"

"Securing a mode of transportation and infiltration, Corporal." He nodded to the two troopers—who now had their helmets off, revealing the faces of Malore and Vib—and they held up some stormtrooper armor and two sets of army officer duty uniforms.

"That was not your assignment."

"We had some extra time." He had the look of him like he had just killed someone…The problem was that he most likely did, given where the truck and uniforms came from. "The main hanger is on the east side of the base, one assault transport present, and—get this—four TIE Advanced."

Henderson, despite her composure, whistled at that bit of information, as did most of the other troopers. The TIE Advanced was the most, ironically to its name, advanced starfighter the Empire had. Most TIEs had superb maneuverability and agility, but lacked the stability of shields nor did they have a hyperdrive to help them make long-range strikes. The Advanced, though—nicknamed a bright by the Alliance fighter corps—not only had what the others lacked, but they also had high speed. About the only thing that was its burden was a blindspot to its rear and a weak hull. But, that didn't really matter much to her at the moment. "Any opposition?"

Baden was silent for a moment and Henderson instantly knew that there had, indeed, been opposition and the result of that opposition was the death of the opposition. "A small squad—four total—of stormtroopers captured us just inside the hanger. We took them out before they were able to report back to their commander that they had us. Of course, now they're dead and missing and it won't be long before they find the bodies."

"Well, we have another matter to deal with as well. There are about fifty survivors left and—"

Henderson didn't get to finish her words when suddenly they heard a screeching sound, a sound that every sane person in the galaxy has come to fear: the sound of TIEs flying overhead. The troopers took cover quickly so to get out of their line of sight, but the truck was not so easy to conceal. "Quick, get the uniforms and armor now!" cried Henderson. Troopers began grabbing what they could and then they heard the unmistakable sound of a TIE coming in for a low strafing run. The troopers began running for cover again but three of them didn't make it and got caught as the truck exploded into a new sun.

Henderson shouted at her troops, "Disperse! We'll me back here in two hours, by then they'll have gone!" She took off, as did everyone else, in a wild direction. Hers, however, ended up being the same direction that Baden was running in. The two quickly hooked up with one another, each watching out for the other. She yelled over at him, "I take it they tracked the truck!"

"They must have! I can't think of any other way the were able to find us!"

Henderson just swore to herself. She had lost three people under her command, and she wasn't sure who they were, nor was she going to find out anytime until two hours from now.

Two hours later Rob and the other commandos returned to the darkened ground that was once where the truck was. Along the debris were the bodies of three of his comrades, Vib, Malore, and Miller. Miller was part of Oxmen's unit and had a specialty in jamming Imperial communications. The other two, Vib and Malore, had been part of Rob's unit. He didn't know them that well, he hadn't the opportunity to do so, but he didn't like the idea of their loss either.

He looked over at Henderson, his heart going out to her. He knew that she must have been feeling responsible for their deaths, for their sacrifice in the line of duty. She knew very well that the line of work she was in—that they were all in—had the loom of death over her everyday. The one true fact in war, above all else, is that people die. Soldiers, pilots, officers, commanders, civilians, workers, it didn't matter. They were all people, all sentient beings, and they died as a result of the violence that was being fought around them.

Pushing aside his philosophical thoughts, Rob walked over to the lifeless form of Vib, saw his eyes still open. He bent down and pulled his hand over Vib's eyes, closing them for the final time. "Rest in peace, for death is the only peace for people like us."

Suddenly there was rustle behind him and he turned to see Henderson standing over him and Vib's body. He got up and looked at her, her own eyes telling him exactly what her mouth could not.

There wasn't time for anything else to be said—or not said, as it were—between them. Oxmen came rushing up, his portable datapad in his hands. "Corporal! I have some really good news! Thanks to the uniforms that Baden got us"—he briefly nodded in Rob's direction, a sign of courtesy—"I was able to use the code cylinders from that of the officers. I got into the computer database and am downloading all the possible information that I can including where they're holding the remaining survivors, the autopsy reports on those who died, and the bunker locations."

"Excellent, Oxmen." She turned to Baden and took him off to the side briefly. "Private, earlier on the transport, when you asked Packnerold the question about our destination, you tensed up at the answer. Did you know someone here?"

Rob, not really trusting himself to speak for fear of saying something unbearable, just nodded. He looked at Henderson and in that moment he noticed her eyes searching his and how she suddenly looked like she felt his loss, even without knowing what it really was.

She turned back to Oxmen. "Ox! Can you link the dump to Baden's datapad so that he can check up on something?"

"Sure, just give me a minute." Oxmen started flying his hands over the controls off his datapad. In just under a minute he turned back to Henderson. "Done, you have access Baden."

Henderson turned to Rob and whispered in a low voice, "Go ahead and look." She walked away, taking Oxmen with her, leaving Rob alone for the time being with what he had to do.

Rob, for a long time, what felt like an hour, but what in reality was only five minutes, just sat on the ground with the datapad in his hands, not accessed. Then, taking a long and deep breath, he started accessing the autopsy files. It didn't take him long to find Lela's name on the list. But as he started reading the file he began to feel his heart stop, his stomach churn with grief and hatred. Without meaning to, and certainly without thinking about it, he got up, ran a good distance from the site of the truck's destruction, stopped, fell to his knees, and let out a rather long, loud scream of pain.

It didn't take long for Henderson and most of the others to coming running to him, worried that they had lost another comrade. What they found was Rob in such a hate-filled, grief-stricken form that many of them were intimidated by the sight. Henderson stepped closely, cautiously, and put an arm on his shoulder.

"Baden…Rob, what's wrong?"

Without speaking, without trusting himself to do so, he turned the datapad over to her so she could see it. After a brief moment she left out a low gasp of dread. Her reaction didn't change matters, though, for Rob. He just remained there, the hatred starting to fill him. He had proof, solid proof, that the Empire had murdered his one, true love. But that's not the only thing he had just discovered.

He took the datapad back again and looked at it, hoping to find the words he saw gone, but they were still there. They read, in a very cold way: "Subject is a twenty year old female of Alderaanian descent identified as Nin, Lela. Subject was found dead when ground forces entered what remained of the Golanda III colony, apparently caused by the blast from a TIE Bomber bomb. In good condition, healthy for her age, and six weeks pregnant. Condition of fetus at the time of death good and consistent with age."

Rob just wanted it to go away, he wanted it all to just go away! He screamed once more, his scream turning into a call for vengeance. "You killed my fiancé! You killed my child! I'll see you all burn in the fiery pits of eternal damnation, all of you, for what you did! I swear it! I swear it!"

Chapter 6: Mission Status

A week later, when Oxmen had been able to get all the information that the computers would allow him to download, Henderson and the rest of her team—minus the three that had died earlier—met up with Packnerold and the rest of the platoon on the north side of the base. Once there, Henderson and Packnerold went off someone where alone to discuss their plans on how to best get in again and how to achieve their other objectives.

Rob was still having a hard time dealing with the information that he had found out. One thought kept going through his mind, one thought that didn't seem to want to go away: Why didn't she tell me?

He, of course, knew that Lela most likely didn't know about her pregnancy since it was still at an early stage and would not become noticeable for a couple of more weeks. But that didn't stop him from wondering why he didn't know, why he couldn't tell.

His thoughts were interrupted when Henderson and Packnerold came back to the group. Without any sort of preamble, Packnerold just opened up with his plan. "We've got as much information as possible, thanks to Oxmen and his slicing abilities. But with that information comes a new objective. There are about fifty survivors from the colony, all of them within two small, crowded bunkers." He looked at his commandos and caught everyone's eye for a moment. "We cannot allow them to remain here, we must free them from the Empire, and that's exactly what we're going to do. Corporal," he said, gesturing to Henderson.

The small woman stepped forward. "Because of the size of the survivors, we'll need to secure not one, but two transports, assault transports preferably. Now, Baden has found the main hanger, where some fighters and an assault transport are birthed, but we'll have to find another transport. Now, because we only have four able pilots—myself, Baden, Xiver, and Collen—we'll have to split it up even more. Baden and Collen will pilot the fighters we secure, while I'll pilot the first transport, Xiver the second transport. We'll break into two teams; Team One will consist of Collen, Baden, myself, Nicknern, and Backen. We'll secure the hanger bay and jack into the computer network to try and find another transport craft. Team Two will be led by the sergeant and will consist of the remainder of the platoon. They'll plant charges on the specified buildings that Oxmen will provide for maximum damage and they'll also free the survivors."

"I want everyone to keep their eyes open for another transport and to provide the location over a secure comm link." Packnerold picked up his pack, securing it over his shoulder. "Unless there are any questions, let's get a move on!"

Rob—dressed, once again, in the Imperial Army officer uniform—crept quietly towards the hanger entrance. He peered around the corner and saw that a small group of Imperial pilots and stormtroopers were hanging around, helmets off, and drinking something from mugs. He turned to the other commandos behind him, gave him a signal, and, almost immediately, they turned the corner, carbines drawn and fired off six quick shots, hitting each of their targets on the mark, causing them to fall in record time.

Henderson walked forward past Baden. "Nicknern, Backen, cover the entrance."

The two commandos stayed at the hanger's entrance as Rob and the other walked after Henderson. Rob and Collen, a tall woman, headed towards the storage lockers to get pilot uniforms. Unfortunately, the TIE Advanced, like its predecessors, did not utilize a life support system, making its pilots have to wear bulky helmets that included a built-in life support system. It didn't take them long to get changed and get back to the TIEs.

Rob climbed into one of the brights and started the pre-checklist, getting all the things that he needed to take care of ready. After a few minutes, the internal lights of the assault transport blinked on and Rob saw Henderson give him a thumbs-up. A moment later, once he got everything he needed, he gave one back to her.

"Team One to Team Two," came Henderson's voice over the comm link. "We have secured exit."

"Copy that, One. Standby for further instructions. Two out." Packnerold put the comm link back into his pocket and made a signal to his commandos to keep moving forward. They had already planted all the charges and were now on their way to get the survivors. So far it had been easy, almost too easy, for them to plan the devices and get away without being seen. He was starting to wonder if they were walking into a trap of some sort, but he hadn't seen any evidence to justify that feeling.

"Ox!" he shouted. "Open those doors, pronto. The sooner we get them out, the sooner we can get off this base and blow it up."

Oxmen moved forward with his portable datapad and plugged it into the computer access port just outside the first bunker. It didn't take him long—he always had a knack for slicing into things in a quick fashion—before the door opened up and the survivors starting asking questions.

"Calm down, calm down. We're here to rescue you." He turned to Oxmen again. "Get to work on the other bunker. Vack, Kil, Mac, go with him and provide cover. The rest of you, start getting these people prepared to move."

"One to Two, come in Two."

Packnerold pulled out his comm link and flipped it on. "Two here."

"We found information on the location of a second assault transport, it's near your current location."

"Thanks, One. Prep your transport and get over here with the fighters, we're about to move out. Two out." He turned towards his commandos and searched out Xiver, the tall, lean man who was expected to pilot the second transport. "Xiver, Uderman, Baller, high tail it over to the second transport and prep it for launch. Get over here as soon as you can so we can get off this planet."

Rob clicked on his communications system and immediately picked up some Imperial traffic from the base. It took some tweaking, but he eventually re-wired the system to pick up only his platoon's band and frequency. Finally, after a while, he got everything working and clicked the system to the transmit circuit. "This is Escort One"—that was the name that the decided to call their two-fighter flight—"to Carrier One"—and that was the name that Packnerold decided to call the transports—"We're all set here and ready for lift off."

"Copy that, Escort One," came back the voice of Henderson. "We're lifting off and preparing to extract Team Two. Provide cover until instructed otherwise, over."

"Copy that, out." He switched to another frequency, the one that he shared with Collen. "One to Two. Lift off and provide cover for Carrier One until they have finished extraction, then move on to Carrier Two, over."

"Acknowledged, One Two is lighting the fire and lifting off."

Rob looked off to the right and could see the second TIE Advanced using its repulsers to get off the ground and then cut its ion engines on and zoomed out of the hanger. The assault transport did a similar execution, but didn't exactly "zoom" out given its low speed. Once both of the craft were clear from the hanger, Rob brought his own fighter up off the ground, goosed the throttle a little to clear the hanger in a low speed, and then turned around as he cut his throttle. He brought his lasers online and brought up the targeting HUD. Without waiting for a tone, he started firing at a high rate, the green light lancing out and hitting the remaining fighters and causing them to explode easily. The hanger began going up in smoke and Rob hit his throttle to one hundred percent and took off after Collen and Henderson. "This is Escort One, hanger is neutralized."

"Copy that." Henderson's voice was quiet for a moment. "We've got some eyeballs coming up on our six, can you take care of them?"

"That's what I'm here for." Rob switched over to his flight frequency. "Two, One, we've got four eyeballs coming up fast on Carrier One's six. You take targets one and two, I'll take three and four." He hit his ELS configuration and pumped the throttle up even faster so that he could get to the TIE fighters before they reached the transport. It didn't take him long before he was closing in on them. Once he had them in his sights he put the ELS back to normal and pumped some power into his laser. Heh, who ever thought I would be flying a fighter, let alone a TIE.

The first TIE was coming into his HUD's crosshairs and Rob let loose a double-linked lance of green light. It hit square on and the fighter blew into a mini-nova. He then targeted the second TIE in his list and throttled forward till he was just behind the Imperial fighter. Not even waiting for a tone—at this close range it wouldn't even matter if he had one—he let loose another shot and the fighter broke apart around him, debris hitting his shields. "Two 'balls down, how you doing Two?"

"One is down, the other is in the process of being melted." There came the sound of a laser discharge and Collen's voice came back over the comm system. "Correction, two down, sky is clear."

"Copy that, Two." Rob switched back over to the main frequency. "Escort One to Carrier flight, status?"

"Carrier One is skyward and ready to leave, Two is lifting off, give us some cover Escort Flight."

"You got it. Two, cover One, I'll stay with Two." He blinked at how confusing that sentence just sounded, but pushed it away as he got an acknowledgement from Collen. Rob settled his throttle to match that of Carrier Two and covered its six. It wasn't long before Carrier Two was out of blast range and, as if on cue, the buildings around the base began exploding. In a matter of moments the remainder of the Golanda III colony was no more. "Sky is clear, I don't rack any fighters or any fleeing ships. Oh, wait…I'm picking up something coming from the planet's moon moving towards Carrier One and Escort Two…It's…It's a long range torpedo!"

"Carrier One, this is Carrier Two, evade, repeat, evade!" Packernold's voice was that of sheer panic and concern. Understandable, since his XO and half his commandos—as well as about twenty-five or so civilians—were onboard the transport. "Carrier One, do you copy?"

Rob was about to turn his frequency over to the flight system when he saw a bright light above him. He checked his sensors and didn't see the two blips that, a moment ago, indicated Carrier One and Escort Two. Turning his communication system over to the flight frequency he tried to raise Escort Two, but only got back a blast of static. He turned his frequency back to the general and said, "I'm sorry, sergeant, but they're gone, the torpedo got them."

"Well…they did what they could. Okay, Private, put in a hyperspace vector to take us back to the Glorious. We have to take these people home."

Rob transferred his controls to the hyperspace astronomic computer and began putting in coordinates. Thank goodness I stayed up to par on my astrophysics. In a matter of minutes the TIE Advanced and assault transport accelerated into hyerpsace, the burning colony on the planet below still glowing in the darkness of space.

Rob walked into sickbay and noticed that Jeff was no longer in his bacta tank. He looked off to the side and spotted him in one of the beds. Rob walked over to him, his face still a little gritty and still in the captured flight suit, minus the helmet. Jeff noticed he was walking towards him and sat up. Rob smiled a little. "Hey, how you doing?"

"I feel like I hit the ceiling at a tremendous speed."

"You did."

"Good, I'm glad I don't feel this way without a reason." Jeff glanced at him. "Where have you been? They told me you went on some commando mission, but it looks more like you've been flying."

"Well, I had to fly a fighter to give the team some cover." He sat down beside Jeff, his face still a little distraught. It had been a week and a half since he's been here. And in about another three weeks he'd be leaving again. "Jeff, I'm joining the pilot corps."

"What?"

"Well, when I flew for the mission I actually did pretty good. The sergeant—you understand I can't give you his name—put in a good word for me and they're pushing my transfer orders. In a week I'll officially be a cadet and two weeks after that—because that's when I'll be taking my training—I'll be assigned to a unit, not sure which at the moment."

"Rob, why?"

He just gave a wry, humorless smile at him. "I can't tell you at the moment. Maybe someday later I'll be able to tell you what happened on that mission, but I can't now. I hope you understand."

Jeff just gave a nod. He did speak a moment later, though. "You really want to do this, don't you?"

"More than you could know." He put out his hand and Jeff shook it. "Take care of the Pride, okay kid?" Jeff always hated being called that. "Put it in dry dock at one of the Alliance's heavy bases until we have need for it. And make sure you follow your own dreams while I'm away, all right?"

Jeff just nodded his understanding and Rob turned, walking away. As he passed through the doors he just took a deep sigh, knowing that he had just opened the doorway to yet another chapter of his life. He just hoped that he was going to get his foot stuck.

Rob popped the canopy of his X-wing simulator and climbed out, his black flight suit drenched with his sweat. He'd just spent the last forty minutes flying the most intense sim mission so far—his final evaluation—which was a recreation of the assault on the second Death Star in the Battle of Endor. He shot down a good number of fighters and even helped to take out the Super-class Star Destroyer Executor's shield generators which originally was done by a few A-wings.

Standing up he came to attention as the flight instructor, a major with a name that Rob never really bothered to try and remember, came towards him. "At ease, Cadet Baden." Rob did just that and the instructor continued on. "Cadet, you flew an impressive version of that mission. Not excellent, mind you, but not all together average either. You're a good pilot and I think you're gong to give the Alliance the kind of help that it needs at this time."

"Thank you, sir."

He pulled out a datapad that he had hidden behind his back and started scrolling down the contents, which were not visible to Rob but that he could guess were his scores and overall evaluation. "Because of your piloting skills I'm recommending you to one of the best and proudest units in operation today."

Rob couldn't help but wonder about his future assignment. With as much politeness as he could muster, he asked, "Might I inquire as to which unit that is, sir?"

"Anxious to find gifts for the commanding officer, Cadet?"

Rob's face redden just a little, but he quickly shook it off. "No, sir, I just want to know what's in store for me after I leave the Glorious."

"Hmm…Good answer. All right, the unit is Red Squadron, I'm sure you're aware of them."

"Yes sir, they an earlier version of them flew at the Battle of Yavin if I'm not mistaken." He had tried to read up as much as he could on the Alliance's history. After all, if he's going to be part of a service, he should know as much as he could about it. "I believe only two of the Reds out of the whole unit survived and went on to help form Rogue Squadron."

"You're very well informed, Cadet Baden. Or should I say, Flight Officer?" He put his hand out and Rob took it. "Congratulations, you're qualified to be a starfighter pilot for the Alliance. You're shuttle, the Valiant, leaves for the frigate Regis—Red Squadron's mothership—within the hour, so I advise to get packed."

Rob was about to leave when the major stopped him again with a question. "Oh, we need to put down in the files what your callsign is."

"Excuse me, sir?" asked Rob, not exactly sure what the major was talking about. "Callsign?"

"Yes. It's the custom of every pilot to adopt a callsign, a nickname, that only his closest friends and squadmates use. A term of affection, of trust, if you will."

Rob gave it some thought and then snapped his fingers. "There was a young Tatooinian pilot who flew at Yavin in that Red Squadron."

The major laughed. "Luke Skywalker? What, you're going to call yourself 'Farmboy'?"

Rob couldn't help but smile at the remark. "Nah, the other one. Darklighter was his name, I believe."

"Biggs?"

Rob turned the major and smiled. "Yeah, that's it. Put me down as 'Biggs'." He saluted the major and took off towards his temporary quarters on the Glorious, the one that he shared with his adopted brother, Jeff Gerlach, and their astromech unit, Torch. Jeff, of course, wasn't in the cabin; he was still in sickbay recovering from the injuries he sustained three and a half weeks earlier.

Torch, though, was there and greeted Rob when he entered with a quizzical series of blips and whistles.

"Yes, I've been assigned." Then came a small series of angry beeps and Rob sighed. "Okay, okay, we've been assigned. Boy, if I knew you were going to be this much trouble, I never would have promised to take you with me." He walked over to his dresser and took out his duty uniform. He was about to get out of his flight suit and get into the refresher when there was a chime at the door. "Come in."

A yeoman entered carrying three long garments. When Rob stared at her, she simply said, "Your duty uniform, your fatigues, and your dress uniform, Officer. Freshly pressed and ready to go." She left without saying another word, Rob standing there with his flight suit half off and Torch rolling around.

"Well, that was unusual," he said after a moment. He picked out the duty uniform, put it on the bed, and went into the refreasher. After he got out, he put on the uniform, packed his things, and headed towards the flight deck, Torch rolling behind him. He had left a note for Jeff, knowing that he would read it after he got out of recovery.

Rob looked out the starboard-side view port as the shuttle Valiant came out of lightspeed, the white walls of hyperspace fading into pinpoints of light making up the stars of the system. Off to the side the sunlight from the system's single, yellow star hit his eyes and for the briefest of moments he thought he caught the glimpse of fighters flying in front of the sight.

A voice came over the speakers in the cabin. "We're about to land, all passengers please fasten your harnesses and prepare for deck touch-down."

Rob settled back into his seat and strapped on his harness, relaxing just a little bit. He could no longer look out the view port, but he could see the structure of a Kuat Drive Yards' Nebulon-B-class Escort Frigate growing larger until it engulfed everything else. The silhouettes of X-wings and Y-wings filled his view now as the shuttle began settling down on the deck. Moments later he felt the air-pressure release and the familiar whirling of a boarding ramp being lowered.

"We have achieved touch-down. We hope you had a good trip and that you enjoy your stay on the Regis."

Rob hefted his bag over his shoulder and made his way towards the ramp, the other passengers—mostly enlisted naval personnel—giving him a little bit of a birth, most likely because of the venomous expression on his face. Once down the ramp he turned to his left and walked over to an officer on the far side of the deck, a man wearing a naval lieutenant's duty uniform. Rob stopped in front him, set his bag down, and came to attention, snapping off a sharp salute.

"Flight Officer Baden reporting for duty, sir!"

The lieutenant returned the salute with a precise military expertise. "At ease, Flight Officer. Welcome aboard the Regis. I'm Lieutenant Elison, Regis Personnel Officer. If you will follow me, please." He turned, obviously not really caring if Rob was following him or not, and began walking to the lift doors.

Rob looked back at the shuttle, saw that the technicians were unloading his R5 unit, Torch, and, when satisfied, he turned to Elison again. Seeing that he was already in the lift, Rob quickly picked up his bag, hurried after Elison, wearing an expression one of confusion and a little apprehension. When they got to the barracks Elison stopped in front of one of the cabins and gave a double-knock. A moment later the door opened up and a slightly shorter man quite a bit older than Rob appeared.

"This is Lieutenant Michadick, he'll be your cabin roomie and you're wingman as well. He'll get you aquatinted with the rest of ship and personnel." He gave a slight informal salute with the palm of his hand. "Good day, gentlemen." Moments later he left, the lift doors shutting behind him.

Michadick looked at him and stepped back. "Well, come on in, make yourself at home. After all, it will be your home for a while."

Without saying a word Rob stepped in and slung his bag onto the unoccupied bunk. As he started to get unpacked he became aware that Michadick was watching him. Without turning around, he asked, "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Oh, nothing, just thought that you would like to come to The Mug, it's the Regis' bar."

"No, thank you."

A moment of silence passed and then Michadick spoke up again. "So, what brings you to the pilot corps? Any particular reason?"

Rob sighed just a little. "I was a ground pounder with the Alliance's 3^rd ground division. I…got tired of it."

"Really? Why is that?"

Rob sighed and turned to him. "No offense intended, Lieutenant, but at the moment I would much rather be left alone right now." He turned around again, heard the doors open and close behind him, and let out a deep sigh. "This is going to be one long assignment."

A few hours later, after Rob had settled into his new quarters—little as they were compared to that of a Mon Calamari cruiser—he put on his fatigues to feel a little more at ease and set about roaming the ship, getting acquainted with his new home. He saw several officers and enlisted men & women of the navy, but not that many pilots.

The one thing he did see, however, was Lieutenant Colonel St. Clair's officer. Rob hadn't had a chance to stop in and report to his new CO yet, so he thought that this would be an opportune time to do such. He hit the chime for the door and waited, but there was no answer. Rob tried once again, but still there was no answer.

A female naval officer noticed he was standing outside St. Clair's door and cleared her throat. "If you're looking for Zoom, he's in The Mug, most likely kicking back a drink with the rest of the unit."

"Oh, thank you, ma'am." He turned around and began walking in the direction of The Mug—he had looked at a map of the Regis earlier to try and cut back on his confusion—but was stopped by the officer again.

"You're the new pilot, aren't you? Baden, unless I am mistaken?"

Rob turned around and regarded her in a questioned fashion. "Yes, I am. Rob Baden, newly assigned here to Red Squadron. And you are…?"

"Oh, where are my manners. I'm Lieutenant Tessa Valis, the ship's rescue shuttle pilot." She extended her hand and Rob took it. "Come on, I'll take you to The Mug."

"You said the commander is going to be there? Well, okay, but if he isn't there I'll most likely leave, no offense Lieutenant." He followed her through the corridors, walking closely behind her so as to keep up. He didn't want to get lost—even if he did study a map earlier—and end up walking out of an airlock into the vacuum of space.

It didn't take them long before they came to the entrance of The Mug. When the doors opened up he was greeted with a loud series of cheers. In he walked and noticed several people in fatigues just like him, a couple in flight suits, and even a few naval officer uniforms. He walked over to the bar where a woman slightly older than he was tending. "What'll you have?"

Rob didn't even have to think, he had ordered it several times before that his answer was almost reflex. "Corellian Ale." She went away and came back a moment later with a thick mug of cool Corellian Ale which Rob took to a table in the far corner, the shadows nearly covering it. It seemed to suit him well, being in the shadows. Most of his life had been spent being in dark, secluded placed. Maybe not in appearance, but that didn't mean the brightest bar wasn't filled with the most shadows.

The bartender walked over to him and for a moment Rob just looked at her. She was very attractive and there was something about here that made him admire her, but other than that Rob just kind of ignored her. That is until she spoke to him.

"You new around here, right? Oh, sure you are, I've never seen you before. I'm Trixel Narmi, but most people call me Trix."

Rob just lowered his voice and said, in his most polite tone, "Yes, I'm the new guy, Miss Narmi. Have you seen Colonel St. Clair? I need to talk to him about my assignment."

Without saying a word Trixel pointed him to a table where a man with dark brown hair was sitting with his back to Rob dressed in pilot fatigues. Sitting at the table another man with dirty blonde hair on the right and another man with dark brown hair from across. Rob couldn't see the look of the man with his back towards Rob, but he could tell by the looks of the other two pilots that they were about the same age as he was, if not younger.

Rob got up, leaving his mug at the table, and walked past Trixel and towards the table she pointed out. A moment later he was there and the blonde man gestured to him to the man with his back to him. He turned around in his seat and Rob could immediately tell that this man had seen plenty of action. "Lieutenant Colonel St. Clair?"

"That's me, yes. Can I help you?"

"Flight Officer Baden reporting for active service, sir."

"Oh, yes, the new guy. About time you stopped in to see me. How do you like my office?" St. Clair asked, a tight smile forming on his mouth. "Here, take a seat, we've got one open for you."

"Thank you, sir." He walked around and sat down at the vacant chair, settling in as much as he could. Almost as if on cue, Trixel came by with the mug he left at the other table and sat it down in front of him, giving him a small smile and a wink.

"Officer Baden," started St. Clair again. "This is Major Neill Magill, callsign 'Ranger', Red's XO,"—the blond man nodded briefly at his CO's indication of him—"and this is First Lieutenant Sean Healey, callsign 'Leo', Red Six." He nodded to the other dark brown haired man sitting next to Rob. St. Clair then, to the surprise of Rob, stood up and raised his voice so he could be heard over the commotion of The Mug's attendants. "Ladies and Gentlemen, meet Flight Officer Rob Baden, callsign 'Biggs', Red Nine, the newest addition to the Regis!"

A loud slew of applause and cheers started and Rob's face redden just a little. He really didn't expect this kind of treatment. But what happened next, he defiantly didn't think would happen. St. Clair raised a mug in the air and said, "Next round of drinks are on the new guy!" That brought an even louder slew of cheers and Trixel soon got overwhelmed with requests.

After talking briefly with St. Clair—who's callsign Rob found out was Zoom—about his briefing tomorrow morning, Rob returned to the solitude of his earlier table and just sat there, quietly thinking about his life. He didn't seem to notice when Trixel came up to him and sat down, but once he noticed her he didn't seem to do much.

"Hey, Rob, was it? What you saw we get to some talking? I'm sure you've got a lot of things to talk about."

Rob just sighed—the kind of sigh he used earlier in his quarters with Michadick—and looked at her. "No offense intended, Miss Narmi, but I would much rather be alone at the moment."

Trixel got up, left without saying a word, and went back to her Bar. Rob, on the other hand, just sat there, finished off his ale, and sighed as he looked out a view port. Yes, this is going to be a long assignment.

Chapter 8: First Mission, First Friend

About a week later, and after several long-night patrols around the Regis, Rob had been ordered to the briefing room. Normally this might be a special thing, but in this case it wasn't, being as how the rest of the squadron was there as well. It was, after all, a full unit briefing.

As he filed into the briefing room he noticed the most of the other pilots from Red—most of whom he'd been introduced to—taking their seats. He found a seat near the back and started to sit down when he noticed a face he hadn't seen in the last week. She had her hair cut short on the side he could see, but he noticed a length on the other side—or what little of it he could see—and was wearing a standard orange flight suit, her composure that of some anxious child ready for a toy to be put in front of her. He just continued to stare at her, momentarily taken in by her stature and beauty, but quickly shook it off. He was here to do a job and he wouldn't be distracted in such a fashion, especially when he was still mourning for Lela.

Truth be told, he didn't think there would be a time when he wasn't mourning for his lost love.

As he settled into his chair Steve "Schmitty" Michadick, Red Eight and Rob's wingmate—as well as his roommate—sat down beside him. "Hey," said Michadick, his enthusiasm a little more than Rob could handle at the moment. "Nice flight suit. I think it's the first time I've seen someone wear a black flight suit with gold striping. Any special reason."

"The favorite colors of someone I knew." He knew that Michadick was fishing for more details but Rob had no intention of giving any more at the moment. To avoid any more talk on the subject he gestured to the new woman pilot on the right side of the briefing room. "Who's she?"

"Her? That's Jeni 'Angel' Courtner, newest addition to the squadron as Red Three. I don't know much else about her than that, though."

"Okay, listen up!" Everyone turned their attention to St. Clair, who was at the front of the briefing room, Magill standing behind him with his hands behind him. "We've finally got an actual duty other than the continual patrols we've been doing lately. We're going to be hitting a repair depot that is currently low on defenses and is hosing a long-range strike cruiser that carries the 14^th Imperial Bomber Wing. Now, some of you might remember the 14^th's recent achievements, such as the attempted attack against the Glorious' task force last month and the bombing of Golanda III a little over two months ago. High Command has deemed them an impediment to our operations and so long as they continue to exist we are in danger."

Rob tried hard to listen to St. Clair but he found himself having trouble concentrating. His thoughts were moving back to what he was feeling on Golanda III: vengeance! But he forced those thoughts away so he could stay in a concentrated form for the briefing.

"For a couple of you"—he nodded towards Rob and Courtner briefly—"this will be your first live combat mission. Stick close to your wingmate and follow their instructions and you'll live. I don't want us to lose any pilots, understood? Good. Major."

Magill, his expresison one of professionalism and nothing else, stepped forward as St. Clair stepped back, giving his XO the needed and deserved room to conduct his briefing. "The repair yard is in the Val system, which is only a couple of jumps from here. We'll be splitting the squadron into two separate groups designed to box the Imps in and give them no chance to escape or to single us out. Group one will consist of myself, Angel, Arc, and Shadow flying A-wings. They'll launch off the Regis when it jumps into the system and keep the remaining defense busy. Group two will be led by Zoom and will consist of the rest of the squadron in X-wings. Zoom, Biggs, and Schmitty will take care of any fighters that launch from the repair yard and try to engage them while Redjed, Yale, Vape, and Leo launch their torps at the primary target." A holo-projector was displaying everything that Magill was saying so it was easy for them to understand his instructions and descriptions. "Both groups will exit hyper space on opposite vectors of each other, making it that much harder for the Imps to try and defend the area. Group one and the Regis will jump to this system"—he pointed to the holo image of a deep space system—"and from there make an immediate jump to the Val system. Group two will leave the Regis and jump to this system"—another deep space holo image—"and jump into the opposite end of the Val system when group one has sent confirmation of engagement." The projector shut off and Magill stood in front of the group. "It should be simple, but be on the lookout for reinforcements or fleeing shuttles." He stepped back and St. Clair stepped back up, almost as if they had it planned in a specific fashion.

"Any questions?" There was a moment of silence. "Then get to your sims and start practicing, mission is in three days."

"All wings report in," came Zoom's voice over the squadron frequency.

"Red Six, standing by."

"Red Thirteen, ready."

"Red Twelve, good to go."

"Red Eight, give me some."

"Red Ten, fire's lit."

Rob just listened to their responses and when it was time to make his own, he simply said, "Red Nine, payback time!" He really didn't care what the others in the squadron thought he was talking about; he knew that, finally, he was going to be able to pay the sithspawn worm that killed Lela back in full.

Zoom's voice bellowed in his ear. "Lock in your hyper coordinates and prepare to jump to lightspeed. On my mark…Mark!"

The seven fighters entered into hyperspace, the white wall looking impressive to Rob. This was only the second time he'd made a jump to hyperspace in the confines of a starfighter cockpit and he found—especially with the X-wing's style, the pilot being able to look in almost every direction around—it quite nice, quite…beautiful.

However, he wasn't able contemplate on it further as his fighter jumped out of hyperspace. Ten klicks away, as big as life, was an Imperial repair yard, a Lorner Strike Cruiser birthed at it's dry-dock facilities. Distant red and green lances of light shone in the darkness of space indicated a good-sized dogfight between the other Reds and the defense fighters from the station.

"Lead, this is Six, we're moving in for our strike." Rob looked off to port and saw four of the X-wings break away and take up a classic vic formation. "Good hunting, Zoom."

"Copy that, Six. Eight, Nine, stay tight and escort the strike force. Report if you see any sign of fighters."

Torch hooted and Rob checked his scroll list. "Lead, Nine, I'm picking up six squints launching from the station, heading straight for us. And Torch just picked up a flight of four dupes as well. Man, they must be desperate for defenses."

"Don't let those dupes fool you, Nine. They've got concussion missiles which can give you a really bad day."

"Thanks for the advice, Eight."

"Cut the chatter, both of you. Six, be aware, squints and dupes are going to be coming right past you, light some up if you can."

"As ordered, Lead."

"Okay, Eight, Nine, once they make past Six's flight hit 'em hard and fast while they're reeling."

Rob goosed his throttle forward and flew after Zoom and Schmitty, bringing up the rear. An exchange of scarlet and green light just up ahead marked Leo and the other X-wings as they buzzed pass the Imps. It wasn't long before Zoom and Schmitty opened up their lasers with single fire mode. Each shot hit an already-weakened fighter and by the time the squints flew past them and into Rob's view four of them were down. Rob fired his lasers in a double-linked mode and took out the remaining interceptors. "Splash two squints."

"Good shooting, Biggs. Now keep tight, here come the dupes." Schmitty's X-wing did a barrel role and a wave of green fire flew through the space he just occupied. He came around and let loose a torp at the double-hulled TIE. The TIE, sensing his immediate death at hand, quickly banked right and got hit by a splash of red fire coming from Schmitty's X-wing. "It's always good to see them burn!"

"This is Six," Leo's voice came over the comm system loud and garbled. "All torps are free and flying, it won't be long before the yard's gone."

"Copy that, Six. Now get some kills, there are more dupes launching from that station."

"As ordered, Lead."

Rob came nose to nose with a dupe and was just about to squeeze the trigger when his automatic lock-on warning sounded. Not unexpectedly Torch began wailing about behind him. Rob went up and over the bomber and came around in a tight loop. Once he had the dupe in his sights again he let loose a barrage of laser fire and saw the two hulls split apart and hurl off only to explode later. "Now try and fire on her again, you Imp!"

"Biggs, you okay?"

"Fine, Schmitty, I'll explain later." He checked his scope to see if there were any fighters near him but didn't fine any. However, he did see something else. "Lead, Nine, the yard's starting to break up and the cruiser's trying to make a run for it. It's going slow, but it's going."

"I read you, Nine. Okay, Eight, Nine, we're going to attack the cruiser, we still have some torps left. Six, keep any dupes or other fighters you see off us."

"You've got it, Boss."

Rob turned his targeting system over to his torpedoes and brought the cruiser up from his list. "I've got tone…they're away!" two blue streaks of fire flew at an incredible speed towards their target. After the other two warhead slid into their launch slots he fired them, and then the other two after that. "All birds free and flying to target, launcher empty." He switched back over to lasers and saw a dupe screech past him. He flew around in another tight loop and immediately let loose a new barrage of scarlet fire. "One more dupe for the sauce." His warning system lit up. "Oh, sithspawn! Schmitty, I got one on my tail, I can't shake 'im."

"Keep calm, Biggs, I'm on my way." Almost if out of nowhere Schmitty's X-wing swooped down from above and fired a quad-burst of lasers, the hot fire of laser cutting through the cockpit of the bomber causing it to explode. "You're clear, Nine."

"Thanks, Eight."

"Lead, this is Two." That was Magill's voice, the distance between the two groups really taking its toll. "Defensive fighters are all vaped. I count twelve dupes down and for the count. It looks like the 14^th is completely wiped out."

"Noted, Two." There was a pause and along with that came a bright explosion. "Okay, Reds, that bright new nova you just saw was the strike cruiser colliding with the repair yard and both blowing up. Are all fighters present?" After a series of acknowledgments Zoom's voice came back on. "Good mission, Reds. Head back to the barn."

Rob walked into The Mug and was greeted with the usual slew of cheers. He looked ahead and saw Jeni Courtner in the middle of most of the Reds. This was not unusual, the new pilot vaped five TIEs on her first mission making her an instant ace. The woman had talent, that's for sure.

Rob walked over to the bar. "Hey, Miss Narmi, I'll take a Corellian Ale at my usual table. After a brief nod from Trixel he walked past the crowd and sat at the lone table in the back. It had been only a couple of days since the mission ended and everyone was still pretty good about it. Rob wondered if all successful missions were like this afterwards.

Trixel came over with his mug in hand and set it down. She just stood there for a moment and Rob finally understood. "Yes, Miss Narmi?"

"Biggs, you need to let up." She waved her arms to indicate the bar. "You're amongst friends here. You should really learn to trust us."

He gave her a wry, humorless smile. "I'll take that into consideration. Thanks for the ale." He downed some of it, purposely ignoring her until she walked away. However, his quest for solitude did not take a big leap.

Steve Michadick, Rob's wingmate, sat down across from him, a mug of Green Dream in his hand. He leaned forward and lowered his voice so that no one else could overhear. "Well, are you going to explain now?"

"Explain what?"

"That little comment you made when you slagged that dupe the other day." He leaned in even closer. "Look, you're my wingmate, my roomie, you can trust me. You have my word I won't tell anyone what you say."

Rob thought about this for a moment, his mind going over how much he needed to talk to someone. "Your word?"

He raised his hand in an oath style. "I swear, Rob."

Rob was silent for a moment. Than, much to his own surprise, he simply started by saying, "Well… It all started two and a half months ago…"

The End