What the Gods Command - COMPLETE

[Telan Desaria]

After the Imperial Victory at Endor




In a galaxy filled with hate, every man gladly sacrificed all he could to assuage the anguish most had to feel. There were times, however, that the pain was so great that all felt it – the only ones who did not where those that had inflicted it. Those who had devoted their lives to the preservation of order, to the greater good, had already taken many a silent oath to avenge themselves upon the defilers of Order. Looking out into the stars, Admiral-Baron Telan Desaria said to himself one such oath.


The Admiral clenched his fists, then released them. As his eyes swept from the formation of warships around the Relentless to the tranquil moon of Endor, he felt an intense anger grow deep inside. Desaria’s eyes then fell upon the battered remains of the Death Star, her spherical form pocked with carbon scoring, torn scaffolding, and still burning plasma fires. Six hours had passed since the last Rebel ship had retreated from the field and casualty reports only now were complete. Seven Star Destroyers had been destroyed, two more severly damaged and under tow, three captured and drug from the field; three of the six support vessels had been reduced, one more the site of a desperate struggle by a valiant crew to prevent fire from consuming her; the Death Star had been near irreparably damaged, rescue teams from every ship in the fleet were crawling through smashed corridors trying to save trapped civilian workers and engineers. Nearly seventy squadrons worth of fighters had been destroyed – one million, seven hundred thousand were dead or missing.


In the end, the Might of the Empire had triumphed and the Rebels were driven off. Victory could not reduce the price that had been paid – at that thought, Admiral Desaria winced, a shudder running down his spine as he imagined the screams of the crew of the Executor as she plummeted into the battle-station’s incomplete surface, far too many of them doubtless burning to death in a conflagration that spread from the dorsal surface on down.


Focus, Desaria. Admirals are made of tougher stuff. True words – Admiral-Baron Telan Desaria had spent the better part of twenty-five years in the company of Death. He granted himself an inner release, realizing that he hated the Rebellion now more than ever. That they had killed the Emperor was privately inconsequential to him for it was only a matter of time. He knew that if they did not, the Officer Corps may very well have done the deed itself to stem the tide of his evil acts and return honour to the wars they were ordered to prosecute. He thanked them for removing that burden from his peers – but he could not forgive them for ending almost two million lives in a day. He might have was it a battle between one sovereign military force and another, but the Rebels were far from any such thing. They were criminals, insurgents against the legal government, pirates – brigands and thieves to be hunted down and now: killed.


Desaria looked away from the field around him and sat at his desk near the oblong oval shaped viewport. Barely had his pressed jodhpurs touched the leather of the seat when the chime of his door filled the office.


“ Enter.”


Commander Kierant walked in, his bandaged left arm no longer soaked with the blood it had been a half-dozen hours before. He had made the wise choice of changing tunics after what was surely a length visit to the tower-medical bay. “ Sir – from your Intelligence liaison she apologized for not bringing herself.”


“ I’m sure,” the tall married man replied. He had fended off far too many of her advances with a considerable detestation in his voice: he was confidant her continued attraction was asexual and devoid of physical awareness – she was drawn to the power he wielded. He could not deny her physical desirability but he could admit he felt no longing for her: he was happily married with a wonderful lover of twenty years on Kuat, and he had three sons he would never dishonour. “ I will forever grief stricken at her absence at this, my vulnerable hour.”


The acting-Captain of the Relentless could not contain a hearty laugh at the thick sarcasm, but he was quick to wipe the comical expression from his face. “ The report, sir.”


The pad was completely blank but Desaria knew Intelligence’s methods. He removed one of the code cylinders from his right breast pocket and upon insertion, the pad whirred to life. Schematics played over the screen and then a brief holographic feed recorded from a planetary control satellite, identified as Ison. Analyses ran fast as he scrolled down, seeing ship descriptions next to quickly compiled battle reports sent to the Intelligence base at Annaj. “ This can’t be…”


“ Sir?” Kierant asked, craning his head.


In a cold tone, Desaria replaced the pad onto the desk and stood, his face devoid of the emotion it had once shown. “ Ready the Relentless for departure. Find me several other operable Destroyers and order them to follow us without delay. We depart in thirty minutes – bring us to the edge of the system and prepare for jump.”


“ To where, sir?” Kierant was more than a little confused, that is to say he was horrified. After the slag of the Executor, Relentless had become the Imperial command ship and had endured the brunt of the fighting. Barely sixty percent of her guns were operational and subspace flight would be sluggish at best – to boot, she would be operating with seventy percent of a full crew, the rest either dead or undergoing medical treatment.


“ We are heading for the Hilari Expanse. Replace our fighter losses with those of other ships and order the operable Destroyers to do the same. I want a full compliment by the time we depart. We have found to where the Rebels have fled, Captain, and we go to make them pay!”

[Telan Desaria]

Nine hours later…


The bridge of the Relentless was far from what it had been before Admiral Piett ordered the fleet to stand to and hold for orders. Desaria and the other squadron commanders had chafed under such a command, coming straight from the Emperor himself. They had at that moment the power to annihilate the largest concentration of Rebel ships to date and could not seize the opportunity. They had paid the price for the Emperor’s meddling in military affairs, as he had paid with his life. When that order had filtered through the communication system, the Relentless had been spotless, her hull pristine, corridors polished, and crew in fighting trim.


Admiral Desaria sat down into his command chair and faced aft, surveying what remained. The aft control corridor had been cleared of its debris but barely half of the duty stations there were operable. Of those crewmembers who were manning terminals, many had bandaged limbs and held a bacta pack to a healing wound when possible. Though many had been forcefully relieved of their duties so they could change, a few stalwart officers and men had refused to leave their posts and still wore the blood-stained uniforms in which they had waged the previous battle.


“ Sir – we’re coming out of hyperspace!!!”


Desaria snapped his neck forward to glare at his chief engineer. “ Has the reactor failed?”


“ No sir – were at sixty percent but functional.” The Admiral listened to the words and knew only one conclusion was possible – they had entered into a gravity well of some kind.


“ Reversion complete, Admiral. We have all ships reporting in now. Sir – the Arinous is in formation. She was registering reactor problems before departure, sir.”


We are without a Lancer Frigate. Extra vigilance by our fighters will be necessary. Desaria turned fore. “ Very well. Report?”


“ Three ships are nearby, sir. They register as Imperial: the Interdictor Cruiser Congregator and two Carracks, Rapidity and Steelen.”


“ Hail them!”


The two Carracks moved towards the formation of eight Imperial II-class Star Destroyers and opened fire. Each small cylinder-shaped vessel mounted five turbolasers each and together, they concentrated on the most battered on the arriving battleships, the Majesty.


“ What the frell are they doing?” Desaria exploded, rising from his chair as rage boiled over into his voice. “ Transmit our identification codes now!”


The three-hundred night seven digit code played over on every channel used by Imperial warships and should have been recognized by the ship’s central computer and alerted her captain without delay. The Carracks still fired, adding ion cannon to their salvoes as their range counted down. Majesty was a powerful Destroyer with a proud crew, but her shields had been patched together in the journey from Endor and could not hold. Buckling under the pressure of repeated assaults, explosions slowly started to dot her dorsal prow.


“ Admiral – Tyrannic and Monarch are requesting orders! Majesty reports full shield collapse. Her bow missile-magazine is on fire, crews are trying to extinguish but Captain Axus is unsure of how successful they will be.”


Desaria inhaled and looked at Vorran. “ Order him to evacuate his damage control teams and vent the entire area to space. Maneuver us forward and open fire. All ships – open fire. Destroy those cruisers!”


The orders came in time to bring relief to the stricken warship. On either side, the Destroyers flanking her let loose a fiercesome cannonade that was joined by the turbolaser fire of the flagship. The two light vessels could not stand at all against such a massive shelling and each one succumbed in under a minute. Their shields collapsed, the gunners continued to drill them until fire wrapped each ship in a cloud of debris and smoke, one exploded then the other.


“ Captain Vorran – all ships to converge on that Interdictor. Ion cannons only – I want it alive. When her shields are down and weapons are reported inoperable, I want full boarding parties on her!”

[Telan Desaria]

Lieutenant Mitchel Brict crouched down, pistol in hand. His men formed up behind him – sixteen Fleet Assault Corps soldiers and four stormtroopers chomping at the bit. Fire continued to whiz towards them from the corridor perpendicular to theirs, an E-web blaster erected behind a makeshift barricade. The men firing the gun sprayed everything they could, their blasts tearing large holes in the wall but hitting none.


“ Corporal - - your stun-grenade.”


The large barrel-chested Balmorran handed one of the spherical objects from his bandolier to the Lieutenant. He took a few breaths, then leapt into the hall, coming into a roll as he felt flesh collide with deckplating and let the grenade fly into the barricade.
The E-web gunners fired wide again, their aim far too high. A bright explosion and consuming concussion followed, the gun silenced. Smoke rose to obscure roof-mounted glow panels and the men charged out. One of the fallen gunners took a few shots at a running stormtrooper but was himself silenced by the butt of a FAC trooper’s blaster rifle.


Brict was helped to his feet by his corporal and together they ran on through the ship, their target: auxiliary control just aft of the launch bay. They ran into another barricade in short order and fell back behind terminals at the security antechamber. The cacophony of defensive was increasing, a few more men added to the mouth of the gangway that lead into the fuel-storage tanks. He recognized the sound of Imperial small arms but could not identify the majority of the shots coming at them.


As he pondered it he heard yelling coming from around the bend in the wall and gave the sign for his men to get down more so than they already were. The fire steadily increased in intensity then died abruptly. Opportunities came few and far between to front line officers and Lieutenant Brict would be damned if he let one slip through his fingers. Waving his men up, he re-loaded his pistol and charged around the bend, totally at peace with the fact that a wave of fire would mow him down and he would at last be embraced by Death.


Yet he still stood. He had unconsciously closed his eyes and opened them to look ahead. Imperial Naval crewmen and their officers, in tattered uniforms were standing triumphant over the carcasses of several civilians and a few wearing standard jumpsuits and pieces of stromtrooper armor. A short and stocky man who had not shaven in a week stepped forward. “ Captain Sel Viraam, commander of the Congregator. You are a welcome sight.”

[Telan Desaria]

Captan Viraam looked a world apart then he had when he stepped for aboard a Star Destroyer for the first time in three months. A detachment of the Relentless’s stormtroopers greeted him, creating a corridor in his honour. The men of his staff were touched as they strode aft and made their way toward the small wardroom attached to the forward launch bay. The short Captain gave a crisp salute to Admiral Desaria and received an equally smart one in return. They sat down to a glass of wine and every man enjoyed a drink, any expression of relief and thanks unnecessary.


“ Captain,” Desaria asked, placing his own glass on the table in front of him. “ I must ask you – how did this happen?”


Short and stocky, the Captain of the Interdictor reminded Desaria very much an enterprising and wholly devious fellow he had once met, General Evir Derricote. Though where the Army officer was possessed of a quick wit and keen intellect, Viraam appeared a more physical man, the fat on his frame only a thin coating over muscles that could doubtless crush a man. The man enjoyed another sip of the grape wine and inhaled sharply.


“ I thank you for letting me change and wash first - - it has been three weeks since I have even stepped foot in a shower of any kind. But there is a more important matter.”


The Admiral arched an eyebrow. “ Oh?”


“ Indeed - - the Hilari colonies are in rebellion.”


The force of a thousand Destroyer broadsides could have hit the Admiral less hard than the seven words assaulting his ears. The event in question though would coincide with the Intelligence report of the Rebel fleet’s appearance: a system in revolt would be an easy place to disperse the ships and stage raids against Imperial shipping along the Perlemian Trade Route. He knew a rebellion was currently being subdued in the Juvex Sector – Grand Admiral Il-Raz himself was dealing with it. Hilari, however, was not know. That Intelligence did not report it either indicated that their assets there had either been compromised or worse: they did not know at all.


“ For how long?”


Viraam pursed his lips. “ Near as we can tell, two weeks. We were to take on a company of planetary police-officers and use them in our raid on a pirate base nearby. We found out later they had been killed en route, a group of rebels taking their place. When they came aboard they seized control and I ordered an abandon ship – I tried to scuttle her rather than let the enemy take her. They overrid all of the security protocols in a matter of seconds and my commands failed from the bridge. Next thing we knew, an entire contingent was brought from the surface and we were taken hostage. Those ships that put up too much resistance were destroyed – they took the Congregator and four frigates.”


The Admiral felt more sympathy than he had expected to as he watched pain wash over the Captain’s face. He felt personally responsible for the capture of his ship, as if it was a personal failing.


“ During that time we heard bits and pieces and we know that the garrison on Hilari 5 is still holding out as well as the fortress on Two. Prime and Three have fallen completely. Apparently, Four and Six proved too costly and are still in Imperial hands. They have, however, interdicted all messages and transmissions from the entire cluster. How did you find out?”


Baron-Desaria gritted his teeth and in a low growl murmured, “ We did not – we did not know that Hilari was in rebellion. We are chasing a formation of Rebel ships.” Now is not the best time to inform these men who have suffered so much about Endor.


“ Permission to speak freely, Admiral?” The senior officer nodded. “ Now that you are here – will you? We have been posted here a long time – we have a good many Army friends trapped on Hilari 5. Those bastards need to pay. Sir.”


The Admiral stood and leaned over the table. “ Now that I am here, Captain, I will see that they do. I will accomplish that and eradicate the Rebel ships and then, all will be right with the galaxy. Ready your ship Captain - - you are attached to my command now.”

[Telan Desaria]

The might of the Relentless moved through hyperspace at its slowest possible speed, each of the ships following it at the same pace. A general tension existed in the halls of the formation’s warships – the Admiral felt it oppress him as he strolled amongst the men. The salutes had not lost their crispness nor had performance suffered, but he did read on the eyes of each man a deep thought of uneasiness. They had, after all, only just come from an engagement that saw the death of their Emperor, his chief executor Vader, and almost two million of their comrades.


Making his way aft, Baron Desaria sought solace in his normal place of thought: the primary reactor control room. In engineering, third watch was no smaller than any other, and he took a great deal of pride watching the able-bodied men bustle about in the execution of their duties. He stood there, silent among the controllers and officers who had gotten used to his presence, and watched the solar ionization chamber ten levels below, its bright blue and white ambiance washing over everything it could touch. A steady vibration came from the fusion reactions deep inside the cylindrical chamber, steady but not loud – indeed, Desaria caught himself drifting close to sleep many times from its soothing rhythms.


He stood there and thought of their visit to the Hilari outpost of Nesiron VII, a small refueling depot just off the Perlemian Trade Route. As a port, the Congregator called it home; her Captain was understandably distraught to see her reduced to ash. Not a single life form reading danced on the CommScan scopes, a testament to the resistance the base had doubtless mounted against the rebels so thorough was their destruction.


Upon meeting his senior officers after the system was reconnoitered, the decision to relieve the garrison on Hilari Five was reached. To do so, however, would be difficult as the only jump point to the world was in the orbit of Hilari Three, a world totally in control of the rebels. They would have to revert to realspace and travel around the planet itself then depart for Five. An attempt to traverse either the Milleon Nebula or the nearby asteroid field was suggested, but the native-station Captain Viraam advised of gaseous pockets whose explosions would tear the hull from a fully armored battleship. Troops would of course be needed, the Destroyers’ Fleet Assault Corps soldiers under Major-General von Hotzendorff brave but too few and deficient in heavy weapons for planetary occupation. More would be needed – Desaria reckoned to get them immediately and so they set course for Praxan where he had a favor to recall.


“ We are entering orbit of Praxan, Admiral.” Desaria replaced the comlink on his belt and departed for the bridge.



* * *


“ General.”


“ Admiral.”


For several moments, the bridge crew looked on as the visage on one of the bow-viewports looked inward towards their commander, a considerable amount of antipathy perceived on either face. Admiral Desaria had deigned to stand, his command chair facing aft and appearing on the visual monitor of the other man a mere adornment on the bridge.


“ It has been a while, hasn’t it Baron?”


“ Indeed it has, General Pattonn.” Admiral Desaria regarded the other soldier who’s face was worn and tough, itself having seen the full-orbit of Coruscant seventy times. Grim and determined, Lieutenant-General Georg Pattonn had made a name for himself as commander of an Army regiment that mounted itself on tarras, native fast-pack animals on Hogis. They had been remarkably successful as a garrison force and the one instance of Rebel troops landing in the hope of establishing a base was driven off with considerable loss to the enemy and few to the Imperials. That the regiment’s parent division was mechanized and converted to shock troops was met with considerably angst and anger from the gruff infantryman-turned-cavalryman though he proved to be an excellent leader of armored units. He had risen to command Third Army, a seven division formation that was the surface-muscle behind the entire Ison Sector.


“ General - - I am in need of your services. As of right now, I am placing you under my command. Embark your men immediately and ready for departure.”


Lieutenant-General Pattonn smirked but, as Desaria was a grade senior did not let loose a laugh. “ And just why would I do that – and under who’s authority? I have received no orders from Moff Axman.”


“ You are receiving them from me. Four of the Hilari colonies are in rebellion and I am tracking down an errant Rebel fleet. I can deal with the fleet but my men are too few to quell a working-insurrection.”


The face that had been boisterous only a moment before became stern and impassive; Pattonn was deadly serious. The elder officer short a lethal-as-lasers glower out of the holo-projectors range, doubtless at the Imperial Intelligence adjutant on his staff. “ Intelligence has not informed me.”


“ Nor anyone – the native rebels have been aided by the Alliance in suppressing any transmissions from within. I only learned when I recaptured an Interdictor. The garrison on Hilari Five is under siege and has been so for two weeks. Database shows there are three divisions in the garrison there, plus whatever troops were trapped. We must move quickly before they are destroyed – if they have held out this long.”


Many a commander might have balked or deferred such an order to his Moff: Pattonn was not such a man. Unlike many officers, where his men were in trouble he was sure to be found. He could just as easily dress a wound as castigate for unpolished boots. “ Two hours, Admiral. I will report to your ship. Be ready to receive my staff. Third Army command out.”

[Telan Desaria]

The Relentless neared the end of its next journey with Admiral Desaria seated silently on the bridge. Alone with his thoughts, he stared into the tunnel of azures and whites hyperspace created for the eye’s consumption: the dazzling picture of trans-dimensional beauty allowed him a moment to ponder. As things stood at that moment, only seventeen hours after the termination of the Battle at Endor, the galaxy remained blissfully unaware of the dramatic transformation that awaited it. The Emperor was dead and so was his chief henchman Vader, and with them the evil that had lead to countless slaughters and massacres. The Armed Services were a tool of state security, the force wielded to ensure the absence of threats from outside: they were the blunt instrument used to deter any foe from disturbing the Quest for Perfection of Order.


The Emperor had made the fatal mistake of using the Armed Forces as the very tool that subjugated rebellious masses and populations that would not bow to the Empire’s whim. The Fleet and the Army even more so were designed to combat armed and uniformed enemies – the regular and respectable enemies officers and man alike had trained to engage. To engage irregulars the Empire had the Inquisioriate but far too often it was regular military formations that had been ordered to level native cities and quell insurrections.


Now that can stop. Again we can engage the Rebels with impunity – we Academy officers can fight the war we were taught to fight it without interference from the political machine. Desaria’s mind flashed back to Endor where before the Emperor’s death he had ordered the Fleet to stand off and only engage the Rebels at long range, allowing masses of fighters to duel and in most cases, become decimated by ship-for-ship superior Rebel vessels. Had Desaria not been overruled they would have overwhelmed and annihilated the enemy flotilla before the superlaser would have fired even once. Now things will be different.


“ Admiral - - Hilari Three.”


Imposing even with her copious battle scars, the Relentless moved from the reversion-point towards the cloud-swept tan world of Hilari Three. Ships moved about as they had two weeks ago, but there was a definite change to the calibre of craft nearby. With his own eyes, Desaria could see the bulbous form of two Mon Calamari built cruisers and no less than a dozen smaller ships of frigate-class and below. Reports from Sensors and CommScan increased the number to sixteen.


“ Admiral – those are the Rebels from Endor! Those are Mon Cal MC-80's - three of which were seen escaping. Those smaller escorts are also ships matching the specifications of ones from the retreat.”


The Admiral turned to acting-Captain Kierant, a nod thrown his way in acknowledgement. “ Combat-group I forward. Shields up – ready all weapons and prepare to engage. Deploy assault shuttles and blastboats only – TIEs to hold. Combat Group II – continue as ordered upon confirmation. Now we make them pay.”


Deep in the bowels of the Imperial battleship, far from any viewports into space or the reality around them, a young Major in black was surrounded by terminals and a bank of monitors. He angled and pitched every holographic sensor on every ship's feed he could tap in to. His was the report of the ship's arrival and now he would vindicate himself with the accuracy of his analysis.

[Telan Desaria]

Flanking the Relentless were four Imperial-II class Star Destroyers scored with scars of battle. Carbon scoring dotted the armor like some demented paint scheme while every so often an emergency force-field flickered blue and white as it vaporized some small chunk of spatial matter. Battered though they had been, the battleships were operational and without delay they fanned out in line-abreast. Skipray Blastboats, small winged craft barely larger than a Rebel X-wing but mounting a considerable munitions payload, stretched forward from their mammoth protectors and enticed the smaller ships into a fight.


Almost all of the Rebel gunships and escorts moved forward at an alarming rate, firing as soon as their range had reached maximum. Mostly for affect against what they doubtless considered shaken Imperials, the majority of the blasts went wide of harmlessly glanced the shields. The Imperials held their fire. Onward the Rebels flew, their crescendo of fire increasing to a deafaning roar as they broke into two and three ship formations around the larger warships.


“ All shields are holding, Admiral.”


“ Very good. Gloves are off, gentleman. Skiprays – engage those escorts. Tyrannic to match our maneuvers; all others support our blastboats. Fire by battery and bring their shields down. Ion cannons to disable - - turbolasers to incinerate.”


The Rebels swirling around the quartet of Imperial battleships felt the wrath of an Empire resurgent. Hundreds of turbolaser turrets fired off lethal neon energy with a wild abandon not often associated with Imperial gunners. These however, were men possessed. Most had been mentally tormented since the destruction of the Executor, many others were fighting in their own place but also for friends whose hearts beat no more. Petty officers and gunner’s mates, their jumpsuits tied about their midsections, served guns that towered over them. Officers, ubiquitous throughout the galaxy for their immaculate olive uniforms were stripped to the waste, only jackboots and breeches indicative of rank or station. The guns recoiled with every shot, ejecting a spent casing onto the decking. Droids moved back and forth disposing of them while broad-shouldered veterans slammed new shells home, locked the breech, and waited slaved control to the battery fire-control center. There a Lieutenant-Commander, as dirty as those outside the transparisteel viewports, slammed a hand on the master switch that fired every gun on the circuit in unison.


Their shots clearing a path through speeding fighters and escorts, the flagship and a compatriot drew closer to their lumbering Mon Calamari counter-parts. All fire was held as the batteries aligned themselves. Then the behemoths presented broadsides to their enemies and unleashed a hellstorm upon their heavily shielded nemeses. Shot for shot, the cruisers returned fire, but were taken aback by the concentrated volleys. Word went out from a frightened alien commander to his peers and the escorts broke off with the trailing Destroyers. Towards the Relentless they swooped, enfolding it and its mate like the wings of a hawk.


“ Now, Captain Vorran. Execute Phase II.”


Two more Imperial-class Star Destroyers came out of lightspeed where their comrades had before and gave chase to the attacking escorts. A cloud of debris grew thicker and thicker as one by one the small ships were picked from the stars. The arrived warships moved forward and redoubled their efforts while behind them, massive transports filled the entry vector, another Destroyer escorting them. They moved around the circumference of Hilari Three and towards their final destination – the jump point for Hilari Five.


“ Admiral - - we are tracking missiles from the opposite surface of Three. They are on a course for the convoy.”


Calmly, Baron Desaria replied, never turning his gaze from forward. “ Move Majesty into position. Fleet Ops – let us make out exit.”


The Imperial formation gave several salvoes into the disorganized mass of Rebel ships to discourage pursuit as it broke off the engagement and made its way around Three. A few escorts ignored a fair warning and came too close. The remaining blastboats showered them with concussion missiles. Noses bloodied, they held position to save face but came no closer.


The bulky transports disappeared with due haste until only warships remained. Then they too jumped into hyperspace, wasting no time recovering the ships accompanied them since they had the hyperspace capability TIEs lacked. Those missiles sent from the planet missed their targets entirely, slamming into the bulk of the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Majesty. Her death was slow and inglorious, atmosphere feeding fires that grew until all fuel for them had been consumed. She drifted closer to Three, pulled by gravity, until pulled from orbit by the Rebels themselves.


Their attempts at salvage were interrupted by massive boobytraps that tore nearly the entire ventral surface of the battleship from here frame. Their prize rendered useless, the Rebels and rebels of Hilari Three were free to lick their wounds.

[Telan Desaria]

Surface of Hilari Five
Sextus – the capital city


Dust rose in the distance, a cloud of sand and dirt expanding on either side of the only thoroughfare to lead directly to the fortress of Porall. Those brave souls who had volunteered to occupy the unsteady remains of the only standing stone sentry tower reported it immediately. Throughout the compound a klaxon sounded, its noise far from the crisp computerized blaring that had called to quarters only a month before. The speakers throughout the garrison had almost ceased to work, making only the harshest of tones. It nevertheless served its purpose, informing all of the now houly routine of fighting off another attack.


Colonel Yurrick shielded his eyes from the midday sun with a gloved hand. He could see the rising dust and knew the rebels were following their daily pattern of making a concerted thrust towards the main gate using the old Juggernaut assault vehicles scrounged from who-knows-where. He could not see them yet, but he knew they were there: the infantry assaults they had endured round the clock produced a much more spread out cloud of debris.


The tall man surveyed the defenses before him. He stood atop a battered black wall barely twenty meters from the surface, watching his grey-smocked Fleet Assault Corps troopers occupying foxholes and shell crates on the perimeter. Wrecked hovertanks and the charred remains of the garrison’s only AT-AT provided a good deal of shelter, the black uniformed soldiers having learned a great deal in such a short time from their Army comrades. The Colonel looked left and heard the gut-wrenching whine of dive-bombers coming in. From the fortress itself jutted a small peninsula into the bay, on it the now useless landing strip and a plethora of anti-aerial batteries that fired in short bursts into the sky. The bombers followed their usual pattern, harassing the guns and while they did little damage, they prevented them from being fully depressed and used to support for the fort-proper.


A sea to our left, a bay to our right, water behind us and a rebellious population before us – we will all soon know the fate that has taken so many lives into the next. Glorious without doubt, but sooner that I had hoped. Yurrick swatted his hand through a beard sun-bleached almost as much as his khaki uniform. He looked far from the part of a planetary-garrison commander but he did match perfectly his men. They were themselves an eclectic collection, the conglomeration of every Imperial soldier and officer who could escape the rampaging horde. The Colonel barked a quiet laugh when he looked to his left. There stood Captain Artemis Blaxar, an officer of the General Staff who’s broad red trouser stripe still glistened in the light, though his belt was home to several stem-grenades and his head that to a coal-scuttle helmet.


“ Open fire at all targets of opportunity.”


Staff-sergeant Dremisill looked up from his comm-array after relaying the order. “ Sir, the anti-armor guns report they’ve only got enough for about six shots apiece then they’re done.”


Yurrick smiled, almost losing the composure that had aided his men to endure their private hell. Almost ignoring the messenger, he spoke directly to the artillerists. “ Fire what you can and then spike the guns. Fall back into the walls when you’re done.”


A blaze of glory indeed…

[Telan Desaria]

Hilari Five appeared a world besieged. In its inception, the small planet was no paradise by any stretch of the imagination – save perhaps for any native of Aridus. The addition of cities along deep and often violent seas did little to enhance her reputation abroad. Through the viewports of the Relentless, it was a light brow ball ringed in broad expanses of omnipresent clouds, water puddles dotting an otherwise generic surface. Admiral Desaria, looking at Hilari Five, was reminded of Kuat and his distinct disdain for his homeworld. Thoughts of his family estate were of little comfort as many eyes drifted to the burnt out hulks littering the orbital spacelanes.


“ Any life-signs, Captain?”


Desaria needed not turn to feel the pain in his flag captain’s voice. “ Negative for life-form readings, Admiral. Visual feed indicates the remains of four Imperial frigates – one Nebulon-B and three Lancers.”


The remnants of the local defense squadron. At least we have accounted for them all. May the Gods grant them peace. Saying a silent prayer for the betrayed officers and men whose bodies drifted entombed in carbon scored sarcophagi, the Admiral turned back to his bridge officers.


“ Captain – bring us and the Furious into low orbit and begin a preliminary bombardment of any targets of opportunity. I have no doubt that the garrison will have no means of communication. Scramble our TIE Interceptors and place them on escort for Third Army’s transports. Communications – all clear to General Pattonn. He is to land at the city’s edge and make immediately for the fortress. All ships – commence perimeter sweep and fire on anything that does not immediately stand down.”


Running on barely more than half her standard reactor power, the Imperial command ship and one sister-warship moved as close to the barren world as their design would allow and brought unseen targets under their guns. Fed data from long range sensors, turbolasers traversed and locked then loosed a firestorm on the unsuspecting planet below. The preliminary scan showed an entire city in revolt and had been ordered dealt with accordingly. Energy poured through the stratosphere and down towards buildings quickly identified as munitions depots, troop concentrations, and machines of war. Where only the fires started by the insurgents burned flames of Imperial Retribution consumed all that would catch.


Admiral Desaria stood, feeling the deck vibrate with every salvo, watching wave after wave of shuttle descend towards the stricken world, and felt no pity for the civilian-soldiers who would soon meet their fate on the end of Imperial bayonets. They had allowed themselves to fall under the sway of traitors and would be dealt with as some of their number. Only blood could beget blood.

[Telan Desaria]

The ground trembled under the weight of a horrific barrage. Colonel Yurrick, hunkered down in a crater by the remains of a watch tower, knew in his heart that his life would soon be over. The shots falling from above were stronger than they had been to date, a sheer sign that the rebels had augmented their paltry defense force with a few more teeth. In the span of only two hours they had repulsed no less than six difference wave assaults, more men and material thrown at them in a shorter time than the entire siege to date.


Inside the fortress things had grown critical though the men themselves were far too consumed with the tasks of survival to realize the desperation of their position. There was no remaining anti-armor ammunition and all but one of the anti-aerial batteries had been silence. There were no vehicles left to speak of the wounded had been issued pistols and a single white vial whose purpose needed not be spoken for all knew. Command and control had broken down, the final communications node shattered by a fragmentation grenade.


The Colonel moved among his men, no longer espousing the useless phrases assuring his men of relief and victory; instead he congratulated them of deeds well done and made sure that all he could find knew he considered it a privilege to die with those war had forged into an unflappable brotherhood. From foxhole to foxhole he ran, automatic-fire pistol in hand, squeezing off a few rounds, then disappearing into the smoke-enshrouded rubble of what was once ten-metre thick walls.


He leapt one too far. As he landed next to a young Caridan boy wearing the tattered uniform of an Ensign in the Imperial Navy, a mortar round exploded just behind the hastily dug slit trench. Dirt was thrown into the air and, collapsing with the concussion, Yurrick felt the air ripped from his lungs. Using what strength he could muster, he closed his eyes, hoping Death’s Embrace would be quick.


Perhaps I can only meet eternity standing up. The Colonel did not know if he was dead, thought the gravel and stone under his cuirass felt as real as the blood trickling down his cheek. Determined to look the oncoming armies of darkness in the face, he stood and bellow a terrible roar. Brandishing his pistol he fired into the crowd of people leaping from stone to stone then dropped down as quickly as he had stood. He had seen something out of the corner of his eye that he could not believe. The now deceased Caridan boy was relieved of macrobinoculars round his neck. Yurrick look toward the sky and saw the unmistakeable form of Sentinel-class landing shuttle. The Colonel cleared his eyes.


The small craft folded up its wings and circled the crowd where the main promenade lead into the center of the city. It retreated into where the fort’s remains stood and touched down. Silhouetted against a sky covered by clouds themselves flecked in orange and red, the view was magnificent. A tear came to the Colonel’s eye as he cursed his mind for playing such a trick on him.


A trick it was not as a deafening wail filled all ears. In perfect formation swept down a flight of four TIE Interceptors, pouring an endless stream of laser fire into the fort’s besiegers. Building facades collapsed, human flesh burned. The clouds parted as landing barges, shuttles, and more TIEs descended. All hearts were lifted as salvation took under its wing those wretched few lucky enough to survive twenty day’s torment. The garrison stood from its sheltered positions and watched comrades pour through the maze of crevasses and rubble to a man they thought they would die amongst. Such a difference there was between men with nicked helmets, soiled uniforms, and ragged faces and their rescuers donning clean camouflage smocks, polished breast plate armor, and brilliant jackboots.


A party of Imperial Army soldiers was quick to find Yurrick and hustle him to the rear where a tall man waited near a landed shuttle. Helmet upon his head, the khaki uniform of the Army on his back, General Pattonn looked at the stoic man who had endured so much. Yurrick managed a salute as best he could then collapsed to his knees, tears paying silent tribute to the men who could not see the final end to such an odessy.

[Telan Desaria]

When the Siege of Porall was lifted, resistance across Hilari Five evaporated like so much rain on Tatooine. Formations of the Third Army fanned out across the dry steppes and found more and more the black-crossed red Imperial Banner unfurled from many a window. Town squares, as per the orders broadcast from the orbiting armada, were filled with stockpiles of small arms and some larger munitions. People greeted the passing repulsor-tanks and armored personnel carriers and marching infantrymen with waves and hugs, some genuinely grateful to be delivered from the chaos revolution had visited upon them, others merely feigning happiness at their deliverance. The soldiers and officer cared not as to their reasons so long as no shots were fired. To determine the guilt or innocence of the populace was the job of the Imperial Security Bureau and the Inquisitoriate.


The smoke of the revolution cleared from Hilari Five, revealing a strong and resourceful people who had been tempered by the harshness of the jobs many had in and around the tremendous mine complexes. Much land was appropriated around the three prefabricated garrison bases landed by the Relentless, Monarch, and Anariah – unlike Porall, there would be no cityscape about them from which enemies might spring before the defensive emplacements could be brought to bear. The locals, lead by their mayors and other officials, did not complain and most could understand the distance the troops maintained – they both needed to rebuild a relationship that had been scarred by betrayal.


Victory had greeted the Imperials, a heartening of the spirit to men who had endured horrors beyond compare in the short time prior – those men trapped on Five enduring a siege, their rescuers living with survivors’ guilt from a pyrrhic triumph. Morale rose considerably and progress made a marked improvement: the Relentless had her reactor back at peak efficiency, most major damage to the escorting Destroyers was either repaired or close to being so, the crew of the Majesty had integrated themselves to fill the void of loss in other compliments and swelled the decimated ranks of the Congregator’s crew.


Admiral Telan Desaria did not feel the elation that seemed to have washed over his ad hoc command. Alone in his office he held a troubled brow in weathered hands. Upon his desk was a report compiled by the senior Intelligence officer attached to his staff that made the day’s work sourer than it appeared. Before making its appearance at Hilari Five, the task force had trounced a Rebel formation above Hilari Three, over a dozen ships all believed were those they had chased from Endor. Preliminary reports run hastily through several bridge-droids said they were, those droids using information transmitted from Intelligence. Further analysis had shattered that illusion of luck that brought light to a dark time. The Rebel vessels were damaged as the Rebel ships had been at Endor, but had suffered it in engagements with the forces under Grand Admiral Il-Raz in the Sunex Sector. None of the vessels engaged had been at Endor.


Without the pleading eyes of his subordinates burning holes in his soul, Desaria convinced himself their action had been no less stunning, his tactics no less damaging, their smashing aside of enemy resistance no less spectacular than it had been thought. True in barely three days they had recaptured an Interdictor Cruiser and rescued its crew, destroyed seven small Rebel vessels and two former Imperial vessels under their control, severely damaged two Rebel heavy cruisers, lifted the siege of Porall, and re-conquered Hilari Five – all that seemed to pale in comparison with the notion they had struck a blow for the fallen of Endor.


Desaria stood and paced over to the large viewport in his office-wall. He looked down and the green blue and brown ball of Hilari Five, trying to find mental clarity in its torrents of wind-swept clouds and seemingly endless continents. He found it. Their actions were significant. They were not what they had hoped but they had struck a blow against the organization that had lain low so many of their fellows. Victory was victory – regardless of the formation so long as it flew the enemy’s flag. Placing the cold, impassive cloak of command back upon his shoulders, Desaria prepared to sally forth from his chambers and inform his crews.