Vengeance, Power, and Glory

[Telan Desaria]

Executor-class Super Star Destroyer Intimidator
Imperial Flagship

In Hyperspace


“ Very well, General.”


Those three words excused the khaki-clad figure standing before the seated figure of the Imperial Supreme Commander. A much-practiced click of the Army officer’s heels resonated through the Tactical Command Center buried deep within the flagship’s superstructure.


Lieutenant-General Maximus Aelius, commanding officer of the III Corps of the Imperial Guards, stepped down from the dais on which his superior sat before a sprawling plot table. His jackboots collided with the durasteel stairs in rapid succession as he made a quick retreat. For the past five hours Grand Admiral Baron Desaria had reviewed dozens of scenarios with the senior staff of the Intimidator’s embarked ground assault force. Tea had been served to ease tension and the lighting set at a comfortable level but the intensity of the discussion and planning was nonetheless great.


Aelius almost hit a passing scanner technician whose job it was to transfer Intelligence reports to plot-table data as he barreled out of the room. The stunned Warrant Officer, Third Class, gathered together a pair of datacards drawn to the floor by the unexpected collision and disappeared to one of the stations sunken into the floor around the sizeable dais.


Damned commoners. Desaria chided himself for allowing such an arrogant thought cross his mind, having let the aristocratic part of his upbringing overcome his military protocol. General Aelius had begun his career as a conscript and chosen service as a career only after ascending in rank from private to sergeant-major during the chaotic and bloody Battle of Ord Mantell. Thirty years had passed since such a rise and had held some of the worst and best postings the Army could offer. He was deserving of every ounce of respect the Grand Admiral had ever afforded him, if not more. That Desaria could allow his lack of noble birth to impede his judgment and opinion set his mind back years.


The plot table shifted from a map of Tarkin City, Bastion, to a three dimensional holographic representation of the system as a whole. Orbital defense platforms shimmered a pale grey against the translucent green ball of the Syndicate capital. Desaria shook his head. Stress had always been cast aside by the Grand Admiral in the campaigns of old, and he had never been as restless or edgy as he had been in the days previously. It was doubtless the loss of Admiral Sokolov that weighed heavily on his mind compounded by the treachery of Director Latt.


I cannot let this affect me. I am a Grand Admiral, after all.


A sip of sweet tasting Corellian ale brought some measure of calmness to the Admiral’s mind. There was a soft aroma that caressed the Admiral’s nostrils as he inhaled, the ale perfectly fermented. He inhaled a deep breath.


The counter on the wall clicked up to seven hours in bright red digital numerals. The battle fleet had been en route for seven hours. Desaria sighed and stood, the hand carved chair pushing back as he rose. He resolved to put his personal feelings behind him: vengeance could overtake sense and thus deny the Empire its glory.


With that thought in mind, Grand Admiral Desaria retired to a long sonic shower before he planned a long session in the ship’s gym.

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial Civil Administration Center

Xucphra City, Thyferra

Departure of Imperial Battle Force: Nine Hours…



Moff Pesitiin Jerr took in the sight of Xucphra City as his chauffeur-driven speeder maneuvered through the tower-strewn skyline. The young bureaucrat had been to Thyferra several times before the Fragmentation when the temperate planet had only just entered its metropolitan adolescence. When the likes of Skywalker, Lord Vader, and the Emperor Palpatine strode the stars, Thyferra was a human-run agrarian settlement close to the Core. Since the Battle of Endor it had undergone a dramatic change, moving away from xenophobic hotspot between humanoid and Vratix to multi-species hub of commerce. Where fields once dominated spires of commercial buildings grew in place of plant life. All growth could be attributed to the one azure substance that ensured the economic survival of the Empire for millennia to come.


On the staff of Moffs throughout the Empire were only a few militarists, Jerr’s chauffeur not among them. He was a middle-aged humanoid donning the abbreviated garb of Thyferran natives; unbound by the rigid protocol of the Armed Forces, he yelled back to his passenger a question.


“ Is this your first time?” he asked, noticing the administrator’s stunned look at everything his red eyes could absorb.


“ In a good while, yes.”


The driver smiled and turned back to the perilous route he was flying, so considered by his tourist-like passenger. The buzzing about of speeders and creation of air-lanes resembled Coruscant itself, save for the fields and mountains in the distance.


Finally the craft came to a stop on one of the many lnding pads jutting out of the Civil Administration Building. On the pad was someone the Moff did not expect to see: his most superior officer below the Grand Admiral himself. Standing before him was the Baron Mikell de Nostradaum.

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial Golan X Defense Platform Petropavlovsk

Garrison Command, Protectorate of Corellia


“ Admiral, they have arrived.”


Theodore Varrisill Berraxin looked up from his desk and removed the old but effective vision enhanced resting on his sloped nose. The datapad that was grasped in hands, displays of the week’s construction schedule outlined in words of blue, green, and red thereon, now found itself on the table, second to the arrival of his chief aide.


“ Very well.”


Without any hesitation, Berraxin stood and clasped his tunic, undone while relaxing in the confines of his office. He was not a young man, nor was he old. Age had proven moot to the man: fifteen years’ service in the Imperial Navy show on his brow yet the virility within had never dulled. Strands of grey worked their way into a closely cropped pelt of blond; though as time passed the native of Bespin seemed to grow stronger and more energetic. He had taken to his duties protecting the massive shipyard complex over Corellia now under Imperial control with the vigor of a cadet.


Berraxin stepped out of his office and onto the top level of the station’s command center. Before him sat dozens of technicians and officers in tiered rows to the bottom of forward slanting viewports that wrapped around that entire deck of the platform. As was typical, the spacious control center was low lit. Corellia and the yards separating the massive battle station produced a considerable amount by which one might complete his work.


” Where are they?”


“ Lane Eight, sir.”


The Admiral’s aide pointed towards the upper-left most corner of the command center where the main hyperlane from Thyferra ended in-system.


Berraxin knew the entire layout of the planet, its Sith native structures, the yards, and his garrison by memory. His trained eyes had no problem affixing themselves to the route’s terminus and he saw what he expected. Orders in full will arrive via military courier. There will be no communication other than personal of said orders. Any interception is unacceptable.


The Admiral shuddered as he remembered his orders as they were not only authored by the Chief of the General Staff, Marshal Prem, but also counter-signed by one of the most feared officials in the Empire, High Inquisitor Esalis. The tales of her brutality in prosecuting traitors was renowned.


“ Give them a spot, Lieutenant.”


A young female officer nodded and executed her duties as Yard Master, really a glorified traffic-control person, as normally as she always had. No one except Berraxin and his aide knew what was so important about a Delta-XG 9 Assault Shuttle. Something was, obviously, for an entire wing of red-painted Inqusitoriate TIE Defenders guarded it.


The shuttle and its escort disappeared from view as they steered under one of the platform’s many off shoots, that one three of five projections holding a battery of long range proton torpedo launchers.


There were five entrances to the platform’s launch bay, one under each hull projection, that lead to a cavernous hangar at the station’s centre under its reactor. Lower still were living quarters. Lift tubes were clear on the walls of the hangar so one could watch them move up and down in rapid succession round the clock.


When the shuttle touched down, all personnel were cleared from the deck by an announced order straight from the command center. Five people exited: a black uniformed insignia-less officer of the Internal Security Bureau flanked on four sides by massive Inquisitoriate guards. None was less than two meters tall, carrying immense muscled strength under their tunics. Each one had his side arm holstered, but the clasps that secured them were undone for ease of draw: the four escorts also carried light repeating blasters over their broad shoulders.


Members of the station’s stormtrooper detachment cleared the way but themselves kept a good distance from the quintet. Even the fearless stromtroopers were considered faint of heart when regarded against the “Red Terror.”


The group arrived at the command center and moved into the Admiral’s office without so much as a word, courtesy, or request. They door shut behind them before Berraxin could enter.


“ Checking?”


The Admiral nodded, sure that his aide was correct in assuming they would scan for listening devices before allowing him entrance.


When he did enter, two guards moved immediately outside the door, with two more standing guard inside. The black-uniformed ISB man opened a satchel that was manacled to his wrist. Inside was a small scanner; Berraxin bent close as the machine matched his retinal scans with those on file at High Command.


Confirmation received, the container opened from which he removed a pile of crystal sheets. He scanned them briefly, passing the specifics until he arrived at the summary.


….is of the utmost importance. This Fleet will determine the outcome of Empire’s actions for many months if not years to come.

Have the necessary fuel and parts ready when the Grand Admiral arrives. Your replenishment crews must work faster than they ever have before. Speed is paramount if Rebel agents are to be prevented from arriving before the Imperial detachment. They know of our mission as was unavoidable. They do not know of its route, size, or requirements. Things must stay that way.


Berraxin looked over the astronomical requisition sheets and knew he had to get started. Immediately.

[Jarek T'chort]

Meanwhile, on the inner rim world of Carida, a tall, angled featured man strode in full dress uniform down assembled ranks of Imperial Army regulars, rifles clutched to armoured chests. A soft breeze whistled around the open air parade ground, fully the size of a large spaceport on a populated world.

Dusty earth, pounded by thousands of millitary boots, echoed to the sound of a formation of Imperial engineers practising drill. The tall man came to a halt before the spectacle of a full division of Imperial Stormtroopers marching in rigid formation to a proving ground.

The mans face bore a neutral expression. His black tunic was finished by a ceremonial sash and an ornate baton, emblazoned at each end with the Imperial star. Jackboots, polished to perfection strode across the parade ground in step with two acomanying officers. Newly promoted Field Marshal Jarek Tchort.

"Follow me sir, I'll escort you to the command and control complex." An olive grey suited officer reported in a clipped tone. The young captain led Jarek up to a waiting millitary speeder. Once strapped in and airborne Jarek was able to get a better idea of the surface of Carida.

The planets surface was largely made up of plains and a large sea off the eastern most continent. In the water enviroment Seatroopers and AT-AT swimmers trained for operations on worlds on like Mon Calmari. Across most of the southern continent myriad durasteel structures, barracks, vehicle depots, prefab shelters, firing ranges and storage yards covered the surface alongside the sprawling urban centers, for Carida, though a milliatry world, had an extensive civilian population. Thousands of speeders darted between light bedecked skyscrapers, whose tallest points pointed like slender, metallic fingers, to the hevans. At the polar caps snowtroopers trained and drilled their shock tactics to perfection, while in simulated deserts Sandtroopers trained in specialy re-created enviromental conditions.

On vehicle proving ranges all manner of milliatry hardware lauched missiles, turbolaser blasts and all manner of projectiles. The whole planet was a hive of millitary activity.

In this ordered chaos the huge nexus of the largest millitary base and academy, Camp Veltrix, Jarek Tchort was led to the hub of the world, from which the training sims, drill instructions, orders, promotions, reprimands, rations and all manner of communications passed out of. The huge dome like complex control rooms were staffed by the most profficent Imperial techs and training personnel. Huge view screens surrounded the wide rooms, which were filled with crew pits and assorted computers and electronic equipment. Here, Major General Nelis presented the vast camp for the review of Field Marshal Tchort.

"I am impressed General, I have never actually been to Carida, it is certainly a awe inspiring sight."

The weasly officer smiled weakly, and bowed slightly. "Why thank you sir, we do our best of course."

"I have another reason why I am here Nelis." Jarek drew closer to the thin officer, making the officer feel like a confidant. "I am to assemble three divisions, of the 10th Assault Army composed of 10,000 men each, one of which is to be armoured. These will be drawn from your recruits."

Nelis cleared his throat uncomfortably. "That number of men will take some time to assemble sir."

"I know that General, but time is of the essence here, I am holding you personally responsible for the assembly and fitting out of the divisions required. I expect your men will carry out their duties in accord with the fine reputation this world holds in the galaxy."

Nelis nodded vigourously, his service cap slipping forward slightly on his sweating brow. Jarek sneered slightly at the man as he turned to attend his duties. A weak man, but then even the weak had their uses.

[Jarek T'chort]

A small group of instructors followed Jarek into the ruins of a city. Jagged walls and ferrocrete stabbed into the air in acrobatic positions. However, this 'city' was but a mock up. Used to train recruits, sometimes whole battalions, on the finer points of urban conflict.

Jarek stood perched on uprighted civilian speeder. The instructors were anxious and had called up the 546th Infantry company and the 23rd light artillery to storm a strongpoint of the city. The strongpoint consisted of a fortified command center, which was built around the remains of a utilitarian government structure. The building and surrounding fortified buildings had sufficent AA defenses to prevent ariel suppourt.

Objectives (546th Coy. :

Eliminate AA defenses and take key enemy positions (specified on NCO's map)

Objectives (23rd La)

Suppourt infantry with continous bombardment of the AA and heavy anti infantry defenses (i.e. ; Rail gun bunkers, light laser turrets.

The appointed recruit units of freshfaced teenagers held blaster rifles eagerly to their chests. They knew they were under the watchful eyes of their instructors and of the Field Marshal.
With carefully rehearsed syncronisation the units slipped into craters and behind cover, ever watchful for the robotic sentries and instructors in the garb of NR troops. As they moved the guns of the 23rd Light Artillery opened up, plasma charges smashing home against the pockmarked buildings.

Finally, the resistance opened up. With multiple E-Webs and tacitly placed snipers, they opened up on the advancing troopers. The young recruits backpacks contained basic circuitry which detected when the blank rounds of the opposition had hit home. The NCO's tried holding their troops together but in a rush, the recruits tried sprinting down the open street leading to the enemy compound.

Jarek seethed. His own experince at the costly battle of Brentaal during the last Vong invasion before the fragmentation had taught the Imperial army key lessons on street fighting. Simple tactics like covering fire and creeping barrages were ingnored by these recruits. He turned to the chief instructor, a young man barely out of the acdemy himself.
"Officer? What in the hell is going on down there?" Jarek asked cooly.

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial Executor-class Super Star Destroyer Intimidator
En route for Corellia

Time In Transit: Twenty-five Hours…


“…you are all aware of the dangers this mission possesses. We have with us the sum total of four Battle Squadrons, one Light Squadron, and one Assault Detachment. Such a force has not been assembled under the Imperial Banner in one location since before the Fragmentation. When we campaigned in the Senex Sector, we had ten times these many ships, but they were spread out across fifty parsecs. Now, in formation around this warship, is the ultimate sign that the Empire is rising again.”


Grand Admiral Desaria sat at the nexus of the audience hall, a hundred officers seated in tiers before him. The lights were low, his form silhouetted against a massive ceiling-to-floor holoscreen. Light from billions of micro-receptive filaments burned a blue candescence in the back of his white uniform, the epaulettes upon his shoulders appearing green.


“ With this operation comes not only a large amount of risk but a massive responsibility. We have assembled the most fearsome, disciplined, and well-drilled unit currently in service under the Imperial Banner. It is our mandate by default we not fail. The eyes of an Empire, indeed an entire galaxy itself, are upon us. We are the sons and daughters of those who sacrificed their lives for the ideal of Empire. We owe it to our predecessors as well as those who will one day follow in our footsteps to succeed. If we fail, there will be no reason to return home alive.”


There were those in the audience of senior officers who might have been intimidated, there were those who were not. There were few among them period who understood the severity of the Grand Admiral’s words. He was being fatalistic and dramatic, about that there could be no doubt. In reality, his words may not see truth in the lifetime of any present, even the age defying Centaurian at their head.


The Grand Admiral, however, did not want to see the forces under his command responsible for the collapse of the Empire. Because the body fades away, viruses survive.


“ You may not understand my words now, or even fifty years from now. But they will ring true. Unless you change the course of events. I am only a commander; you are they who will put my decisions into actions. You will influence events more closely than I ever could.


“ Gloria Imperium!”


The hall clammoured to their feet before Desaria began the briefing itself.

[Telan Desaria]

The Fleet moved through hyperspace like a predator through the brush to ambush its prey. A force of warships more powerful than seen for many years glided along at faster-than-light speeds with an ominous precision. Light frigates, cruisers, deployed pickets, assault shuttles, and other sundry craft formed a jagged sphere around the heavier battleships at the core. Abolisher II-class Heavy Cruisers, Destroyers of all kinds, and the mighty Imperial flagship sat comfortably at the center of an awesome force of destruction.


It was towards destiny they sailed on a sea of blood, propelled by the winds of Providence. The Empire had but one manifest destiny: to control the galaxy and restore order to all. Any thoughts to resistance would doubtless shrink to fantasy when confronted by the sheer power conveyed by the armada’s existence.


Many eyes gazed from many viewports, drinking in the details of hyperspace. The fleet had jumped as one entity, every vessel visible to another. So it was that every being that shouldered the unimaginable burden of command gazed on their comrades and the war machines on which they traversed the galaxy, wondering whom amongst them would never see their homes again.


Rear Admiral Davied von Felkersam looked from the sloping windows of his lavish cabin and pondered the fate of those around him. He lead the 21st Planetary Assault Squadron of four Victory VI-class Star Destroyers and knew those who served under him would see the brunt of the battles to come. His ships would pierce a world’s atmosphere and rain fire on the heads of terrified enemies but not before being subjected to brutal counter-battery fire. Listening to the sounds of kinking silk as he ran an aged hand over his grey goatee, Felkersam himself said a silent prayer for all Imperials.


Line Captain Cyrit Count de Rue also was restless after the watch change on his Hammer-class Light Cruiser Stormer. The darkness of his cabin provided welcome cover to the thoughts shadowing his every decision: would this action be his last. Eight other captains relied on his judgment and clarity, an entire Light Assault Squadron depending on his confidence. Around his neck hung the Imperial Cross, earned at a terrible price during the Battle of Sindamn. De Rue dismissed his misgivings and returned to bed, knowing he only had to walk the path set for him.


Grand Admiral Baron Telan Desaria could not sleep either, for on the coming day his fleet would arrive at Corellia for fuel. From there, on to Balmorra, then Bastion itself. Since the splintering of his beloved Empire, the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy had fought both the cursed Rebels and his brethren Imperials. There was no greater pain than firing on former comrades – or ordering others to do so. Though a pinnacle of fortitude and vitality in front of his men and even close friends, a close gaze through the Grand Admiral’s portal would reveal a pained man clearing tears from tired eyes.

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial Executor-class Super Star Destroyer Intimidator

Time Since Departure: Seventy-five hours…


From a screen mounted to a rare-wood lined wall came a bright pattern of ever changing colors, greens an reds giving way to blues and whites with every shift of its program’s code. From speakers to the panel’s sides came the soft, melodious strains of Burronof’s 18th Symphony. The first movement with its high yet resonate introduction had bathed the quarters of Grand Admiral Baron Telan Desaria with the brightest schemes imaginable, matching a nebula in its raw beauty. Following the first came the second, lower on the clef than its predecessor as each note was belted forth by bass-line instruments; the powerful harmonies set in the bowels of the scales produced brilliant combinations of purple and azure, blood red flecked throughout.


All in all, the Grand Admiral enjoyed the program, written by a former Imperial non-commissioned officer who had left the Service to work for a well-known graphic design firm on Omerose. Desaria could not give it the attention it was due for it could not relax him as intended. Instead, he clasped the double - breasted tunic atop his collared under-shirt. With great care, his hands felt the cold tin of his Imperial Cross, fingers gliding over the Gothic engraving on its back; the rubies affixed to the Pforr cluster shone brightly in the randomly illuminated expanse of his quarters.


How glorious it is to serve a cause. How many shall sing our names for decades to come. How many of us will perish before the Empire rises again. How proudly we march knowing well our fate. How honored I am to command such men. Despite his position at the top of the Imperial war machine, Telan Desaria cared for his men. Though he would stop at nothing to restore the Empire, he would never cease to lament those who would never lay eyes on the fruits of their sacrifice.


He inserted the Cross’s clasp through a woven loop under the collar of his tunic and let it rest there, singly commanding the space between his throat and chest-mounted rank plaque. The Grand Admiral then reached into another case and removed his Legion of Merit. It was a four pointed star etched in gold, a silver burst in the center, crossed lances behind the star. Desaria regarded the award, remembering his victory at Bormeo and the glee of the Diktat when he reported the rout of a Vong invasion force. Better days, he thought as he clasped the order below the Imperial Cross. It hung slightly left so an onlooker could view both dangling decorations.


Desaria swatted a piece of invisible fuzz from his epaulettes and dismissed the idea of polishing his jackboots once more. He was now dressed, breeches properly creased, holster shined, tunic immaculate, hair trimmed: he was the sparkling image of what a Grand Admiral should look like. Topping the ensemble with his slowly-fading boyish features, one might have accused him of impersonation were his image not recognizable in almost every corner of the galaxy.


Satisfied, Desaria left his quarters and listened for the footsteps of his entourage as it fell in behind him. The boots of his four Fleet guards were as well-looked after as his own. Off they went, from the Admiral’s quarters in the flagship’s superstructure to the bridge high atop the command tower.


The lift came to a stop at the end of the aft control corridor, connecting the bridge and its various compartments with the other regions of the warship. Desaria stepped out and walked past the technicians and crewmen at their stations, almost smiling at the clicking of sentries’ heels. The corridor gave way abruptly to the bridge proper, duty stations below in the crewpits and in the wings where the bow viewports came to a stop. Captain Voltaire was standing on the catwalk, silently searching the depths of hyperspace for the answer to some forgotten question.


Grand Admiral Telan Desaria mounted his command chair, adjusting his holster accordingly. Voltaire executed a precise about-face and clicked to attention.


“ Reversion to realspace in ten minutes, Admiral. All ships report action stations manned and ready. Line Captain de Rue has ordered the Lightning and Drang forward as the advance element.”


Desaria nodded. “ Good. Maintain standard procedure. When we revert to realspace, connect me to the Sith Central Command.”


“ Very well, sir,” Voltaire replied, turning to a communications officer who prepared to carry out the orders.


From behind the swivel-mount command chair came a yeoman baring a dispatch in-hand. The Grand Admiral acknowledged a young Silarrian male, his jowels twittering in unconscious response. Save for fleshy mandibles that fell down like drooping mustachios, Silarrian could pass for human: they were one of thousands of humanoid races on the roster of the Imperial Armed Services.


Printed on the crystal-sheet was an order from the commander of the Imperial III-class Star Destroyer Vigilant to take a two-day leave. Desaria smiled as he thought of the young yet brash Captain - Baroness Salvetore pushing command responsibility on her capable but reserved executive officer. The Raltiir native would have trouble initially, on that he was sure, but would be reluctant to surrender his temporary captaincy when his ship’s matriarch emerged from the so-called gambling hall. Desaria took an attached stylus in hand and felt the sheet hum as it recorded his signature in its reflective memory.


As the yeoman came to attention next to the Grand Admiral to send the now-approved request back to its point of origin, the flagship of the Imperial Navy dropped out of hyperspace. Arrayed around it like wasps to a queen was the rest of the armada.


“ Reversion successful. All systems functioning normally.”


Voltaire nodded to the helmsman, ignoring the twittering and bleeping of his station-droid as it notified the Senior Chief Petty Officer all thrust control had been transferred from the HyperNav technician to him. Voltaire turned to his right to the bridge engineer.


“ Reactor at one-hundred percent. No problems in fuel transfer or catalyst shut-off valves. Sublight drives at station-keeping. The ship is in excellent health.”


Emotionless, the Intimidator’s commanding officer turned about and nodded to his Grand Admiral. “ We have arrived at Corellia, sir.”


Telan Desaria nodded respectfully and stood slowly to his feet. As was common with him and all other personnel in a position of authority throughout the Empire, he clasped his hands at the small of his back, just above his belt. Captain Voltaire stepped to the side of the catwalk and Desaria passed.


He came to a stop before the catwalk plasteel merged with the other decking and ran aft around the crewpit. Corellia sat like a giant gem in a sky jammed with stars. Laced across the planet like a quilt was the endless net of berths and bays that together formed the famed Corellian shipyard complex, one the home of the Corellian Engineering Company. Ships of every kind, size, and model buzzed to and fro. Clearly visible in the distance were the other Sith-held worlds of the system: Drall, Selonia, Talus, and Trallus.


There were also the signs of the Empire everywhere. Ever since the Sith had agreed to allow the Empire access to its shipyards in exchange for protection, networks of defensive installations sprouted up everywhere. Automated laser cannon mounted on large probe chassis were littered at the system’s edge. At both poles of Corellia sat Golan VII Defense Platforms, bristling with heavy weaponry. Another platform, larger and more powerful, sat with its orbit fixed above the most populous continent. Permanently garrisoned was the 7th Cruiser Squadron, assembled in parade formation near the northern space station.


“ Media,” the Grand Admiral growled as he looked on at mobs of plodding civilian craft. Many bore oppressively large icons on almost every face of their vessels claiming ownership by one or another news agency. Literally millions of droids flitted everywhere, recording images and broadcasting them to masters near and far.


“ Sir, General Ferront of the Sith Central Command welcomes us to Corellia.”


Desaria turned to the communications officer. “ Very well. Send my compliments and thanks. Attach some warm sentiment and small talk – you have complete liberty on this matter.” He turned towards Voltaire with a solemn expression.


“ Begin fueling.”

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial Executor-class Super Star Destroyer Intimidator

Time Since Departure:Eighty-four Hours…


“ Come,” the Grand Admiral beckoned over the empty tract of space between his desk and office door. He paused the data-entry module on his pad and placed the light-weight textual recorder atop some cryshacs bearing order after order awaiting signature.


A pair of grey blast doors parted, admitting two men and an unwanted amount of light in from the aft control corridor. The Grand Admiral recognized the one in coal-scuttle helmet and black to be Pol Tredrill, Acting Commander of his personal guard detail while its leader was on leave; the other was not known to Desaria by name but recognized as an officer of the General Staff by the broad red stripe along the seam of his olive breeches. Below his five red-over-blue rank plaque he wore the Crest of Thyferra, belying his aristocratic status and planet of origin.


“ Grand Admiral: Colonel Lord de Winter to see you.”


Desaria nodded. “ Thank you Lieutenant.”


The General Staff officer removed his visor cap and placed it rigidly under arm just as Lieutenant Tredrill completed a precise about face and marched from the chamber. Officers under the tutelage of Marshal Prem were not required to wear caps when on duty but oft did when traveling. Members of the Armed Services, though grudgingly respectful of the ‘desk generals’’ abilities, oft derided them as reserve scissors in reference to their immaculately creased uniforms.


Little known fact of the General Staff was that every one, regardless of age or rank, had once been a frontline soldier or sailor; such prerequisites were to prevent operational planners from making avoidable mistakes that would have been culled by experience.


“ Please, Colonel.” The Grand Admiral motioned to one of two chairs set up just after the three stairs leading to his desk’s dais. His arrived guest nodded in thanks and ascended towards the desk. After one dexterous movement of his left hand, the Colonel’s cap was perched on the other chair with its owner relaxing into the second.


“ Lord de Winter. Your father is the Lord de Winter serving as commander of the Aurora-class Star Destroyer Brilliant, currently assigned to this battle group?”


The Colonel nodded. “ He is, sir. When my duty is complete here, I plan to visit him.”


“ I am glad to hear it; family should never be neglected. But then I doubt the Prefect of Corellia sent his Chief of Staff to speak to me of such matters.”


De Winter nodded again. “ He did not send me, as I was ordered to report to you by High Command. In the Ferr-inar Region of the Juvex Sector, two systems have pledged their allegiance to a warlord who eluded our grasp the first time through. Intelligence reports he has two Victory-class Destroyers under his command plus a few support vessels, but nothing has engaged our patrols or garrisons.”


The Grand Admiral’s face had turned to stone. Telan Desaria, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy, ousted Telan Desaria the nobleman for control of the situation. “ What of the local garrison?”


“ Battle station Ticonderoga is the garrison for Ferr-inar. It was decided that until the more populous systems were fully cleared and repairs, no ground troops would be landed in Ferr-inar.”


“ I trust Marshal Prem in his decision or he would not be Chief of the General Staff.” Desaria noticed with pride how the Colonel was trying to report on the situation without deriding his superiors or questioning the competency of front line commanders. He was acting as an officer should.


“ Of course, sir. Ticonderoga has two medium cruisers assigned to it, both of which are returning from maneuvers by Ghorr. Commander Wearri has ordered they depart immediately for the rebellious systems upon returning to Ticonderoga.”


“ This seems like a simply matter the General Staff could have handled. Why are you here, Colonel?”


The Grand Admiral watched de Winter adjust his gloves, noticing the Royale cuff title on his sleeve. The regiment in question had been a Caridan Guards unit during the Battle of Eriadu, the only Fleet Assault formation to see continual combat.


“ Marshal Prem has ordered the 116th Panzer Division to embark to transports from its garrison on Karfeddion. Due to the untimely retirement of its commander, Moff Zemmthin has appointed its leading regimental commander as leader. The division’s new commander is Major General Viscount Desaria.”


The Grand Admiral positively beamed. Since the end of the Senex campaign, he had not heard from his younger brother. He was the only other Desaria serving in the ranks of the Empire, the rest almost forced to remain with the Centaurian Fleet. The young lad had risen rapidly through the ranks, faster in comparison than his older brother.


“ Thank you. I see why Marshal Prem wanted to keep me abreast of the situation. Send my compliments to him when you report. And to the Prefect as well.”


Colonel de Winter nodded and stood. As quickly as before, he had snatched his cap and placed it under his left arm; his right came up in salute. After it was returned, the Colonel marched from the room and was gone.


“ Captain Voltaire,” Desaria said, activating a comlink built into his desk.


“ Sir?”


“ What is the status on our fueling?”


“ We are ahead of schedule. Four hours and we will be complete.”


“ Very well. Make all ships ready for departure then. We will be gone before the last hose is reeled in.”

[Jarek T'chort]

The stiff flimsyplast file fell to the dull grey desk without a sound save the gentle swishing of air being displaced.

The khaki suited figure rose from behind the desk, medals swaying beneath the blue and red dotted rank bar. Two more figures stood before the desk, their stances belied their uneasiness as they stood to attention. Gloved hands were clasped behind their backs, fingers held tightly in place.

Jarek's cold blue eyes shot up from his files to the two Imperial instructors who had been in charge of the sham of a training mission earlier that morning.

Large windows from behind Jarek looked out on the parade grounds of Camp Veltrix, Imperial personnel marched in step, the tramp tramp of their boots resounded around them. Greying light fell through the windows, casting Jareks features in shadow. His eyes kept their brilliance though, for a fire smouldered behind his puplis.

"Gentlemen, you are here to discuss the disgraceful conduct of your recruits in the training exercise today."

Jarek looked over each man individualy, taking in the two Sergeants starined features.

"It appears to me that you have utterly disregarded the principles of urban combat, more precisely, the lessons learnt during the Battle of Brentaal."

His eyes lowered once more.

"You men were not there, do not presume to know anything about urban combat by simply applying open ground warfare into closed spaces. That battle against the Vong was the dealiest battle I ever fought, yet by the skill and courage of my troops, we defeated those creatures."

The two sergeants breathed easier, the vocal dressing down did not come as they had feared.

"However, you men train the men and women who must lead this Empire to victory, I cannot allow such flagrant abuse of the rules of urban combat. You are hereby demoted to the rank of Lance Corporal. Dissmissed."

The men saluted and turned away, walking smartly out.

Jarek turned to the window, memories flooding back to him of the ghoulish faces of the Vong, their macarbe expressions seeming more terrible when night fell. The men he had served with on Brentaal had not fallen for nothing. The valuable experince learned had its use. One day, Jarek mused, the rebels would see these techniques being used on their own worlds.

Jarek turned back to his desk and settled down to wait for General Nelis.

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial HoloNet Monitoring Station FT-77400-9

Ison, Corridor Sector

Time Since Departure: Eighty-three Hours…



Access Denied – Code Alternated

Attempt 1: Failed

Attempt 2: Begin

Enter Authorization Code 9-Bravo

****-****-****-**-***

Access Denied – Code Alternated
***Alert*** - Terminal Monitored : : : External Feed Detected - ***Alert***

Attempt 2: Failed


Corporal Stenetti sat back in his chair and laced his fingers together. To agitation of his sole companion in the room, Stenetti then proceeded to bend them in a bizarre manner that produced an unpleasant cracking sound.


“ How can you be so blasé at a time like this??? You’ve had two weeks to practice and now you’ve all but failed!!! We’ll be fried if you slip up again.”


Stenetti swiveled his chair around to look at Corporal Villis, the Acting Commander of a Monitoring Station in the middle of an uninhabited expanse of Ison’s wilderness. While the post’s remoteness had indeed warded off would-be saboteurs, it had also succeeded in adding the post to an ever - growing list of disciplinary assignments one could win – not being transferred to some obscure command as a last resort meant prison of execution.


“ You are far too paranoid.”


Without another word, Stenetti returned his hands to the terminal and gave his final attempt his all.


# # #


Imperial Citadel
Department of the Inquisitoriate, Electronic Affairs Division

Xucphra City, Thyferra


“ Loo-tenn-annt!” called a technician from his station before a wall of screens, dials, and computers. Relaxed with his jackbooted feet perched atop his keyboard console, Sergeant Major Antonian had a playfully arrogant twist to his face as his commanding officer strolled over.


“ Do tell, Rav. What was so important that I could not finish one cup of improperly brewed axle grease –


“ He means regulation caf,” interrupted a chortling Master Sergeant from the other side of the room.


“ - without being called to every ex-slicer under my command.”


Antonian arched his eyebrows and pushed his chair backwards, his red tuniced form propelled with it. The officer of the watch batted at Antonian’s still outstretched legs, sending him twirling towards Master Sergeant Femmot. The pair with an audible exhale from the unprepared technician; the other techs in the room joined in the laughter.


Lieutenant Grazer sighed. None of the men in his section, indeed all the men of the Electronic Affairs Division, would ever know military discipline as he did. Despite his Inquisitoriate attachment, he was a soldier to the core. He could not begrudge them their carpe diem attitude, however, as they were the best slicers in all the Empire.


Grazer turned to the screen and searched his brain for the techno-jargon that came to easily to young people around him.



****-****-****-**-***

Access Denied – Code Alternated

***Alert*** - Terminal Monitored : : : External Feed Detected - ***Alert***

Attempt 3: Failed

***Warning*** - OVERLOAD DECTECTED - ***Warning***

Connection: Terminated


That’s the fifth attempt into the Fleet Navigational Archives. But that’s just copies of transmissions. Above my pay grade. Grazer shook his head and ignored the now preoccupied slicers in the room, placing bets on how fast their youngest participant could out-code a teenage technician from the Balmorran Empire. He took a comlink from its receiver and spoke seriously into it.


“ Get me the Major. Now!!!”

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial Golan X Defense Platform Petropavlovsk
Garrison Command Center, Protectorate of Corellia

Time Since Departure: Eighty-nine Hours….


“ There they go.”


Admiral Berraxin stood ahead of the near-empty tiers of duty stations, looking into space from his atop a powerful battlestation. Even though he stood behind a meter of solid transparisteel and one of the most powerful platform-borne shielding systems in the galaxy, gravity’s malicious embrace forced a tear from the corner of his eye towards the decking.


The Admiral’s eyes watched with sadness a bright flash wash over the sprawling shipyard complex, the defenses, and limitless masses of ships both civil and military. In a shimmer of pseudomotion, Grand Admiral Desaria’s battle group departed vanished from Corellian space.


Berraxin closed his eyes and allowed his mind to see. Only one vision presented itself to his almost-dream like state: his only child. Lieutenant Commander Maxxila Berraxin, master of a quad-turbolaser battery on the Imperial V-class Star Destroyer Baronial, was the Admiral’s pride and joy. He had every faith in his Supreme Commander, but none in the kindness of Destiny. He feared he would never see his daughter again; her death would be a pain that could be erased by no victory.


That was a fear many held that night, as news of the Fleet’s disappearance for destination’s unknown spread across the HoloNet.

[Jarek T'chort]

Carida
Camp Veltrix, Time Since Departure: Eighty-six Hours…
"......and that was well before the fragmentation."

Colonel Garjer finished his joke, inducing laughter from the gathered officers. His grizzled features formed a smile beneath the shallow green orbs of eyes, each burning with a fierce passion. The man loved his job; he knew his boundaries as well as his strengths. Garjer was a confident man who knew what he wanted....promotions, awards, fame - In no particular order.

The spartan board room in the central complex of Camp Veltrix follwed standard Imperial design. High backed gothic chairs surrounded a circular briefing table sheathed in dull light from built in glowrods. Papers lay neatly in piles at each officers place, along with a fine ornamental glass and a pitcher of water. The Field Marshal had no weakness for drink, plus water enabled the brain to think clearly.

Garjer now began lamenting the state of the modern youth of Thyferra, how their loud repulsive music was merely propaganda filled with subliminal messaging from the New Republic and how they had no morals, unlike in his day.

The double doors at the end of the room slid open with a hiss and admitted two men, Field Marshal Tchort and his aide de camp, Major Vryss. They took their places, Tchort at the head of the table and Vryss next to him. The gathered men stood slightly stiffer then before, backs bolt straight, each man nodding in turn to Tchort as he settled in place. It was not everyday one met the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Army. Especialy a man about which so little was known among the officer corps.

"Gentlemen, thank you all for attending." Jareks eyes flickered from one man to another, assesing them in his mind.

"Now, we have a task ahead of us, which will require the utmost from all of you, each and every man here."

Jarek let his words settle on the gathered millitary brass, watching their glances as one, concentrating on him, on their commander. He felt for a moment an immense gravity fall upon him, the knowledge that in his hands rested the fate of thousands.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"We are heading to the Bastion sector. We are to assist Grand Admiral Desaria in placating the region. We are to expect resistance from Syndacate forces on Yaga Minor, but I hope that these recruits will not have any serious fighting ahead of them. However, they are prepared and they are Imperials, they will be ready."

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial Citadel
Office of the Associate Director of Operations

Imperial Intelligence Annex, Central Spire

Time Since Departure: Eighty-five Hours…


Major Tenix Drasso felt decidedly unpleasant in his current surroundings. Though he and the other occupants of a rather palatial yet dark office all sat in plush chairs, there was an aura amenities could not hide. Looking to his right, Major Drasso watched Senior Inquisitor Carmine speak softly with Intelligence Colonel Lathynn and gaze at the Zaltin Corporation’s Immini Production Facility, opposite Xucphra City over the Minaari Mountains.


Drasso shuddered, knowing full well the potential of each man. Carmine was responsible for the liquidation of a good sized city on Aridus that had questioned its taxes. Lathynn, commander of the small guard details in Intelligence, had a reputation for executing prisoners without reason. Drasso himself was an Intelligence Officer, but not out of sadistic tendencies or above-average Imperialism: the pay of an Intelligence cryptanalyst was three times better than its counterpart in either the Fleet or Army.


The Major’s attention was turned to a wide desk built of polished but gaudy compplast. High Inquisitor Degrelle, overlord of the Citadel and all Thyferra, replaced his comlink noisily on the desk top, summoning those present to attention.


“ What is the word, Leon?” asked Oris Preliv in whose desk the Inquisitor sat.


“ Civil Defense has no suspects.”


There came an indignant snort from a chair near the Major. The larger than typical frame of Dr. Fraspin, head of the Inquisitoriate’s Research Programme, sat up. “ They’re morons, what did you expect?”


Colonel-General Gavrillo, Commandant of that very Civil Defense Force, erected himself and snidely looked at his over-sized colleague. “ And you do? I suppose for a budget as large as yours, you might theorize on the matter.”


Though Intelligence, the Inquisitoriate proper, and the Civil Defense Force all worked under the Grand Inquisitor, rivalries died hard. Leon Degrelle ignored them both and looked to Dr. Anith, Electronic Affairs leader.


“ What do you think?”


Anith removed his spectacles. “ I throw my lot in with Major Drasso. All of these attempts have been aimed at the Fleet Navigational Archive. Whoever is doing this is looking for something specific. I don’t agree that by studying past deployments, an enemy could anticipate our moves – Desaria is anything but predictable.”


“ Options?”


Gavrillo stood and took his cognac with him. “ Electronic Affairs should continue doing its job. Next time there is a slicing attempt, don’t fry them. Stall them so my people can get into position and catch them. I don’t doubt Colonel Lathynn can extract their employer’s name from them.”


Drasso shuddered again as Lathynn moved from the window but decided to ignore him. He had a thought. “ Sirs, if I may. What if they are not looking for one thing?”


“ What?” Dr. Fraspin looked horrified that someone would dare speak. Degrelle quieted him though, and bade Drasso continue.


“ The Archives would have nothing of direct value as the information within are only highly specific star-charts attainable over any high-end Holo-merchant. What makes them specific is that each chart has an access date. Searching those dates would take some time, but it might be possible to piece together a course summary. If they knew what access codes to look for, they could eliminate ones used by whatever priority they aren’t looking for. If someone wanted to throw an Interdictor in the path of a supply convoy, they could rule out all charts accessed by, say, any one from High Command.”


Anith’s eyes grew wide as he took in what the Major was saying. He was on the verge of exploding when Degrelle stood. “ Major, take the best techs you can find and go through the archives. Piece together as many routes accessed by anyone with omega-level security clearance and above. As soon as you have one, send it to me immediately. Now.”


Drasso stood and saluted. “ Yes sir!” He placed his own untasted cognac on a nearby table and exited the room. How he would be able to prove himself – raises came with promotions!


When the anxious Major was gone, Anith proceeded to explode. “ Everyone knows of Desaria’s battle group, wouldn’t you say?”


Degrelle sat back down and poured himself a brandy. “ No one has ever broadcast anything from the Empire. News across the galaxy has been swarming over the fleet since it arrived at Corellia this afternoon. Other than various Intelligence agencies, I would say few know its destination and no one outside High Command knows its route.”


“ Excluding fueling time, we have what – six days before he reaches Bastion?”


“ At most,” Lathynn replied. On the issue of mathematics and larger strategy he was totally speaking out of league; he was saved from stupidity that the comment happened to make sense and fit in with the severity of the situation.


“ So we have less than six days to find out who’s trying to find out the fleet’s route, why, and what they plan to do with that information – and then inform Desaria.”


Fraspin was about to sip his liquor when a horrifying though struck home. “ After he leaves Balmorra, we’ll have no way to contact him. He will drop out of hyperspace to make course corrections between it and Bastion, but not long enough for a HoloNet transmission to reach him. Which means you have about forty hours between Corellia and Balmorra before whatever is to happen cannot be stopped….”

[Jarek T'chort]

Carida
Time Since Departure: Eighty-four Hours…

Three divisions of recruits. That was a lot of soldiers, a lot to get ready, prepped and stacked for battle, thought Major General Nelis. His head felt sweatly still, even though the room temperature was average. Marshal Tchort had demanded a lot of him, thought Nelis, but he had delivered the goods. Each man kitted out, with the formidable training of Carida to back them up. Oh yes, the Marshal would like these recruits.

As the General mused over his accomplishments, Major Hemlin Vryss sat watching the well ordered lines of Imperial troops march in step into troop transports, ready for carriage to the embarkation point at the main spaceport. Vryss ran long fingers through his hair before flicking on his comlink.

"Sir, the cargo's on its way, I'll meet you in five minutes."

Vryss turned and a few moments later stood with Field Marshal Tchort. The Marshal was something of an enigma within the officer corps. He was not one of the "old guard" of Marshal Prem's type. Plus he rarely gave away much about himself or his millitary way of thinking to other officers. But then, he was Supreme Commander, so could be forgiven.

Vryss had fought with Tchort on Hilari, he knew the man had ability, he had read about the Marshal's actions on Brentaal. Yet still doubt knawed his mind about this mysterious being.

Jarek was reading over rosters and dispatches of importance when Vryss arrived. He let Vryss stand at attention a minute before letting out an at ease from between pursed lips.

"We are ready to move, almost. Just the heavy equipment still needs to be loaded. The recruits are raw, but they have the look of winners, if I may be so bold sir."

Jarek nodded to the young Major. "Yes, good. We must be ready to move soon."

Vryss bit his lip, before venturing a query. "Sir, the divisional commanders were wondering about your thoughts on whether we are actually moving into open war with the Syndicate....?

Jarek stopped perusing the papers and looked at Vryss with a withering stare.

"For their information, no, but as I said, there will be resistance to our admission of the Syndicate into the Sovereignty."

"Sir!" Vryss knew this was a touchy subject. Attacking the Syndicate would surely draw the Sovereignty into the bitter Remnant civil war. Tchort seemed to him to be devoid of emotions, of feeling. Sure, he had tone to his voice, a pulse, but to Vryss, Tchort sometimes seemed rather apathetic.

Meanwhile, the transports fired up thier repulsors and lifted off, carrying away fresh faced youngsters to their fates.

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial Executor II – class Super Star Destroyer Intimidator

Time Since Departure: Ninety-three Hours…


Captain Voltaire joined his ship’s resident flag officer for a stroll along the port corridor. A thick but clear canopy of transparisteel ran for fifteen kilometers from the angular prow to the beginning of the warship’s ‘dagger handle.’ So amazing was its view no matter of what existed to view that many merchants had set up eateries along Destroyer’s promenades – after receiving special permission from Imperial High Command, of course.


“ Good morning, sir.”


“ Why in the Blazes of Hell’s Hot are you so damned chipper?”


Such profanity and bitten anger was not common for Grand Admiral Telan Desaria. Or, rather, it was uncommon for anyone who had not spoken to him before he was awake only an hour. Voltaire, however, had known the Supreme Commander for many a year.


“ I woke with two arms and a pair of legs, both eyes working. I decided all was well and came to wish you the same.”


Desaria snarled and increased his pace towards one of only two locales on the whole of the flagship to serve Almorratz, a tea-like substance known to have undesirable side-affects. For this reason, the Grand Admiral was one of perhaps a dozen to dare consuming it and the only one never to get sick.


Voltaire chuckled as his superior enjoyed his morning drink and took up a spot near the very edge of the ship. Stars had turned to lines of light, running past the ship at incalculable speeds, all set against a backdrop of purple and blue. When twenty minutes had passed, Desaria joined him. He was his normal self.


“ Good morning Captain.”

[Telan Desaria]

Heppr Way
Mid-point between Ord Biniir and Agamar

Time Since Departure: One – hundred Hours…


“ What of our progress in attaining their route?”


A cloaked figure bowed, as he knew there was no answer in the broad scope of his memory that would form words to please his master. It was unfortunate, and though the failings of a positive answer were not his fault by far.


“ We do not. We have learned of failure from five teams. The sixth and seventh have yet to report in.”


The bowing man was waiting for a ferocious lashing out of either words or force. Neither came, much to his bemusement.


“ Find out, Colonel. Find out. Our time is running out…”

[Jarek T'chort]

Carida, Camp Veltrix
Time Since Departure: One hundred and four Hours......

The summit of the Imperial landing platform was lashed by a cold wind that tore into Jareks hair as he walked with Major Vryss to the waiting Lambada shuttle. The elegant form of the shuttle stood stock still, giving no heed to the storm that was now ripping into the northern continent of Carida.

Once aboard and the ramp safely sealed behind him, Jarek settled into his seat in the passengers compartment. His back ached, a long forgotten wound. Vryss noticed the Field Marshal wince.

"Sir - ?"

"Don't worry Major, I'm fine. Just my old wound playing up. A filthy Vong stabbed me there when they infiltrated my forward command post. But, he came off worse then me, so I am thankful."

Vryss nodded knowingly and settled back into his blue lined seat.

Jarek knew at this moment, three divisions worth of recruits were boarding Kuati Supertankers, huge bulk carriers. The supertankers were taking a little longer then expected to load their precious cargo, but everything was running on schedule.

The pilots voice filtered over the com system.

"Field Marshal Tchort, incomming transmission."

"Understood."

Jarek thumbed on the com system beside him on a raised panel. A tinny voice sounded through.

"This is Carida control, Four divisions of the 10th Assault army have exited hyperspace, you are notified as per orders."

"Thank you control. Tchort out."

Jarek looked up at Vryss.

"We are almost ready to leave. Do you have the last intel report with you, Major?"

"Yes sir, we are to head to Bastion and link up with Grand Admiral Desaria's forces, establish occupation and secure various targets, set up logistics on Bastion."

Jarek sat back and closed his eyes, thinking through the multitude of battles he had been through. This would be as any other, it would be difficult, good men and women would die. He would even fight former comrades whom he had served with from before the Fragmentation.

"Major, the galaxy is a madhouse, is it not?"

Vryss smiled slightly and nodded.

"Indeed sir, indeed."

[Telan Desaria]

Balmorra – Capital Planet of the Balmorran Empire

System Periphery

Time Since Departure: One Hundred Fifteen Hours…


It was quite a sight as an armada of warships reverted to realspace beyond the many rocks orbiting Balm. Light from the neutron star at the system’s center reached even the most barren expanse, bathing the newly arrived vessels in a brilliant aura.


Seven small cruisers of two distinct classes, Hammer- and Scimitar-, moved forward of the main body, their purpose as old as naval tactics itself: reconnoiter the unknown and give their larger comrades in the rear time to train their guns for a cannonade.


There were also dozens of tiny ships flittering over the formation in no visible pattern. They acted almost like insects, turning and diving without warning. Despite their erratic patterns, they were a potent swarm of chaos. Each ship was a picket, lightly armed but fast. Together they formed the reconnaissance arm of any great armada.


Behind followed the mighty behemoths, stoic symbols of righteousness and good. Star Destroyers of the Victory, Aurora, and Imperial classes formed awesome groups, moving through space in perfect order. Attached to each triangular mini-flotilla were small anti-fighter vessels, carriers of space-borne craft, and cruisers.


Central to it all was the flagship of the Empire itself, the Intimidator. Eighteen kilometers of devastating power lay at the fingertips of one man, under his leadership all other craft fell. Watching all carefully with a practiced eye was Grand Admiral Desaria.


“ Greetings to the people of Balmorra from the forces of the Galactic Empire.”

[Jarek T'chort]

Imperial shuttle "Helter"
Corellian Trade spine

A small flotilla of starships cut through hyper space, mottled blue streaks of stars passed them by in their transit from Carida, to the Bastion sector.

4 Kuati Supertankers and 6 bulk carriers made up the flotilla, in turn protected by four lancer frigates. On board, the troops and equipment of the 10th Assault army were loaded, stacked and stowed. The troops made themselves comfortable in the few leisure facilities on board the carriers, whiling away idle hours with games of holo chess or at the meagerly stocked bars.

The average soldier kept the fact that the journey was only twelve days in mind. Still, for most men and women aboard, sleep was an escape, especially among the recruits. The youngsters had been trained and drilled to the highest standard, yet no amount of training could take away the base feeling of nerves before a mission.

On board the Lambada class Imperial shuttle Helter, Major Hemlin Vryss sat awake in his darkened, Spartan cabin. His mind mulled over the details of the operation at hand. Hazel brown eyes under a wave of back hair swept his dim cabin. His own feelings were that of indifference when it came to nerves, but Vryss held duty in high esteem, as did his superior, Field Marshal Tchort.

Vryss settled back into his bunk, his mind thinking over his own duty, to the Imperial Sovereignty, to Grand Admiral Desaria, to Field Marshal Tchort.

Tchort's plans were simple enough, secure the system via rapid movement to key strategic points, bypassing any serious resistance.

Vryss wondered sometimes if the Marshal focused too much on his past, on the Vong, on his duties. The other commanders thought so, especially Colonel Garjer.

The Major settled into his bunk, his eyes closing slowly, banishing worries from his over active mind. No, these worries were unfounded. All Vryss needed now was rest, he had worked hard the past few days, his rest was well deserved.

[Tyrel Kiterix]

“ Greetings to the people of Balmorra from the forces of the Galactic Empire.”

"I'm not impressed," the man stated as he stared out of the window towards the darkened sky of Balmorra. The claims of being a part of the 'Galactic Empire' were the norm now. Tyrel Kiterix, Emperor of Balmorra, was far from surprised of the claim...but he did know whenever someone showed up with such a fleet...they were to be dealt with...delicately.

Kiterix turned in his chair, flicking on the comm link to reply to the message. He smiled into the system as he sounded pleasent.

"Greeting unidentified Star Destroyer. This is Emperor Tyrel Kiterix...how may I help you?"

[Telan Desaria]

Grand Admiral Desaria looked forward into the heart of Balmorra's home solar system. Something was not right. According to the Treaty of Non-Aggression in affect between the Empire and Balmorra, Emperor Kiterix should have been informed of the arrival of Imperial support vessels several days ago.

" Emperor Kiterix, I am Grand Admiral Baron Telan Desaria, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet. Fifteen supertankers have been waiting in system for our arrival - as per the Treaty of Primia, they are unarmed.

" Your Intelligence services, mostly former Imperial officers, have been apprised of the situation. My Fleet has put in here, a neutral port, for refueling, so we might continue our journey. As soon as the transfer of Destroyer-grade catalyst is complete, we will depart with all haste. I was operating under the guise that Admiral Millard approved of this. You are not in contravention of those wishes, are you?"

Desaria had at his fingertips more raw military might in training and guns than the forces of his respected peer, Grand Admiral Millard. The Grand Admiral, would not let things come to blows. He would fuel regardless, but wished to extend every courtesy possible.

[Tyrel Kiterix]

"Admiral Millard has not been seen in quite some time, Admiral Desaria," Kiterix replied, a pleasent look on his face.

"And I have only seen about seven supertankers, not fifteen as you say. We have been having some difficulties with pirates in this region though, and with Millard's disappearance we're not sure who is making these attacks."

He folded his arms over his chest, "You are welcome, though, to refuel, as we will give you what supplies we have. May I ask...though...where you are headed?"

[Telan Desaria]

The mention of Admiral Millard’s absence was unsettling. At last report, Taylor Millard was the Supreme Commander of Balmorra’s armed forces. Grand Admiral Desaria and the former Jedi had never gotten along as friends, by they did have a grudging respect for one another. If he had fallen in battle…


“ I am sorry to hear of Grand Admiral Millard’s…disappearance. I wish him a speedy return: I don’t doubt his absence is quite a burden to you. On the matter of fuel, I thank you for having protected resolutely I am sure what remains. It will be sufficient to get us to our destination.”


Desaria steepled his hands together between his face and the holorecorder that was copying his every action then transmitting it to a palace somewhere below.


“ Our destination is Bastion. We are going to reclaim that region in the name of the Empire.”

[Jarek T'chort]

Helios, fourth moon of the Bastion system

Helios shimmered in a faint, dusty heat. It was the fourth moon of the Bastion system, a tan orb of glimmering light in the pitch black of space.

Now, below on the ravaged surface, the precious loads of the Imperial convoy had been dropped off. The 10th Assault army, seven divisions all told, three armored, now occupied the moon. The atmosphere was breathable, but the terrain was unforgiving and harsh. The thin atmosphere had allowed many a meteor to burn through and smash it's mark into the rugged earth of Helios.

However, Helios was not entirely forsaken. Several mining companies, including the Commerce Guild, had taken an interest in the medium sized moon late on in the Old Republic, giving rise to a substantial mining industry being set up. Valuable ores and rare nova crystals were burrowed from the ground by successive generations of miners.

During the Galactic Civil War, the planet had been neglected somewhat, but several military installations had been set up on the moon, listening posts and intelligence outfits. Post Endor, the planet was used extensively to mine resources and further bases were built on the moon. A large spaceport and air base were built in order to open up the moon.

Now, Sergeant Wermer watched the rocky outcrops that dotted the landscape, sand shifting below the watchful stones.
His speeder bike picked up pace as it whined through the dunes. Wermer kept a steady lookout for activity. He was an advance recon element of the 10th Assault army. His scoutrooper Armour was temperate, despite the glaring sun above.

He raised his binoculars to his armour covered eyes, watching the red dunes before him. Below, a trail of dust rose into the air, marking the movement of vehicles. No Imperial vehicles were out this far, it had to be Remnant or Syndicate.

"Wermer to base, over."

"We read you, go ahead."

"Movement sighted, reference R2 15F, bearing south southwest."

The crackling voice on the other end paused a moment.

"Understood, fall back to outpost alpha C. Control out"

Wermer keyed the bike into movement again, as it roared into life.

The Empire had come to Bastion.

[THX 1138]

In the swirling dust of the desert a platoon of bone white armoured soldiers crept forward through the shifting sands.

The troopers came to a stop on a harsh outcrop of rock that extended out into the desert like a withered finger pointing into the sky. There the troopers set up an E-Web blaster cannon overlooking the pass below, along with a small shoulder mounted plasma launcher.

Below them, dust rose into the morning skies, as an advance party of Syndicate forces drove forward toward the Imperial landing areas.

Corporal Konigs signaled his men, the markings on the Chariot LAV's that hove into view were Syndicate, as command had guessed.

Blaster fire erupted in an instant, cutting or pinning down the twenty odd light armoured scouts that accompanied the LAV's on foot. The plasma launcher shot a bolt of azure energy into the LAV, shattering it's repulsors. The Chariot fell to earth in a blaze of fire.

Behind the stormtroopers, more men rushed up to form a defensive line, as mortar shell's whistled overhead.

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial HoloNet Relay Station 772
Nkllon

Time Since Departure: One-hundred Thirty Hours…


“ Gentlepersons, start your hovercraft!” Staff Sergeant Destina Rellat incanted her head to left, then the right, each time creating a wretched cracking sound that almost filled the room around her.


In response came an intentionally loud sigh from a desk at the center of the terminal-lit room. Sitting with his feet propped on its metal surface was Lance Corporal Minetti, a tall and dashing humanoid from Iterron. His people were recorded throughout the galaxy as extreme narcissists, a perception was not inclined to contest: while his left arm held a decanter of Iellan-lum, his right curled up and down against the fifty kilogram weight of an exercise bar.


“ Oh shut up. You’re getting paid to sit there.”


“ Correction, Des: I’m being paid to sit here and not tell.”


Sergeant Rellat narrowed her eyes at the uncharacteristically insightful comment offered by her large-framed post-mate. She removed all thoughts of him from memory, however distracting his well-formed physique was. For a large sum of money she had only to access a relatively low-security section of the Imperial Database and transmit its contents to parties unknown via Raltiir. Given her excellent ability to slice, it would be a walk in the plaza.



Across the Galaxy…


Above Thyferra…


Third Lieutenant Arix Suumir saluted his superior officer after reporting for duty, then turned and departed the window-enclosed battery control center. Senior Lieutenant Gamin had cancelled the drill he planned to run, giving the two emplacements manned a rest period before their watch began in earnest.


Suumir returned to his gun, Number Five, and plopped down on the steel decking. He undid his jumpsuit and tossed his cap onto a primed canister waiting to be rolled onto an elevator and sent up a small shaft before being pushed into the bore of a heavy turbolaser. He felt a vibration as the dual-guns were locked into place in the turret above him and felt assured he some time to do his work.


Snuggled into the overhang between the turret’s swivel base and supply-rack, Suumir withdrew a datapad from a box he had been keeping at his post. When it was activated, a program he had written linked it with the ship’s navigational relay nexus, where he could establish a link with the Imperial Database.



***Contact Established***

***Enter Registry Destination Code***

_A_R_C_H_I_V_E_

***CONNECT*** - Imperial Archives - ***CONNECT***

-Enter Department Code –

_7_8_9_5_0_0_0_6_4_

***ALERT*** - Imperial Navigational Archives - ***ALERT***

-Enter Command Authorization-


Suumir let his fingers try to keep up with his mind. The lack of activity while orbiting Thyferra for repairs had given the Lieutenant a hobby – slicing. That skill was honed and tested as he lurked more and more in the depths of cyberspace until contacted to do the bidding of some mysterious person for several million credits. Bored as he was, he took the offer.

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial Citadel
Electronic Counter-measures Division

Xucphra City, Thyferra

Time Since Departure: One-hundred Thirty Hours…


“ Here we go.”


“ Start a trace! Immediately!”


“…What the frell???”


“…the Mainframe’s being overrun!”


“…Simultaneous entries. It’s not designed…”


“…Shut it down before it overloads. Trace them manually. Team one – take the partial. Team two – you’ve got it from scratch. Find them!”


Tensions ran high as the techno-savvy spoke their own lingo. Regular officers stood in awe and stayed well out of the way as red-uniformed technicians scurried from one side of the computer chamber to another. There was little any of them could do, ranging in rank from Colonel in Intelligence to High Inquisitor of the Imperial Inquisitoriate.


They watched their minions battle unseen foes lightyears away with a speed and agility. No question could be raised about the men’s competency despite their lack of military decorum.


“…fried!!!”


“…Good. Two?”


“…almost.”


“…Isolate cell three. Reroute tracer to broadcast scan.”


“…Mother of…”


“ …They’re right here!”


The intensity of the technicians’ exchange grew and grew. Even without any idea what they were saying, the brass at the back of the room knew something was not going well. When the lieutenant in command turned to address them, they hoped with all hope.


“ Sirs, we cannot shut down the link from the second access point. We’ve found the transmission point. The Siege Monitor Xerxes.”


Colonel Mahjer, head of the Intelligence bureau’s interrogation department whirled around in astonishment. “ The Xerxes is in orbit of Thyferra!”


Only one action need be taken. A yeoman was summoned and link established with one of the five battleships above the capital planet of the Empire.

[Telan Desaria]

the Xerxes…

Lieutenant Suumir dropped his pad when he heard a crash above him. Senior Lieutenant Gamin stood in the battery control booth, comlink clenched in hand, screaming and shouting. The words were inaudible, but one could see his face turn several shades of red. There was no warning when he grabbed his pistol and gesticulated with it in the air. Many of the two turrets’ gunners had moved about the decking to see what was the matter, though Suumir had to hide his datapad. When he did, he rose. He fell back down, lifeless. Gamin was standing through the open hatch of the control booth, a smoking blaster in his hand.


“ Traitor!”

[Jarek T'chort]

Helios

The Galactic Empire took control of Beren spaceport at 12:45 standard galactic time.

Light resistance was offered by a light recon unit outside the spaceport, but after a brief and relatively bloodless firefight the small garrison surrendered.

Field Marshal Tchort rode on a command speeder with an open top, Imperial insignia clearly emblazoned on the modified Chariot class LAV variant.

Major Vryss, in combat fatigues, ran up to the LAV.

"Sir, recon sweep north to south has revealed no enemy positions. However intel suggests a sizeable enemy force is moving from the east."

Jarek stared into the dusty distance, his blue eyes taking in all his surroundings.

"Thank you Major. Set up a picket line and onvce we have a fix, bombard the enemy positions."

"Yes sir."

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial Citadel
Department of the Inquisitoriate, Electronic Affairs Division

Xucphra City, Thyferra

Time Since Departure:One-hundred Thirty-one Hours…

“ Come.”


Inquisitor Leon Degrelle hoped down from his perch on the desk of Dr. Anith before a visitor entered the latter’s office. In the process, he knocked down a small baffi plant the electronic affairs chief kept. One deft kick of a polished jackboot later, a yeoman stood in front of the Doctor’s desk and the plant that sat next to it was perfectly erect.


“ Your Excellency,” the Intelligence Captain said, bowing low to Degrelle. Though he held an aristocratic title on Thyferra, he had never once addressed himself with it. It entitled him to the bow where a salute was common, so he did not complain. “ Major Drasso sent me to report. He has eliminated all threats to the Imperial Mainframe.”


Anith smiled, catching a ten-cred chip as it flew through the air from Degrelle’s trouser pocket. “ Is that all, Captain?”


“ No sir. He says also that the navigational archive records were accessed only to a point along the Heppr Way.”


Degrelle, for all his worldly knowledge, could not place the name. “ Where is that?”


The Captain beamed with pride that he could answer the question accurately. “ It is an obscure trade route between Agamar and Ord Biniir, very close to Remnant Space.”


Anith and the Inquisitor met each other’s gazes and gasped without even dismissing the soldier.


“ Desaria!!!”

[THX 1138]

Helios
The Syndicate armoured division had dug in firmly around Jerrel station, a large mining complex on Helios, now abandoned by the civil population.

The commander of the garrison knew he could not hope to match the strength arrayed against him, the best part of seven divisions. Several frantic messages had been relayed to Bastion post haste, with no answer as of yet. Colonel Lieb knew he would be crushed if he ventured from his defenses. His men therefore, had dug into pillboxes and foxholes around the utilitarian complex, where dull red earth met the shaded greys of metalwork that comprised the mining facility. Prefabricated shelters surrounded the squat mining buildings themselves, here enemy troops set up heavy blasters and constructed barricades and positions.

One mile outside Jerrel station

The advance party of troopers watched through the mid morning glare as the enemy dug in solidly around Jerrel station. Small groups of scouts sounded out the defenseson a regular basis since the forward elements of the 10th assault army had crossed the southern hemisphere of the moon.

Corporal Glicks watched the activities around him as he sat hauched on top of a large heap of slag that dotted the landscape, evidence of the areas usage by the Remnant. His blaster rifle felt warm in his hands as he clutched it. As a new recruit this was his first taste of war outside the training holos on Carida. Most of the troops in his platoon were nervous teens with wide eyes, but feircely loyal to the Empire and remarkably well trained, the hallmark of Carida.

As midday set in and the men around Glicks dug in themselves, a few exchanges of light artillery flew overhead.

The young recruits would see conflict this day.

[Tyrel Kiterix]

Kiterix nodded, "I see."

It was a lofty goal, but Desaria had almost the same goal the Balmorran Emperor had. Just different measures at going at it.

He faced the holographic image of the Sovereignty leader and gave his trademark smile.

"I'm curious, Grand Admiral, I have expansion projects of my own. Would it be possible to meet at some point so we can carve out the galaxy? Or do you plan on coming on us after Bastion?"

[Telan Desaria]

The Grand Admiral smiled.

" Emperor Kiterix, it would be most feasible. I accept your entreaty. If it be your wish, you may come to my flagship, or if you doubt our security, I will come to Balmorra...Bin Prime I belive is your capital.

" And, no, we do not. The Balmorran is as Imperial as independent governments can get these days, and I have no wish to eliminate such factions. My first priority is to eliminate the officers who betrayed their oaths to the Empire by becoming warlords. Their annihilation as well as that of the Rebel Republic is my only aim. On another note, my respect for Taylor Millard, a fellow Grand Admiral and brave soldier, is too great to attack his realm."

[Tyrel Kiterix]

Kiterix gave another smile, "Admiral Desaria, I must correct you. It is not Admiral Millard's realm. It is my realm."

His smile was warm though, "Millard did not wish to be leader of this empire. Instead, I was put in place to lead Balmorra and I shall.

"I do have some pressing business coming soon, Admiral. If you wish, you may come and meet me for dinner tonight, here on Balmorra. You would be welcome."

[Telan Desaria]

" My apologies, Emperor Kiterix. A realm in which Admiral Millard operates. Either way, I would be delighted to dine with you. I cannot remain here for more than ten hours from now, however. By then, our fueling will be complete and we must depart."

Desaria turned to his aide, Brigadier General Maxim. He knew the look and knew what was neccessary. The middle-aged human officer turned and began to issue orders for the assembly of the Grand Admiral's guard detail, the laying out of their dress uniforms, and the polishing up of a Sentinel-class shuttle.

[Tyrel Kiterix]

Kiterix nodded, "I will see you in four Balmorran Hours. Good luck Admiral," then he signed off.

"A good move, Emperor," the accented voice said from the background, "In inviting Desaria to dinner. A very good political move."

Kiterix's smile turned cold, "We can sow more seeds tonight. But not too many...just enough to make Desaria suspicious of Millard and his absence. When war comes...I would prefer to fight it on my terms, not Millard's.

"Have the Civil Guard await the arrival of Grand Admiral Desaria. Let us...make it a civil, ceremony. Something for the news networks to enjoy."

The man nodded and exitted, leaving Kiterix to his scheming.

[Telan Desaria]

A shuttle bearing Grand Admiral Baron Telan Desaria decended towards the blue-green orb of Balmorra. A squadron of TIE Defenders, the 15th Guards, escorted the tri-winged craft on its short journry.

Bin Prime was a bustling city, a rival to Xucphra City if it had the daunting Coruscant-model towers so prevalent now to Thyferra's skyline.

" Shuttle Imperator to Ground control. Define landing area, over."

[Balmorran Civil Guard]

The orders were given to the guard and they moved, their ranks straight as arrows, their technique flawless.

The black armoured troopers marched rank and file, appearing as dangerous as the stormtroopers they replaced. The squad of twenty seperated into two lines of ten and waited for the shuttle.

"Shuttle just look for the squadron of troopers waiting for you at the Emperor's mansion. And back those Defenders off. The security system might not recognize them for friendlies."

[Telan Desaria]

The Imperator continued towards the ground, descending through clouds and the sky of a dying day towards the palatial estate of the Balmorran Empire. As her descent slowed, the Defenders that escorted her vanished from sight making a rapid exit towards the upper atmosphere.

It was easy for the pilot to land his craft, the winds mild and visibility great. With a light touch to his maneuvering stick, the Lambda-class shuttle was on the ground.

Grand Admiral Baron Telan Desaria stepped down the landing ramp, followed by his adjutant, Brigadier General Maxim. Both wore side arms as was Imperial protocol, but were followed by no guards. Both men, each fit and in prime health, could defend themselves if needed.

[Tyrel Kiterix]

Kiterix stood waiting for him, the troops behind him as the only guards for him. Morewind stood next to him, his arms crossed behind him. Normall, the Inquisitor would not be with the Emperor, but the Balmorran Emperor decided it was worth having him next to him.

Kiterix nodded in greeting as Desaria walked down the ramp.

"Admiral," he gave his trademarked smile, "Welcome to Bin Prime."

[Telan Desaria]

The Grand Admiral extended his hand.

" I thank you, Emperor, for your kind welcome. The Empire is always watching for those it may call allies. May I introduce my Chief of Staff, Brigadier General Maxim."

[Tyrel Kiterix]

Instead of shaking hands, Kiterix only gave a nod, "General."

The he turned towards his chateau.

"Come Admiral...General...We have much to discuss. Issues, that prying ears needent hear."

[Telan Desaria]

" Of course."

Grand Admiral Desaria followed the Balmorran Emperor into his villa, decked out in the best fashion of the Empire.

" How may the Empire aid Balmorra?" the Supreme Commander asked when they were within the closed walls of the politician's estate.

[Jarek T'chort]

Angled behemoths of destruction rumbled into the Bastion system, pinpricks of light that were viewports contrasted vividly with the eternal darkness of space.

The Ravager, Avenger and Indoctrinator, Guild class Star Destroyers, angled their massive prows at the planet Bastion below them, home of the Syndicate, the hidden system.

With the Imperial Star Destroyers, the Kuati Supertankers that had deposited the 10th Assault army on Helios followed in accord. Field Marshal Tchorts army were aboard, the fresh faced youngsters still nervous and excited, yet they had their first taste of combat, they felt they were real soldiers now, having heard their first shots fired in anger.

The armada decended toward Bastion, ready to change the fate of billions.

[Jarek T'chort]

Aboard the Star Destroyer Ravager, an olive suited figure stood beside grey uniformed navy personnel on the gangway below the triangular viewports that gazed out longingly into the void beyond.

Field Marshal Tchort clasped his hands behind his back. Now, the key to the Grand Admirals plan would come into being. The capitulation of Bastion. A wisp of hair fell across his temple. Tchort concentrated on the rapidly expanding orb of Bastion that arose before the trio of Destroyers.

"Sir, pickets spotted. They are moving to intercept"

Captain Nemel glanced at the sensor officer.

"Thank you, hold fighters. Whats out there?"

The young sensor officer ran light brown eyes over her illuminated screen and reported swiftly.

"Only a few old Lancers sir, they are hardly a match."

Captain Nemel smiled widely.

"How gracious of you to share your opinion with us."

He held her gaze one moment before smiling and turning to Tchort.

"Well Field Marshal, we have a channel established, your turn to do the hard work."

Tchort returned his smile weakly, but a week of the Captains insatiable humour had begun to wear thin. Vader only knew how the crew kept sane.

"Thank you Captain."

He turned and flicked on the comm on the high backed Captains chair.

"This is Field Marshal Jarek Tchort of the Galactic Empire, I demand your imediate surrender to my forces, or face the consequences."

Hard blue eyes stared directly ahead, ignoring the ongoing activity of the bridge around him as the channle crackled into life, with a high pitched elderly voice coming through from Tarkin City control, Bastion.

"This is Governor Ridder, Field Marshal. The ruling circle fully accept your request and submit to your forces."

Jarek caught his breath slightly, he hadn't expected it to be this easy. His eyes wandered to the young comm tech, a pretty young woman with raven hair and a fresh looking face, Jarek felt a sudden sexual urge to see her lying beneath him, his mind overidden by it. He caught his train of thought and scolded himself internaly for the lapse of concentration. So long since he had any relationship of meaning. Such was the burden of his position and his dedication.

"Thank you Governor, I will begin my landing at once, prepare for my arrival."

He flicked of the channel and locked gazes with the middle aged Line Captain, with one eye on the young woman dutifully tapping starlines on her monitor.

"Embark the troops."

[Tyrel Kiterix]

"I was thinking I might be able to help you," Kiterix said earnestly, "After all you are getting ready to move upon Bastion. I wasn't sure if you needed some support."

He paused a bit, "But there are planets I want for my own taking. To help bring them around, if you know what I mean. I was wondering if you might avoid taking them so I could."

[Telan Desaria]

Grand Admiral Desaria paused, his curiosiy piqued.

" I will do everything in power not to interfere with the internal workings of independent government, and more so to allies. Were Balmorra to regarded in the latter class by something more firm than a respect between Supreme Commanders, I would be more inclined to make strategic decisions based on your needs, rather than simply woking around them."

" We need no assistance - this armada is the largest assembled in two years! But tell me, what systems did you have in your sights, Emperor?"

[Telan Desaria]

(((Note - To Avoid Confusion)))

(((My posts with Time on it occur after Desaria leaves Balmorra)

(((Those without are happening with Kiterix - - - )))
- - -


What should have been a joyous event was shrouded in darkness. Even as the bright luminescence of hyperspace’s whirling depths shone through the cockpit of the shuttle Zealous shadow seemed to pervade. No talk of success between the pilots could be heard by a passenger in the cabin.


Major Drasso wanted badly to pace the small confines of the cabin, but he could not find the strength. Work on analyzing the downloaded files as well as tracking the culprits responsible had kept he and his staff working without relent. There was no time for sleep, and all food had been consumed over flimsiplast charts or scrolling digital text. He had been unable to sleep on the journey from Thyferra to Balmorra aboard the fastest light-speed ship in the Empire.


It had been an honor when High Inquisitor Degrelle asked him to deliver the dispatches, one he now loathed. Hazard pay was involved, and his daughter wanted a new model-repulsor tank – the kind only wealthy children actually played with. Such was the lot of a father.


“ We’re decelerating,” reported the shuttle’s copilot.


Grudgingly, Drasso stood and felt the pull of synthetic gravity in every part of his aching muscles. When the report of a suspected ambush was safely in the Grand Admiral’s hands, Drasso planned to take leave and sleep for a week.


“ Hail the Intimidat-“


Not only the Inquisitoriate Major but the pilots as well felt their hearts drop. The Imperial Armada was nowhere to be seen. Drasso put all thought of rest from his mind…

[Jarek T'chort]

Tarkin City, Bastion

A soft drizzle fell with a splatter onto the peaked field cap of Field Marshal Tchort as he stepped from his command speeder onto the slippery paving before the grand operations center of Bastion. Tall plastoid coloums rose high above the assembled millitary personnel, suppourting an elaborate arch. Behind which, sat the circular structure of the command center, a mass of durasteel and reinforced glass.

Passing the empty gaurd stations into the open foyer of the building, several unmistakeably millitary figures apeared. A tall, balding man of around forty led them. He nodded to the Tchort and smiled.

"I am Governor Ridder," he swept his hand around the others gathered, "Commodore Matthis, Captain Vivair and Colonel Sharr of the 1st Assault brigade."

"I accept your surrender Governor, this world is hereby subject to the Galactic Empire. My forces are taking up positions around the planet as we speak. Your co-operation has been most - helpful - in our operations."

"A pleasure, Field Marshal, a pleasure." The man smiled his toothy grin again as Tchort habitualy straightened his black gloves over his powerful hands.

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial High Command
Isle of Orrl, Thyferra

Office of the Chief of the General Staff

Time Since Departure:146 Hours…


Marshal Prem arched his neck in an abnormal fashion creating a wretched cracking noise. There was no one else in his window-less office so no one could be disgusted. With a smile, he emptied a small glass of vodka.


There came a rasp at the door and the Marshal called enter. A young lad did so, a white aiguillette falling from his like-colored shoulder board signifying his prestigious position as general adjutant.


“ Good morning, Jacques!” Prem bellowed as he poured another drink. Work never began for the Chief of the General Staff without three.


“ To you as well, Marshal. I have the morning reports for you.” Colonel Jacques l’Dremont seated himself in front of his commander’s desk. As he had every day for the four years he served Marshal Prem, Colonel l’Dremont politely declined to partake in morning imbibing.


Marshal Prem had done remarkably well in losing the paunch he set out to, but retained his massive figure. Descended from peasant stock on the steppe world of Gyndine, he looked every bit the stereotypical native: jutting jaw, perpetual smile, enlarged features, booming voice, friendly nature. Several members of his personal staff placed bets he would never drop below one hundred kilograms.


“ Anything good?” he asked, downing the second in his daily series.


The Colonel grimaced. “ Is there ever, Marshal?”


Prem’s smile grew wide enough to threaten his ears with envelopment. “ Five weeks ago you delivered news of your first son’s birth.”


“ I stand corrected! Actually, I was running late this morning and have not looked anything over yet. I was on my way – “


The Chief of the General Staff smiled again, pouring the third of three. “ No need to make excuses, Jacques! I have three, remember? Now, open your case and let’s get to work.”


Barely had l’Dremont unlocked his attaché case when Prem slammed the empty glass on his plasteel desktop. A small, green-shaded lamp sitting nearby vibrated in the after-effects. The pair shared age to a day and had developed a close friendship outside the confines of duty.


“ First up, a priority memoranda from High Inquisitor Degrelle – “


Prem openly scoffed, his contempt for anyone donning a red uniform legendary.


“ – blah blah blah…by the Emperor! They suspect break-away Syndicate forces are planning to ambush the Grand Admiral’s Fleet!”


“ What!!!” Prem slammed both hands on the desk, near shattering its durable composition. While governments across the galaxy knew Desaria’s destination, the only people to know of the pre-determined surrender of late-Vice Admiral Sokolov’s Syndicate were Imperial personnel stationed to High Command. Since that agreement was made with their new commander, contact had stopped entirely. Coupled with the fact that secrecy was being vigorously maintained in the Empire and its soon to be conquered territory, chance of civil war was unanimously annulled by every one from the Grand Admiral on down.


L’Dremont re-read the document to confirm that he had seen the correct facts. He was not wrong. He quoted,”’There is no solid or irrefutable evidence to support the theory that elements of the Syndicate Faction are planning or responsible for this activity. It is known that all parties responsible for attempted to penetrate the mainframe were paid from confidential accounts on Raltiir. Given the information accessed and the limited extent thereof, the theory is the most sound of any projected.’”


Prem fell back in his seat. He shook his head slightly before meeting his adjutant’s gaze. “ The Syndicate has been selling confiscated spice on the black market and depositing the profits in accounts the Department of Military Research used to use to finance bio-chemical warfare many years ago. The Diktat officially cancelled such testing fifteen years ago, but the accounts were never closed. Desaria will be pulled out of hyperspace and pounced on.”


“ He’s got near twenty Destroyers with him and twice as many cruisers, plus frigates and pickets!”


“ Let’s hope his armor holds until he raises shields. All we can do is prey and try to contact him when it’s all over.”

[Jarek T'chort]

The previous days rain storms had beens severe, causing floods in some of the more rural areas and bringing down power in several sectors of Tarkin City. The hub of Bastion was now covered in a sheen of drizzle that fell with a clatter on the roof of the armoured command speeder. Its ebony form cruised along the streets with the flanking Chariot LAV's forming up in escort.

Field Marshal Tchort clenched the bridge of his nose between his fore fingers and sighed. He hadn't had much sleep, these past few days of campaigning. The lithe black command speeder pulled up alongside a roadblock that straddled the now deserted autobahn that ran through Tarkin City.

Four young men approached the speeder and saluted as they saw the occupant. They each were around twenty, fresh off Carida, each wore their uniforms with the pride that came with serving the Empire.

"How are you men finding occupation duties?" Jarek asked as he leant from his downturned window.

"Sir, it's going fine, sir!" One of the men shouted as he stood, rifle clutched to chest.

"At ease Corporal. You men keep your eyes open for anything, remember, an unobservant soldier is a dead soldier."

The men nodded and watched as the speeder passed through their barrier toward the landed forces of the 116th Panzer division that had arrived a few hours ago just outside the city. The men remembered the Field Marshals words as they noticed a glint of light shining from a Merr-Sonn rocket launcher muzzle. It was pointed at the speeder.

KAPOW!

The blast struck home, hitting the speeder on its flank. Luckily for the occupants the projectile hit the road surface, not the speeder itself. Inside, Jarek was thrown onto his side. Vryss, sitting opposite him, fell to the floor of the speeder as the blast impacted.

Outside the men raised their rifles and poured energy into the building where the projectile had originated from.

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial Executor-class Super Star Destroyer Intimidator

En route to Bastion

Time Since Departure: 147 Hours…


The Flagship of the Imperial Navy shuddered as a salvo of concussion missiles hammered home on its port side. Gun decks, corridors, relay stations, and officers’ quarters all found themselves smelted into various clouds of molten matter that was then rapidly frozen into solid blocks by the cold of space. Fire washed over a two-thousand meter section of the flank, fed by vented oxygen from air shafts.


Eighteen thousand meters separated stem and stern, but neither distance nor armor stopped either end of the might warship from vibrating terribly. Crewmembers were thrown against bulkheads as steel resisted the forces of Nature. Little could be done but grit one’s teeth and wait out the shuddering of the vessel. Many an officer familiar with history knew then what was felt on the Lusankya over Thyferra fifty years before.


High above the superstructure sat the Star Destroyer’s control tower, and in it the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet. He remained as imperturbable as a Grand Admiral should, displaying no shock or horror at his command’s being pulled from hyperspace, no rage as a nova flared over his ship’s port flank. He sat instead, apathetic, his knuckles turning white as he clenched the arms of his command chair with all the strength a thirty-two year old Centaurian male could muster.


Slowly the shaking came to an end. Captain Voltaire dutifully held his bleeding shoulder, demanding damage reports and dispatching orders for the sealing of hull-breaches. The sound of treads against polished durasteel could be heard as a team of medical droids rushed to the bridge. Opposite galactic opinion, Imperials displayed a fondness for their mechanical counterparts rivaled only by Rebel fighter pilots.


“ Seven ships in grid Theta-3-D. Twelve more, missile platforms, grid Theta-2-G.”


Grand Admiral Desaria leveled his voice, hoping with all hope to steel his men with his own durability. The officers, technicians, and crewmen about were mostly boys, the older veterans scattered about the ship. Such young faces shielded competent and lethal minds, but could not cast aside the angelic portraits they had once been in gymnasium shockball teams or thespian leagues.


“ Range to target?”


“ One hundred kilometers, approximately. Port scanner relay net has been disabled. Auxiallry systems coming on line and compiling data from other ships.”


The mention of the other ships in the formation brought an unnoticeable wince to the Admiral’s tired face. While other eyes were aghast at the Intimidator’s flank, Desaria watched six pickets and three frigates succumb to their own cannonades. Their remains drifted lifelessly in space.


“ Admiral: IFF tags are Syndicate.”


Desaria ignored the ship’s communications officer. He had the battle to deal with before he argued his attackers’ allegiance. “ 3rd Heavy Assault Squadron to commence independent fire. 17th Light to attack missile platforms, heading 305 mark 39. Scramble 2nd Wing of the Guards and form for attack. Destroyers Animosity and Scythe to deploy fighter compliment for missile interception.”


There were many acknowledgements the Admiral wasted no time to catalogue. He watched intently through the bridge viewports four Imperial IV-class Star Destroyers approach the attackers from under the exposed flank of the flagship; five Hammer-class Cruisers of the 17th Light raced over the forward superstructure and corrected their course. Both detachments of enemy ships sat above and left of the Imperial ships in an excellent position of ambush.


Flashes of green light abounded as the four battleships trained their guns and opened up on the enemy craft. Few shots fizzled against energy shields, the sheer weight of heavy turbolaser fire burning through in seconds. They had immediately begun maneuvering after the release of their missiles, but could not move fast enough to throw off the gunners’ aim.


Their targets varied from modified yachts to a pair of old Dreadnaughts, but all fell the same. Some merely slowed as power drained, shot after shot pounding into wrecked hulls. Others exploded in brilliant balls of fire, overwhelmed by energy.


The Hammer-class Cruisers of the 17th Light swept over the missile platforms, themselves only large civilian barges with concussion missile batteries mounted on their ventral sides. None were shielded so the Destroyers did not even need to swivel their guns. The Empire had its vengeance, a corned and surprised behemoth that quickly defended itself with fatal consequences for its doubtlessly arrogant predator-turned prey.


“ Sensors on the HCLC Murrakesh are showing some escape pods made it safely from a few ships. Estimate: four hundred survivors.”


Grand Admiral Desaria released the arms of his command chair and rose. With a firm tug at the seam of his tunic, its white surfaces were again pristine. He turned aft and departed the bridge, his gloved hands swinging only slightly with his gait.


“ Voltaire, deal with it however you see fit,” was all he said before disappearing into the bridge lift tube.

[Telan Desaria]

There was quite clatter above as sheets of rain fell down from a dark sky. Drops slammed into the dorsal armor plating of Kiric Desaria’s command panzer, larger than normal. His divisional meteorologist had made a go of explaining the reasoning, some sort of atmospheric imbalance, but Desaria only yawned. He had grown up on Centaur and lived on Commenor: on both, or any other civilized world for that matter, what was occurring outside the turret was not light rain.

The young Major General wanted to take his mind off of the rain outside, but there was nothing for him to do. Perhaps he was too efficient at being a commander. All things that needed to be done had been done, and the first long column of the 116th Panzer Division was nearing Tarkin City.

Desaria almost wanted something to go wrong. It was not that he hated being confined in a steelen coffin for he had chosen armor as a career many years before. In his past assignments, the younger brother to the Imperial Supreme Commander was always busy. He made a mental note to chide his brother on the high-profficiency level of the General Staff.

Kiric gave a chuckle as he thought of Lord Baron Telan Desaria, sibling patriarch of his family, listening to a junior officer berate him for excellence. The elder officer would go batty without doubt.

Interrupting the Major General from his lapse into levity was a loud crash. Even through 120mm of durasteel plating, the racket was palpable; he could only wonder what is sounded like elsewhere or to the crews of open-topped vehicles in the column.

The turret’s cupola hatch burst open when thrown by the man inside, his forage cap emerging before a boyish face then decorated tunic, most of which was covered by a great-coat. A pair of black macrobinoculars hung on a strap that lost its taughtness when pulled to the General’s eyes. Plumes of smoke were rising into the ominous sky only hundreds of meters from the broad city-bisecting autobahn.

One glance from the raised highway gave Desaria a panoramic view of the city. All around were low homes and business, mostly below ten levels. To the distance was the center were a few towers dared break fifty levels. It certainly sprawled like a city, was populated as one was, but was far too remote and barren to feel like one. Such thoughts were irrelevant however. A ramp was located a half kilometer away, and Desaria made his decision.

Following his command-panzer was Kampfgruppe Kiric: a battalion of panzers, half heavy and half medium, and another of panzergrenadiers. They would head into the city and quell whatever trouble had arisen until the city’s garrison took over. After all, his division had not even been able to arrive at its temporary bivouac!!!

[Jarek T'chort]

Ringing still resounded in Jareks ears as he pulled himself through the shattred hatch onto the soaking autobahn beneath him. His head felt like it had been crushed in a hydraulic press. His uniform was a mess, his dark grey trench coat different shades of grey now, where water discolored it. His braid hung out around his neck, his peaked cap in his hand. Jarek pulled himself free and drew his blaster, looking tentatively around him.

"Uhh...what....?" A voice came to him from inside the speeder.

Jarek plunged back into the wreck, seeing the driver lying, slumped forward over his controls. His bodyguard, Captain Hetzer, an atheletic officer of thirty years, coughed, splattering his uniform with crimson blood. Jarek grabbed Major Vryss as Hetzer tigged at the young Untzerofficer driver. Vryss moaned as was pulled from the smouldering wreck.

Beside the speeder, two of the guards at the roadblock laid down a covering fire on the street adjacent to them, where a platoon sized formation of Remnant regulars were advancing toward the wreck.

Jarek yelled over the blaster fire;

"Whats the situation Corporal?"

The young officer ducked as a bolt of energy splattered against the twisted nose of the speeder he was crouching behind.

"Sir, we are pinned down - oh no - sir, they are bringing up an E-Web!"

Jarek grimaced as his blue eyes took in the look on the young mans face. Fear. The first time this boy had ever experienced it in so close a form. The fear that death was near.

[Telan Desaria]

Major-General Desaria frowned as his forage cap was crunched with the donning of his headset. In five years of military service, he had never been able to keep one of the vertical-triangle looking caps class-A worthy.

“…identified tentatively as insurgents. Intel has them pegged as Remnant, probably a penal unit out for redemption. Approx. enemy strength a hundred…”

Kiric clenched his jaw. Since joining the ranks of his brother’s Empire, he had become well aware of the Remnant’s decline and the virtual impossibility of finding out just who was doing what. A pang of sympathy registered itself as he imagined Colonel Farris, his Intelligence Liaison, somewhere in Kampfgruppe Limon, fifty kilometers to the rear.

The command panzer, an Ausf B Dragon Assault Gun, rumbled along the boulevard only five blocks from the now embattled zone of Tarkin City. Five detachments of tanks and grenadiers had formed and were heading towards the well-known sounds of battle. Kiric disobeyed the first rule of commanders in battle: like all other officers, his torso, head, and arms stuck above the cupola.

Four medium hovertanks, Intermia-class vehicles mounting a pair of turbolasers, followed behind the Desaria’s panzer, the Centaur. Imperial grenadiers, their green-grey uniforms crossed with bandoliers of ammunition and a handle-grenade, clutched their repeater-pistols closer to their chests. The small hamlet of buildings the Remnant forces were firing from was around the corner.

Streams of red and neon light were now clearly visible from the street, debris building and dust growing from the clean and civilized boulevard with alarming alacrity, tribute to the unexpected and contained nature of the skirmish.

The Centaur, only panzer in the detachment mounted on tracks, moved forward. A wreck sat at the intersection; Kiric recognized it as a Chariot II LAV, escort model. Several piles of ashes blew in the wind, fire flaring briefly before rain quelled it. Kiric swallowed when he realized the piles were charred Imperials.

For the first time, fire came towards the new combatants.

The assault gun stopped, edged its right track forward, and let loose a shell into the façade of a building on the far corner. Battle was joined.

[Jarek T'chort]

The thud thud thud of blaster bolts striking home on the wreck of the LAV beat in Jareks ears as he heard the first distinctive rumblings of AV's moving up the autobahn.

He picked off a lone Remnant trooper who ran too far without cover toward the LAV. The blaster bolt winged its way into the mans forehead, leaving a bloody mess in it's wake.

"AHH!"

Hetzer slumped to the ground, a burning hole in his arm. He bit hard down on his lip, not allowing any cry of pain to escape his pursed lips. Jarek pulled him further into the cover of the wreck and looked to Vryss. The young aide was stirring, his eyes fluttering.

Jarek looked to Hetzer, lying in the splattering rainwater, a thin trickle of blood running from his lips. The burly Captain nodded to Jarek.

"Don't die on me Hetzer, that's an order. Our relief is here!"

Jarek emptied another clip into the advancing Remnant troops, buying a precious few moments.

[Telan Desaria]

There was one LAV that had survived what looked to be a missile-assault, but it was useless in terms of mobility. The E-web blaster fixed to its top, from the look of scars etched in metal nearby, was the first thing aside from the vehcile itself to be set upon by the Remnant troopers.

Major General Desaria ducked instincitvely as his Dragon pushed itself forward and onto the wreck of the leading LAV. Debris from tis first shot in anger on Bastion had formed neat piles in the street, obstalces for wheeled craft only. Metal screached and screamed as the treads moved in opposite directions to turn the beast.

With a thud it slammed down onto the pavement from the grave of its comrade. Rain pooling in crevices that flowed down over the armor skirts looked like tears as the tank advanced.

Grenadiers rushed forward, one flying forward with hands aflay, an explosion throwing him into the air. What remained of a female squad commander lay strewn against a brick wall.

There was another shower of debris as well as dust too thick to be drowned by rain, the following Intermia loosing a linked blast of particlized energy into the roof.

" What the frell!" exlcaimed Kiric as another LAv came into view, several Imperials firing for their lives nearby.

"That's the flag of Marshal Tchort!!!"

[Jarek T'chort]

Tchort kneeled behind the wreck, his knee soaking by now. He looked down at his side where Major Vryss still lay. The man was almost awake.

"Vryss, dammit man get up, we need you." Jarek hissed at Vryss.

Vryss shook his head and dragged himself up onto his haunches.

"Can you handle a -" Jarek dispatched a Remnant trooper who showed himself, "- blaster, Major?"

Vryss nodded and took up his baster pistol. He peaked over the top of the LAV and his eyes widened.

"Sir, theres a Dragon!"

Hetzer, his arm bleeding profusely smiled to himself as he heard Vryss' words.

"Well...I hope the hurry up..." His head sagged to one side and his body slid down onto the wet tarmac. His head the ground with a sickening crack. The enemy, upon seeing Hetzer break cover, opened a hail of fire at the Captain.

Jarek looked on with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as blaster bolts ripped into the Captain, tearing his flesh away with his uniform.

[Telan Desaria]

The men defending the wreckage of the LAV bearing the Marshal's flag were dropping in number. Bodies of regular Army soldiers lay strewn on the ground, rain and blood soaking through various camoulfage pattersn - and the olive hue of several officer's uniforms.

Kiric Desaria clutched his throat-microphone and with a flick of his thumb changed the frequency to all the vehciles and officers of his detachment. " Command Panzer to push ahead. Interias move forward and give cover fire. Grenadiers - push into the buildings anf lush out those damned rats. Get whatever wounded you can into our APC!!!"

Centaur, loyal and faithful since the Major-General's installation as division commander, lurched forward towards the end of the embattled block. From an unshielded window one block down, a brave Remnant soldier extended a metal cylinder. A flash of lightning illuminated the rocket launcher against a darkening sky.

One of the Kampfgruppe's detachments moved in, its leading elements visible four blocks away along the straightaway. Rock flew into the air as a turbolaser blast eradicated the soldier's hideout.

From the haze of debris came a missile on a tongue of blue flame, fired before the laser's impact. Towards the panzer it streaked leaving grey smoke in its wake. Its path was not true, however, the blast pushing it off a hastily-determined course. The missile hit shortly after Centaur has passed the Marshal's LAV, a well-built home of sheeted glass taking the force of an explosion. Translucent shards scattered in every direction, one fragment going into the arm of Major General Viscount Kiric Desaria.

The panzer itself rolled on, another one close behind. The dust and fragments of glass filled the air. From the directon of the now invisible tanks came a medium-height officer with crunched forage cap brandishing a las-pistol. From the other direction came a squad of grenadiers that set up a quick perimeter around the stricken LAV. Shots rang out into the concealed positions of dwindling attackers.

A plot of blood expanded from a deep wound in the officer's left arm, but he seemed not to notice as he jumped onto the LAV's chared right side and went down its left. He found the bemedaled form of the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Army.

A salute was rendered. " Major General Kiric" - a grenadier's pistol sounding obscured his last name - " commanding the 116th Panzer. Come with me please, Your Excellency!"

[Jarek T'chort]

A large drop of rain fell with a plop onto Jareks nose, ran down the bridge and dripped off the end of the stern face and fell into oblivion as it hit the tarmac below.

Jarek looked at the man who had addressed him, glancing over the mans face. He was young, eighteen or nineteen at most.

"At ease man," Jarek grated, "...and keep your head down."

He stood warily, keeping the bulk of the wreck between himself and the blaster bolts that were pounding away at the LAV.

"Alright men, lets move, leave the dead."

Jarek and the remaining Imperials sprinted though a hail of energy that tore up the ground beneath them. They threw themselves behind the cover of the APC onto the hard, sopping wet ground. Around them the Panzer grenadiers moved with deadly precision, neutralising the pockets of Remnant troopers that did their best to keep the jaws of the trap closing, only to be felled by the crack troops of the 116th Panzer Division.

Jareks hair was dripping wet by the time he stood and put a firm hand on the young Major General's shoulder.

"Well I certainly appreciate your timely arrival. I doubt we'd have held out much longer without your assistance."

Jarek smiled, a rare occourance, thought the watching Vryss, whose head still thudded from the impact with the floor of the LAV.

"Yes, much appreciated, Major General - ?"

[Tear]

Onboard the Ravager, guild class Star Destroyer, orbiting the planet Bastion.

Polished black boots padded almost silently against the durasteel flooring as the figure bearing an almost completely red uniform made his way through various corridors. He was fairly young, especially for one to have such rank and privilege within Imperial Intelligence. Colonel Tear, Covert operations in Imperial Intelligence, a big title he thought to himself with pride. Although, ninety percent of imperial crew and command just referred to him as “Agent Tear”, only those in the higher ups in the chain of command knew his full title, such was the way of things of an intelligence officer.

The red tunic coupled with equally red khaki type pants often made him the target of gossip among the ship. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the Intelligence uniform but in all honesty he preferred the feel of his battle armor to the soft fabric of this more formal attire.

Rounding a corridor the sight of several people filling a lift caused Tear to quicken his pace. Slipping through the lift doors just as they hissed to a close behind him. Tear sighed slightly turning to face the door, realizing his mistake of walking into something before looking. A lift filled with young cadets made quick, cautious glances toward the red agent, leaning to their friends with imaginary musings of what the agent did or what he was capable of doing. Whispers of conspiracies and cover-ups were carefully whispered through the group.

Catching a conversation between two cadets involving, “The Emperor wasn’t really dead but hidden away by imperial intelligence until the time was right for him to rise and crush the Republic.” caused a slight grin to bare over Tear’s lips. That was one of his favorite rumors he had overheard, it was amusing to think of all the cover ups and conspiracies they could think up. After all, only some were true. The lift slowed to a stop and the door once again hissed open, Tear stepped calmly through the doors and turned to face the cadets a smile on his face.

“I've been listening very carefully to you all…and I have only one thing to say” Tear unclipped the metallic cylinder that hung at his hip and lifted above his head. “RAAAA!!” Tear roared as he ignited the blade above his head in a menacing manner. The cadets screamed simultaneously and shrunk back into the lift, clutching each other in horror just as the doors slid shut, cutting the sound of their screams off.

Tear doubled over laughing as he placing his hands onto his knees trying to keep from falling over. Being an intelligence officer did have its perks, he thought to himself as he deactivated his saber and re-clipped it to the leather strap hanging off his belt. Wiping a tear from his eye, Tear once again made his way down one of the various corridors toward his quarters, random chuckles still bubbling up from the red agent.

Black polished boots plopped onto Tear’s desk as he lay back in his chair, a fresh smile still over his face quickly faded when Tear glanced at his terminal. Imperial forces in Tarkin City were meeting resistance by supposed remnant syndicate military personal. There were no specifics only that resistance was occurring within the city and an imperial detachment from the 116th Panzer Division was engaged. Tear rubbed his bottom lip in thought as he watched the information download to a portable data pad. The commander of Ravager needs to see this, Tear jumped from his chair, leaving it to spin slowly, walking out of his quarters with data pad in hand, headed to the bridge.

[Jarek T'chort]

Bastion

A little after midday the lashing rain finally broke off, as did the 62nd Remnant Penal battalion. The battles in the streets had been viscous close range skirmishes between the Imperial grenadiers and the Remnant troopers, positioned in homes and a few strong points hastily prepared as the 116th advance elements pushed onward.

Across the city, the sporadic sound of blaster fire and small bore weaponry echoed all day, displaying the fact that Tarkin City was a war zone.

In the former Remnant operations center the Empire now oversaw the continuing pacification of the outlying suburbs of the city. A special technical crew sent from the Ravager performed the critically needed tasks of bringing the main water supply back online, which had been sabotaged in the morning before the The Hilari light infantry Division, a formation raised of recruits from the recently subdued rouge planet, could take possession of the massively elaborate works.

The civilians of Bastion generally were unseen, hiding in homes behind locked doors and shuttered windows. The city was under curfew, the great highways of the city silent, the commuters esconced in their homes, subject to Imperial martial law.

As Field Marshal Tchorts LAV was under fire, the 98th Panzer Division had advanced to take the strategically important city of Korak, a communications hub of the planet. Advancing with no resistance, the division rolled and clanked into the small city, buildings rushing past the panzer troopers as their vehicles continued their heady advance.

Forty miles south of Tarkin city, the mountainous ranges began, low hills and rocky outcrops dotted the scenic landscape. Here, the 124th Mobile Infantry Division ran into serious opposition from entrenched Remnant regulars, guarding the highway that led to the Jenner Barracks, a large training facility that was the target of the 24th. Only after a trio of AT-ST walkers had clambered the rocky terrain to outflank the Remnant troopers did the Mobile Infantry succeed in clearing the highway. Even after this, it took a flight of Scimitar bombers to rain energy onto the Remnant troops to prevent them regrouping.

By the end of the day, Imperial losses were placed around 1,789 KIA, 345 MIA and over 2,958 wounded. 16 repulsor tanks, 1 AT-ST, 18 LAV's were also lost in the fighting, mainly due to minor ambush incidents and sporadic counter attacks by the Remnant forces that refused to capitulate. Gains for the Empire were significant however, over 7,000 prisoners and a multitude of heavy weaponary captured intact.

[Telan Desaria]

The commander of the Imperial 116th Panzer Division stood before his supreme commander after the street had been cleared. The first Kampfgruppe in its entireity had united and made the inner-city a safer place to stroll.

A gust of wind kicked up the folded lapells of the field-officer's great coat. Standing to attention, he answered the Field Marshal's question.

" Major-General Viscount Kiric Desaria, sir."

[Jarek T'chort]

Field Marshal Tchort tapped a forefinger against the Imperial Cross that hung about his neck, a testament to his prowess in combat, as the young soldier answered his question.

" Major-General Viscount Kiric Desaria, sir."

Tchort looked up sharply at the Panzer officer who stood in the angry bluster of winds that tumbled down from the mountain ranges around Tarkin City.

"Ha! Quite a suprise indeed."

Tchort looked the man over, from wind tousled hair to polished jackboots. Very alike his illustrious brother, abiet shorter. The look on the mans face was less drawn and had a vigour of youth apparent in it.

"Well Major-General I must commend you on your mens handling of this situation, a most capable attack."

[Telan Desaria]

" I will relay your compliments to my men, Your Excellency. They were well trained. I have my predecessor to thank -I have commanded this division for only a month."

Desaria pulled at his gloves as his attention lessened, an allowable lapse among general-officers. " I must request that you leave this area, Field Marshal. My men have cleared the area, but I would not put a sleeper cell past the Remnant--whatever side we've just fought."

[Jarek T'chort]

"Yes, I think I shall, though who exactly they-" he broke off and pointed a ebony gloved finger at the still bodies of various Remnant troopers, "- are, is unclear."

Jarek titled his head slightly to look down the line of armoured vehicles that nestled alongside the road.

"Think you can arange some transport for myself and these men?"

[Telan Desaria]

" It would be an honour, Your Excellency."

The Major General turned about and lead the Field Marshal to a nearby Phalanx II armored personnel carrier*. He aided Tchort onto the skid and then into the open-topped interior. Several grenadiers, two of whom wore the red chevrons of medics, loaded wounded into the back. With a great huff of smoke, the vehicle lurched backwards and slowly away from the scene of battle.

An Imperial command center had been erected in the city center where several high rises stood. Syndicate High Command stood as an excellenct choice, and though they had surrendered, Imperial engineers were checking the building for explosives. As a show of faith, the Syndicate engineers were working along their side.

" Marshal, temproary command." Desaria motioned towards a nearby building, a former hotel fifty levels tall.

[Telan Desaria]

Executor II-class Super Star Destroyer Intimidator

ARRIVED AT BASTION


The flagship of the Imperial Fleet looked powerful and impressive from the larboard side, not a dent or scratch on her shinny armor freshly painted after refitting. Turbolaser turrets and various weapon emplacements, while unlashed from their mounts and ready to fire, appeared pristine in the shimmering glow of nearby stars.


The port flank of the Super Star Destroyer was different entirely, a two kilometer section jagged and burnt. Lengths of steel protruded into space, twisted in ungoldly ways, exposed to space where armor, bulkheads, and entire sections of the hull would have shielded them from view. An occassional spark flared from torn wires: the mighty warship appeared to be bleeding.


To a ship of eighteen kilometers, the loss of two was but a scratch. Breeches had been secured and damage was slowly being repaired. The Intimidator was as potent as it had been before its assault.


Around the flagship came several other detachments separated in their reversion by mere seconds. Before long an entire flotilla of Imperial vessels had appeared over the Syndicate capital of Bastion...


The pacification of the entire region could begin...

[Jarek T'chort]

Grand wide windows gazed longingly out at the urban landscape of Tarkin city, the hotel descending in tiers below the windows.

The former Royal suite of the Remel Hotel was an elegant and expansive set of rooms, designed specifically for visiting dignitaries and high ranking officials.

Inside the room, elegant furniture and ornate extravagancies had been roughly cast side for rows of computer banks and a de-facto command center of Imperial operations.

Imperial technicians beavered away at their appointed tasks, transmitting messages, intercepting transmissions, giving out orders, deploying troops in specific areas. Young men and women kept their heads down ad their hands darted over keypads and eyes skimmed flashing computer screens.

Over it all sat the brooding figure of an Imperial Field Marshal on an high backed command chair, his legs outstretched before him, steel toed jack boots crossed over one another. His gloved hand was stretched up to the angular face of authority and calm calculation.

Jarek Tchort snapped out of a contemplative train of thought as an aide pulled up beside him.

"Sir, Brigadier General Heimlin has contacted us, he requests to surrender all his forces, sir!"

Jarek let a small smile slip onto his face, sea blue eyes narrowed.

"Excellent. Inform the General I will accept his surrender, he is to meet the 567th Panzer Jager company and surrender to them. Inform the 45th Infantry Division to swing back and take the surrender of the division positioned in the Baleram hills."

"Sir, yes sir!" The aide turned on his heel and went back to his section. The arrival of the Grand Admirals fleet over Bastion had persuaded the stubborn General Heimlin to surrender his forces on the planet.

Now, it was time to rest and refit, though Imperial losses had been negligible, many of the armored and mobile divisions had suffered many breakdowns due to the lack of highly trained mechanics.

Now Tchort had a meeting planned with his superior, Grand Admiral Baron Desaria.

[Tear]

You have so much potential Ta’sath. The darkness inside you can grow to strengths that has grazed this galaxy before in various forms and instruments. Well, I shouldn’t say darkness… The soft serene words of a former master he had come to know. That was back before he tried to leave his dark master… back before she sent eradication squads for him. A young man that she had bestowed so much faith, to her, he had betrayed her. Betrayal… the one unforgivable sin.

“Sir, The fleet is emerging from hyperspace.” The voice of a sensor officer broke Tear from his memories.

He stood silently, hands clasped behind his back, staring with thoughts of passed out of the large bridge view port. His crimson red uniform, a strong contrast to the assortment of grays and whites that composed the imperial navy. Tear glanced down wiggling his toes within his black boots; he had been on his feet all day and must have walked the length of the entire destroyer at least twice as he made his trips from the bridge to his quarters. Data gathered by intelligence forces within regiments was sent to higher up intelligence officers who distributed it to commanders who would make use of it. More often then not the commanders would already have gotten word of the happenings or by the time the intelligence made its way to the hands of the commanders the situation had been dealt with by the ground forces already. The information like most battle reports had to be kept fairly secret and thus couldn’t be transmitted over com channels and the like. This left Tear making several pointless trips over a very large star destroyer.

Although, there was instances were intelligence served its very importance. A small cell of remnant troops had escaped the mountains near Tarkin city but were spotted by an imperial scout. The closet detachment was still sweeping the mountains and by the time they left the mountains the remnant would have escaped back into the city. The scout was still tagging the group and could call out the coordinates for a small bombardment, eliminating the group before they reached the city.

Captain Nemel glanced upwards from the intelligent report in his hands. “Good, good, send a warm welcome to Grand Admiral Desaria. Oh and Agent Tear, well done, but I believe we have heard rumors of the remnants surrender.”

“True Captain, but the weaker the enemy the better position we are in. The more remnant soldiers we eliminate now the less chance there will be of sabotage or…revolution down the road.”

Captain Nemel looked back down to the pad, giving it a few more taps as lines of information scrolled down the screen. “Hmm…Ill recommend the course of action to my command staff. That will be all Agent Tear.” Nemel kept his eyes to the pad. Sometimes he wondered if anyone in the intelligence branch had any respect for sentient life. He had seen a lot of action in his day, a lot of death, but those of the Inquisitoriat…he’d seen new definitions of horror at their hands.

Tear gave a silent nod to the captain his eyes stern still watching the view port as the Imperial fleet came into view. Other crewmen slowed to a halt, their attention waning to the rows of massive imperial ships. Imperial destroyers, symbol of the empires power, blocking stars as they cruised with surreptitious ability to rain destruction. The Intimidator soon came into view, the flagship of the empire, also Grand Admiral Desaria’s personal command. Its mere presence would deter resistance or attack of any kind. Tear tilted his head slightly as if the view port would turn with him, so he could get a better view of the ship. It looked like it had taken some damage…

“Ehem…I can appreciate an awe inspiring sight like this like any other but…I’m sure you all have duties to attend too.” The end of Captain Nemel’s sentence turning into a disciplined growl followed by an echoing of “aye sir’s”.

Tear turned his body leisurely, heading out of the bridge as a familiar young cadet filled his path. One of the cadets from the elevator, he grinned. She had her head buried into a data pad making quick glances ahead of her to make sure she wouldn’t bump into anyone or thing.

“Boo.” Tear smooth voice resounded a few meters in front of the girl.

Her eyes glanced up routinely scanning the area in front of her before dropping down to her pad, spotting something that caused the hairs on her skin to stand on end. She stopped suddenly with a sharp inhale of breath like she had stepped onto something sharp. Still staring down into the data pad she made a quick glance behind her and scooted off down the hallway, disappearing down the corner, catching many odd glances from crewmen as she did so.

Tear glanced briefly in the direction the cadet had escaped down before he turned and headed down an opposite hallway. He was headed for the training bays.

[Jarek T'chort]

Tarkin City

As the Imperial Fleet assembled over Bastion, Tarkin city was slowly returning to normality. Civilians, now subject only to a nighttime curfew, were returning to their jobs, children were being hustled into school once more, the elderly congregating in familiar, comfortable spots.

However, there were visible changes, the pockmarked shells of random buildings, the Imperial armored vehicles parked across intersections, their gunners anxiously observing all traffic around them. Above, patrolling TIE defenders screeched overhead, scattering the Kworl birds that used the skyscrapers (much to the chagrin of the owners) as nests. Imperial troopers stood alongside important buildings or institutions, their faces hard and uncompromising under the fluttering Imperial banners.

Along the central highway of Tarkin City, columns of civilian speeders moved under the watchful gaze of heavy weapons nests and patrolling AT-ST walkers that strutted alongside the highways.

Tarkin City and Bastion itself were now firmly under Imperial control. Once again, Bastions citizens belonged to the Galactic Empire.

[Jarek T'chort]

A solitary standard flitted merrily in the afternoon breeze, its folds unfurling to reveal its detail like petals on a flower. The red, black and gold of the Imperial banner lifted in an up draught of wind, the star at its center a mesh work of black lines and circles.

Below the flag, on the highway running adjacent to the Remel Hotel, was a one storey platform, upon which was gathered an ensemble of Imperial officers, their field smocks exchanged for dress uniform.

Before this temporary platform of durasteel supports, marched a full division of soldiers, Imperial regulars on dress parade. The Imperial 76th Infantry, assigned to guard duty in Tarkin city and its surrounding settlements, marched under the watchful eyes of their superiors, rifles held tightly to shoulders, faces neutral yet determined. Olive green uniforms were immaculate beneath tan body Armour. Their jackboots swung before them in step with the man beside them, a steady tramp, tramp, tramp echoed as the Imperial soldiers paraded.

From under his visor cap, General Field Marshal Tchort watched with impassive blue eyes. His ornate Field Marshals batton was raised in salute as the men turned their heads to his position as they paraded past the platform. Beside Tchort, the commanders of various formations and his staff watched, their backs ramrod straight.

Jarek looked up and over the passing troops and gazed at the civilians gathered behind a cordon of military police. Their eyes were filled with interest, a disguised admiration. It would be a time before the Empire was fully accepted on Bastion, but these people needed only to be won over by simple means, the propagandists could deal with that situation, thought Tchort soberly.

[Telan Desaria]

Yaga Minor System, Hyperlane Exit 88365960


Major General T. R. K. Lirriet relaxed in awe as his shuttle dropped from the dimension of hyperspace to realspace. The view of Yaga, brightest star in a five-parsec radius, was breathtaking as its rays cast an omnipresent glow on all fifteen worlds in its surrounding system. Arrival at his home planet, fifth from the sun, began without fail by gazing of half an hour.


“ Are you looking forward to returning?”


Lirriet smirked slightly and adjusted his gloves. “ I am not sure how to take it, honestly. Rumor is Central Command’s bringing back its best, but there is the fact that I was sent away in the first place.”


Brigadier Tyrenus, II Mechanized Corps Chief of Staff, smiled in return. In the six months he had worked with Lirriet in the pacification of Gravlex Med and its Viashino garrison, he had learned a great deal about his higher-ranking colleague.


“ Well,” Tyrenus commented as he ticked points off on his like-gloved fingers, “ you were sent to Gravlex because you slept with Chancellor Poreon’s niece, a woman he was saving for Sokolov –“


Tyrenus noticed Lirriet wince at the mention on their one-time supreme commander. When news of Bastion’s surrender to Imperial forces under Grand Admiral Desaria reached the fiercely independent citizens of Yaga Minor, a veritable civil war started in which an entire corps of troops sent from Dubrillion annihilated on Gravlex Med against the IInd. The Yagans had a history of staunch loyalty – feeling that Bastion was the last true Imperial stronghold, its defection signaled their isolation.


The Brigadier continued on, aware of the pain but ignoring it to create a jovial atmosphere. “ – and you deflowered! Secondly, you were sent to Gravlex to make Poreon feel powerful. But you did better than you were supposed to and pissed him off more – hence why you were banished with me until now.”


Littier laughed. “ Bah, the Chancellor would never cross the Fleet!”


Tyrenus joined the laugh at the mention of his uncle, commander of what few naval assets were at Yaga’s disposal. Under the current of their levity could be heard the orbital-traffic controller announce the arrival of transports bearing the II Mechanized Corps.

[Telan Desaria]

Monte Circello
Bluffs ten kilometers south of Geretton

Yaga Minor


After serving five months on Gravelex Med, a world of modertate temperature in the middle of winter and sweltering ones in the height of summer, Lieutenant General Lirriet had not adjusted to being once again on his home planet. Winds blew into the island-continents from raging seas creating an atmosphere that was mild year round. Snow was as possible as torrential rain any day.


Lirriet remembered fondly months spent at his family’s retreat in the mountains near Compton. There he and three brothers had tormented game with dart guns and the village tailor with constant tears in many a trouser. A smile graced the forty-year old’s face as he remembered his lone sister painting masterpieces out doors while struggling to keep her pastel dishes from disappearing into the wind.


The General shook the thoughts from his family and turned his macrobinoculars south, away from the hill-side house that had sparked his reminiscence. He had work to do, and do it he would.


“ A cold day, General. I am surprised to see you out here.”


Lirriet removed his eyes from the ranging device and turned to the speaker, an older man who doubtless had seen the beginning and end of at least one century. His body was covered by a long frock-coat, but his head was topped with a feathered top hat; a crest hand-spun in a nearby hall identified him as the mayor of Monte Circello.


“ It is indeed. What can I do for you?”


The man considered and gracefully reclined on a field-communications equipment crate, not the most comfortable of chairs but adequate when open as the padded lining gave some relaxation. “ Troops have forced out the Sherris family from their home.”


“ Oh?” Lirriet was genuinely concerned by had far too much on his mind to give the matter due consideration. “ Which house is that?”


In a display of fore-arm strength, the mayor lifted his well-crafted cane in the direction of the first great rise between the Ullan Sea and the higher peaks of the Trevinn Mountain Range. The General swung turned towards the hill from which the mayor’s charged village took its name. The mountains themselves rose to some one thousand meters in height towards the interior of the island, itself considered to be thirty kilometers’ distant. Monte Circello rose from a murderous mass of water to dominate all around it before descending into a gentle valley covered with vegetation and skraggs. Surveying it all, Lirriet remembered another experience hunting the goat-like creatures, but pushed it from his mind when he saw engineers preparing fortifications and mines therein.


“ They must live in the house on the top.”


The mayor nodded his silent assent.


“ I am sure it is quite a valuable plot of real estate – the best view for kilometers in any direction. That is precisely why it is being taken.”


Aged and sickly, the mayor was determined to resist, but could not begin an argument in time.


“ Dear Sir, that peak allows me great observation. From it, we control Route 4, the only passage carved through these mountains. If an attack comes, control of these heights will be necessary and I would rather take them now from you then from Desaria’s men.”


“ You will place artillery and missiles on Monte Circello?” asked the mayor, more curious then indignant.


“ My batteries are already moving up. When the breastworks are complete, they will be moved into position.”


“ That, General, is what I feared.”


The mayor struggled to his feet and left, using the arm of a younger civilian for aid. Officers saluted as did enlisted men as he made his way to a simple repulsor car. Lirriet sighed but could not lament. Brigadier General Tyrenus arrived shortly thereafter and continued working out the intricacies of defending the Monte Circello pass.

[Jarek T'chort]

A full company of Imperial Stormtroopers marched in step along the duracrete of the spacious landing pad, atop the Imperial Command center. Their bone white armour reflected the sun that beat down upon the Tarkin city, banishing the clouds that had dominated the skies for the past week. Blaster rifles clutched to chests, the Imperial troopers halted suddenly, turned on their heels and stopped. Faceless soldiers stared from behind armoured helmets before them.

Three rows of Imperial regulars stood patiently behind their shook troop comrades. Again, their uniforms were immaculate, the subject of frenzied cleaning and polishing.

The landing pad was a circular platform raised above the Imperial command center, blacked duracrete made up a firm platform for anything up to the size of a Strike Cruiser.

Now, the platform held over a one hundred Imperial personnel, three ranks deep on each side of the broad avenue that seperated them. On one side, the regulars and Stormtroopers, the other side Naval personnel despatched to asist on the planet, officers and another row of Stormtroopers.

At the end of this assembly stood four officers, two Colonel Generals, a Major and finally, a Field Marshal. General Field Marshal Tchort waited, his black gloved fingers griping his baton, fingering gently the raised Imperial crest that adorned the handle. His short tawny hair was swept back under his visor cap, resting above sharp cerulean eyes. Tchorts face was calm, unlike Major Vryss, this was, after all, the first time the Major had ever even seen the supreme commander of the Empire.

Jarek stood at the head of the two colomns and awaited his superiors imminent arrival.

[Telan Desaria]

Grand Admiral Desaria looked with great pride as his shuttle descended into Tarkin's City's depths. A wide berth around what was a very operable Syndicate High Command had been cleared, columns of soldiers standing for review in an impressive display of Imperial might.

There was great majesty below indeed, one the Grand Admiral lamented he had brought nothing to contest. His shuttle was pristine, and his uniform immaculate as was that of his aide, General Maxim, but he had hauled no soldiers to parade. That aside, he did not have to.

The shuttle landed, its course true and right. Wings folded into their mounts and landing struts collided with wasked macadam. A ramp revealed the shuttle's contents to atmosphere and out walked the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy.

Field Marshal Tchort stood nearby and at the sight of his senior officer, raised his baton in salute. The Grand Admiral had brought along his as well and did likewise. The gesture completed he strode over to his ground-specialty comrade.

" Marshal, a job well done here. Congratulations are in order."

[Jarek T'chort]

" Marshal, a job well done here. Congratulations are in order."

Field Marshal Tchort allowed a smile to crease his lips as he heard the Grand Admiral address him. He inclined his head.

"Thank you, Grand Admiral, I did as ordered, Bastion belongs to the Empire."

He swept his gloved hand before him, down along the rows of soldiers still standing to attention in the afternoon sunlight, inviting the white uniformed Baron to walk.

"What are your plans now, Grand Admiral?"

[Telan Desaria]

" Acquisition of all Syndicate territory was included in our treaty. Dubrillion is a waste land as Admiral Laran reported making it useless. Next we march on Yaga Minor. That, Marshal, is where both your men and mine will be tested more than we dreamed possible. Around it is a strong shield, a dozen battle stations, and below five million combat troops manning fortifications that are upgraded and expanded every day."

Desaria looked to his left at a platoon of standing Bastion troops, their cuffs ringed in green symbolizing planet of origin. He had no doubt as to their loyalty but he did lament the cost of their admission.

" Standing here on a planet that was once all the Empire had is very symbolic. We are leading the Empire back its former glory, but we have a long way to go."

[Tear]

The doors of Tears quarters opened with a hiss allowing a figure clad in black battle armor passage out into the hallways. Tear rubbed his wet hair with a towel as he strode down the hallway, his thick boots making low thuds against the durasteel flooring. He had just came from a four hour work out session ending with a shower before suiting up into his field armor and heading to the shuttle bay. Water dripped from ruffled blonde hair as a towel was brushed through it. Soft droplets of water glided easily down freshly shaven cheeks as heavy boots made dull thudding noises against the durasteel flooring. Tear let the towel drop around his neck as he stepped into an elevator heading down to the launch bays. Making a casual glance around the full lift he spotted several faces turn away for fear of being caught staring. A soft sigh escaped Tear’s lips as he stepped from the turbo lift into the vast expanse of the Ravager’s hanger bay.

The soles of Tears boots once again thumped against the finely polished flooring of the hanger bay so polished in fact, that one could see his reflection in it.

“Agent Tear?” A flight deck technician approached the darkly clad figure as he made his way toward an unmarked ...Tie Advanced (http://massassi.yavin4.com/sw/as_tiea.htm) fighter.

“Yes?”

“We made the necessary adjustments and modifications to the fighter like you asked. We erased any imperial markings or signs that this tie would be from the Imperial Sovereignty.” The Tech was fidgeting with his hands uneasily, avoiding eye contact with Tear while spitting his words out quickly and professionally as possible.

“Good, thank you…” Tear peered at the name tag sewn onto the work overalls “Mondore” Wondering if he got the pronunciation right as he walked to inspect the Tie fighter.

A few moments later and Tear was seated comfortably in the seat of the cockpit, running pre-launch checks. It had been a while since he had flown any sort of ship even though flying had been a favorite hobby of his. He loved the feeling; the freedom flight gave to him. To soar weightless through space or cleave elegantly between clouds of white silk was possibly the most relaxing experience Tear enjoyed on his time off.

“This is launch bay control, Agent Tear you are cleared for lunch to planet Bastion.” A voice tired with repetition resounded through the ties com system.

Running his palm over several controls giving precision flicks of a finger the docking clamps released letting the tie float gently downwards as its various thrusters hummed to life keeping the sleek fighter above the ground. Alright here we go, Tear thought to himself as he eased on the controls sending the tie fighter reeling back knocking over several cargo containers. Tear bared his teeth slightly in a wince as he realized his mistake… “oops..been a while” Tear snickered through his com as various annoyed sighs sounded from launch control. Tear quickly corrected himself and punched forward sending the tie fighter screaming out of the lunch bay into free space. The fighter curved lazily toward the planet bastion, starlight passing over the dark hull as it plummeted toward the planet’s surface.

The tie fighter’s form cut easily through Bastions near cloudless skies. General Field Marshall Tchort had sent for him. It had been a fair amount of time since Tear had last seen his old friend on thyferra where they manage to catch up on old times. Tears’ reminiscing of the past was cut short suddenly by the abrupt hail by a trio of tie defenders as they emerged on his flanks.

An exchange of classified security codes was all it took for the defenders to stand down as they escorted Tear to his landing pad. Usually such a code would cause an average tie pilot to back off and give a large berth but for obvious reasons these pilots were very persistent in keeping an eye on the unmarked tie fighter as it set down.

Moments later…

What is going…on…were Tears inner thoughts as his eyes were met with parades of storm troopers and men in dress uniforms. He had managed to infiltrate into the basic mass of the crowd, testing ones abilities on allies was always the best way to keep sharp when not in enemy territory…plus you were less likely to get shot for making a mistake.

Tear had made a habit of practicing various skills and stealth while on the destroyer, slipping into the captains quarters and rearranging his desk and then slipping back out. Many times biting his lip to keep from laughing as the captain walked out of his office with a puzzled look bent over his face.

This time though…he was amazed at the length of security around the gathering, it was very difficult to get to the point he was at now in the crowd, never letting any one person to get mere seconds worth of a glance at him...enough to make one wonder but not enough to make one report it.

Finally catching sight of his quarry walking with another figure clad in white with an entourage trailing casually behind. Tear slid into position..which was a mere four feet from his old friend Jarek Tchort

[Jarek T'chort]

Tchort nodded solemnly at Desarias words, he had seen the preliminary intelligence at his H.Q, Yaga Minor was ready for them, dug in and entrenched.

"Indeed, Grand Admiral, these troops will perform to the best of their ability, they will not fail."

As he glanced along the foremost row of officers his clear blue eyes caught a face, a familiar face indeed - Tear! Colonel Tear, he corrected himself, calmly.

"Grand Admiral, I would like you to meet Colonel Tear of Imperial Intelligence."

Jareks hand indicated the black armoured figure standing but a few feet from the entourage.

Tear stepped forward.

"Colonel Tear is a fine operative, Lord Baron, I belive he will also be operating on Yaga Minor."

Tchort watched as the young blonde haired mans face shifted in recognition of who, exactly, he was being introduced to.

[Tear]

Tear winced with a smile when Jarek alertness had picked him from the crowd.

“Tear! Colonel Tear.”

Stepping from the crowd slightly Tear gave a playful jab to Tchort’s side. “I have expected to get closer to ya but your getting keen in your old age Jarek.” Tear snickered playfully at his comrade, draping an arm around Jarek, as old buddies would do at a bar or recreation. Completely oblivious to the large uniformed gathering around them. Having only joined the empire fairly recently Tear’s more… improper habits tended to peek out more often then he preferred.

"Grand Admiral, I would like you to meet Colonel Tear of Imperial Intelligence." Jarek responded.

Tear gave Jarek a look as if to say: you waited until I made an <smallfont color={hovercolor}>-Censored-</smallfont> of myself didn’t you…Tear faked a cough as he straightened himself as a proper soldier of the Empire, snapping a sharp salute to the admiral. His dark armor was a clear contrast to the rest of the congregation of proper dress uniforms setting him out of place even more.

"Colonel Tear is a fine operative, Lord Baron, I believe he will also be operating on Yaga Minor."

Tear would have blushed if his face weren’t already red with embarrassment as he stepped forward reaching a hand out toward the admiral. “It is an honor to meet you Grand Admiral.” Tear’s blue eyes floated up locking with Admiral Desaria’s.

[Tyrel Kiterix]

Back on Balmorra

"I was taking a look at the Mid-Rim and couldn't help but notice it was rather ripe for the taking," The Balmorran Emperor gave another smile.

"If you don't plan on touching it for a while...I was wondering if I couldn't get my hands on a few of the systems there."

It was a half-truth...Kiterix wanted the systems, but he also wanted to keep the Sovereignty off his back. It wasn't he didn't trust them, but the Balmorran Emperor tended to go with who was stronger.

And he didn't need another Millard running around. Unless of course Desaria was able to be manipulated. Which could be of benefit later. After, Millard was dead.

"I certainly hope you don't mind."

[Telan Desaria]

Balmorra - Before the Departure of the Fleet

" What systems did you have in mind? With the sole exception of Falleen and its peripheral holdings, the entire area from the Corellian Run to the Hydian Way is ripe for conquest..."


Currently, on Bastion...


The Grand Admiral winced almost imperceptibly - that is to say those nearby would notice were they not concentrating too hard on their stance, and others at a farther distance would remain ignorant.

Like the Chief of the General Staff, Marshal Alexi Prem, Desaria held the services offered by the Inquisitoriate's minion of Imperial Intelligence in little regard. The...methods...they used to extract information were horrid and their conduct without exception dishonorable. Unlike the Chief of the General Staff, he knew that they were an indispensible neccessity as long as they did not interfere with military operations.


" Colonel Tear," the Grand Admiral said, inclining his head slightly to show respect only to his colleague and peer standing next to the operative. " I do not doubt you will do unspeakable things on Yaga Minor. I suggest you conceal your tracks well and hasten your departure. The fewer of you crawling around when the battle begins the better."

Desaria turned to Tchort. " Marshal, I assume you have acquired an office gor your stay on Bastion. Might we adjourn there to discuss military matters."

[Jarek T'chort]

The breeze that blew across the platform caught Tchorts visor cap, making him clutch a hand to his head, in order to keep it from flying away.

Tchort caught the Grand Admirals frosty attitude to Tear, he couldn't say he didn't agree with him. Tear was - unorthodox - to say the least.

As Tear was left behind and the two men strolled down the assembled troops, each armored figure alongside the men stock still and in prefect order.

"Of course, Grand Admiral, we have much to discuss."

In a lower tone, with a frown upon his face, he addressed his superior again.

"My apologies for Colonel Tear, he has much to learn about discipline and military attitudes."

The two finally passed the assembled ranks of troopers and reached the waiting armored speeder that was the Field Marshals personal transport. It carried his personal flag on a pendant that fluttered upon the fore of the vehicle. Two olive uniformed aides held open the door to the speeder, awaiting the eminent Imperials.

[Tear]

Tear couldn’t hide the grin that splayed over his lips from the Grand Admirals reaction when he had reached his hand out. Words didn’t need to escape Desaria’s lips as Tear’s cold blue eyes read what he was going to say before he said it.

" Colonel Tear. I do not doubt you will do unspeakable things on Yaga Minor. I suggest you conceal your tracks well and hasten your departure. The fewer of you crawling around when the battle begins the better."

Unspeakable things…He was right, to an extent that anyone who saw the unspeakable deeds he performed they would certainly not be able to speak about them.

“I was just on my way Grand Admiral, as always it’s a pleasure to see you again.” His voice was just loud enough to fall on the couple’s ears as they departed. If one had turned around to respond to the agent they would be talking to themselves, Tear had already slipped away. The last few words of Tear’s sentence was a clear innuendo to the Grand Admiral, knowing full well he had never seen Tear before but leaving a slight hint that perhaps…Tear had seen him. Mind games were well worth their pay off if the proper effort was dispensed. No doubt the meaning would nag lightly in the back of the Admirals mind for some time.

[Telan Desaria]

Grand Admiral Desaria spent the ride to Bastion's High Command conversing with Marshal Prem via HoloNet on the finer points of several proposed Yaga Minor operations. Field Marshal Tchort listened intently but remained quiet - an excellent trait Desaria noted as he viewed his peer's eyes hungrily consuming everybit of information he could see.

Their arrival was sounded by the clicking of guards heel s when the two moved through the cavernous strucutre. The halls had been cleared, officers droids and men that were unneeded remained out of sight until the two highest-ranking military officials arrived at Marshal Tchort's small office.

Sitting respectfully on the visitor's side of a wide desk, Desaria crossed his legs and reclined, gloves laid neatly over his exposed knee.

" About your friend: I despise Intelligence. They have a decided lack thereof and are too quick to point fingers inside before out."

[Tyrel Kiterix]

Kiterix smiled, "Excellent Admiral. Come...we shall discuss everything later."

Four hours later and brief negotiation later, the Sovereignty fleet left Balmorra, headed for Bastion.

"I take it things went well?" Morewind asked as Kiterix watched the fleet disappear.

"If they'd gone any better," Kiterix's face was a mask of deception, "I would have had him leave two Star Destroyers to find and capture Millard.

"In fact..." he gave an evil smile, "That might not be a bad idea. We shall talk it over later, Director. And then send a message to Desaria. We may get even more help than we need."

[Jarek T'chort]

Bastion, Tarkin City, Marshal Tchorts office

Marshal Tchort smiled at his superiors words, personally, Tchort respected the more uncouth and dishonorable methods of the Inquisitorate and Intelligence, sometimes underhand ways and methods were needed in war. Though and aristocrat himself, Tchort felt far more at home in the mud of a battlefield then he ever would in a aristocratic party. Perhaps it was his 'rough and tumble' attitude, as his mother called it.

"Indeed Grand Admiral, Intelligence are somewhat egotistical and underhanded. I suppose that is needed however, as long as we are at war."

Tchort settled into his high backed padded chair, colcazure eyes drawn to a pile of new data pads on his obsidian desk. He nodded his head toward them as he addressed Desaria.

"From those reports and from what Marshal Prem was saying, I'd say we have a rather difficult situation on Yaga Minor. Our forces will be sorely tested, the enemy is dug and waiting, never a good prospect for a planetary invasion."

[Jarek T'chort]

Imperial Command Center, Tarkin City

Brigadier General Weckes shook his head as he read through the latest intelligence reports from Yaga Minor. He was an elderly man now, with thirty years of service with the Imperial Army, he had long forgotten his youth of aristocratic splendour in his family home on Eriadu. Silver streaks ran through his light auburn hair and frown lines criss-crossed his forehead, all hallmarks of his years of exemplary service.

Intel gauged enemy forces at roughly five million men, plus any civil militia they decided to build up. The Fleet would be tested too, the spacial defenses of Yaga Minor were formidable. He hoped the Fleet flyboys could deliver close air suppourt without complications, it may be key to the campaign there.

The double doors into his spacious ex-hotel room office swung open admitting a young dark haired man, around twenty. The man halted at Weckes desk and saluted.

"General Weckes, I have the latest orders from Marshal Tchort."

"Go ahead."

"All armoured divisions are to be embarked asap, within the timeframe of the next twelve hours."

"Thank you, oh, if you have any chance to convey my regards to Grand Admiral Desaria, do so."

The young officer nodded and exited the brightly lit room.

Weckes locked his fingers together and rested his chin on the upraised hands.

Desaria had grand plans alright, funny how that bloated oaf Prem, or that jumped up sidekick to Desaria, Tchort, had the gall not to tell the veterans of the Officer Corps the scope of what was going on.

[Telan Desaria]

" Indeed."

The Admiral pursed his lips and regarded his peer. There was much about the army Supreme Commander he did not know - in truth he knew him little as a person. Among his colleagues he stood out as a leader of men and tactician, singularly qualifying him for his current post. Social details would fit in when possible.

" I have run the General Staff's plan through a proverbial meet grinder after conversing with some of my senior commanders. We will keep with the basic pattern, units themselves changed as battlefield neccessity pervades."

" Those plans are?" Tchort asked, his fingers steepled atop his desk.

" A unit of cruisers and frigates will arrive first and engage their defenses. Based on their arrangement, one or two squadrons of battleships will be sent in and eliminate them. We'll blast a gap in the shields and then pave a corridor for transports. First on the ground will be embarked troops from the Fleet to build a beachhead. When the ground is safe, the transports will land and give you whatever you need.

" The General Staff estimates that to hold onto anything, we'll need to land at least five hundred thousand troops within an hour."

The Marshal's eyes bulged perceptibly, causing a chuckle toe scape the Grand Admiral's lips.

" Additional forces are en route from Carida, Eriadu, and Thyferra. Besides, I think two hundred thousand will be sufficient at first. But we do know they'll fiercely counter attack with every chance. The Yagans have an uncanny ability to regroup shattered units and build ad hoc battle groups. Every tactic the Army uses was drafted by Yagans."

[Telan Desaria]

Yagan Central Command
Outskirts of Faerit City

Yaga Minor


Lieutenant General Lirriet replied with quite a loud yawn to a rhetorical question posed by the briefing officer. The crowd of assembled commanders and staff officers was divided evenly among a younger generation of ambitious and capable men and their older mentors who were more serious and tradition-bound. It was the latter half that gave the IInd Corps commander a chastising cannonade of steel gazes while the former half tried valiantly to suppress laughs and chuckles.


“ Moving on,” commented Colonel Groxman, the briefing officer. “ The Ashland marshlands south of the city could prove to be an excellent landing area. The ground is soft, made only partially firm with a gava root crop. Tracked vehicles and walkers bog down, but repulsor units perform well. 16th and 24th Infantry regiments have taken up positions therein.


“ It is, of course, impossible to defend every inch of land so a strong central reserve is paramount. On Faeria we have five divisions allocated to this purpose: one armored and five infantry. As well, to draw attention from Faerit City itself, East Geretton and a succession of villages in the Corus Mountains are being turned into fortresses. The General Staff anticipates any drive made once a beach head established to point towards the capital. All priorities are subordinated to protecting the capital.”


Lirriet yawned anew and quietly absented himself from the realm of consciousness. As long as his Chief of Staff remained attentive he would receive all pertinent information on the ride back to II Corps headquarters.


Central Command, Faerit City
Yaga Minor


The office of Chancellor Poreon was ornately furnished with antiques and rare items far beyond what should have been the legitimate needs of a planetary governor. Yaga Minor was a world rich in commerce as well as agriculture placing it in a comfortable fiscal position, but not near what a glance at the Chancellor’s furnishings would have revealed it should be.


Lieutenant General Anatoly Travess did not see the point of such trappings. Baubles on men he could abide for it is with such things that men are lead; but in private he saw in them little use. His office as military aide and senior advisor to the Chancellor, after all, was barely more than a small room built around a desk-mounted computer terminal.


“ General, come in,” Poreon beckoned from his own desk, several shot glasses arrayed before him on its azure surface amid piles of priority data discs. A half-empty bottle of brandy did not help conceal the Chancellor’s drinking habits in the face of any stress whatsoever.


Travess entered the room and seated himself squarely before the Chancellor’s desk. “ Poreon, what are you doing?”


He blinked in response, unsure of what his advisor referred.


“ You’re drinking – heavily. I’ve worked for what – the last ten weeks? – too hard to see everything unwind because the senior administrator on this planet is a drunkard. I’ve overseen every measure of this miserable world’s defense to give Desaria a run for his cred-voucher and I’ll be damned if you’re going to ruin it!”


“ Don’t speak that way of Yaga! You’re a guest here – “ he slurred before Travess stood and sent all the shot glasses to the floor with one movement of his hand. They shattered and the liquor spread itself out on the hand woven carpeting. The bottle then followed suit.


Travess then turned and prepared to leave. He added a warning lest the Governor become brazen: “ I’m the only keeping the military from holding this office. If I stop, they come in and you’ll find yourself flying limp from a flagpole.”

[Telan Desaria]

From: Director of External Operations

Department of Imperial Intelligence
Imperial Citadel - Thyferra

Recipient - Colonel Tear, Field Operative 66730

Your mission has been changed. Eliminate the current head of Yagan opposition before the commencement of hostilities. Threat assessment is minimal, but psychological value is high.

Casualties unrelated to this directive are wholly superfluous and irrelevant.

(signed)
Mevis Terrol

[Jarek T'chort]

Marshal Tchort unlocked his fingers and regarded his superior, mulling over his words.

He knew figures like Weckes would not be pleased, playing second fiddle to the - "damned flyboys" - as the ageing Brigadier General called them. Tchort publicly scorned Weckes opinions on the Fleet, without joint co-operation, the Army was nothing, vice versa.

The Marshal sighed, thinking over the possible hardships ahead - no - possible was the wrong word. Definate hardships that would be faced. Yaga Minor was no two bit world, filled with inexperienced conscripts.

"The Army is ready, we are prepared. I already gave orders for embarkation this morning."

Tchort gripped his light pen in his hand, occasionally twirling it around, his mind working feverishly, thinking of possible strategies and tactics for the coming campaign.

"Oh, I almost forgot, I met your brother, young Kiric Desaria! He saved myself and several men from becoming sidenotes of history, an admirable young man."

[Telan Desaria]

" Oh?"

The Grand Admiral arched an eyebrow, confused.

" Last I had heard he was on maneuvers in the Corridor Sector. He performed well, you say? I am very glad to hear that. His father will as well."

[Jarek T'chort]

Jarek noted the arched eyebrow and smiled inwardly. It wasn't everyday one caught Desaria off guard.

"Yes, young Kiric is with the 116th Panzer, they are currently in the process of embarking for Yaga. As for his performance, I have recomended him for a medal of Valour, well deserved"

[Telan Desaria]

" As is your decision, Field Marshal. I trust you will inform me if he does not acquit himself well. I also expect that he will be held to the highest standards of the service and treated no different because of his last name."

The Grand Admiral inhaled slightly, and stood.

" Will you be directing the battle from above in my battleships, or land with the combat echelons?"

[Jarek T'chort]

"As for your first point, I treat all men under my command as they deserve, there is no room for special treatment, no matter how important the name is."

Tchort stood with the Admiral, his steely eyes locked with Desaria's.

"My answer to your question is simple. I lead from the front, I will be there on the ground."

[Telan Desaria]

Grand Admiral Desaria smiled and took full measure of the man he had entrusted with near half the Imperial Armed Services. His record was spotless, and now the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy was as assured of his character.

A gloved hand under a tunic of white extended across the abbreviated width of a neat desk. " Good luck to you, Marshal. I will be there as well, leading my ships. We who would look in the face of death are a dying breed, so let us do so with our boots polished and heads held high. The name Desaria shall never be dirtied, and I doubt the name Tchort will be otherwise as well."

[Jarek T'chort]

Tchort smiled broadly at Desarias words, to gain the recognition and respect of the most powerful man in the Empire was no mean feat. The Marshal extended his own hand and took the outstretched palm of Desaria.

As he shook the Grand Admirals gloved hand firmly, Jarek spoke.

"Thank you for your words Grand Admiral, it is truely an honour to serve you and the Empire."

[Telan Desaria]

The pair released their grasp, firm in comraderie and now the tendrils that built into great bonds of friendship had sprouted in a small office on Bastion.

Grand Admiral Desaria raised his own baton, its hand-crafted delicacy made of polished silver and decked in emerald with gold only for trim. The Fleet was not as fancy as the Army in its generals' decoration.

Boasting a firm gait he exited the office and made his way for the flagship, leaving behind him the general directive of a four-day departure until Yaga Minor would be under the Empire's guns.

[Jarek T'chort]

Desaria had left, his shuttle already in the air, on its way to his flagship.

Tchort knew he had made a strong friend and ally in Desaria, the two were alike in many ways, a strong sense of honor and comradeship.

Yet again, Tchort made his way along Spartan corridors to a waiting lambada shuttle. His hands were already clenched to his sides, a habit of the Marshal when he had issues to worry about. His face was still, calm, but inside, Tchort knew this was his biggest test so far, whose payment would be in his mens blood.

Major Vryss, ever faithful, stood at the ramp of the elegant shuttle, hands clasped behind his back, face neutral. His head still bore a bandage from the fire fight.

"Hemiln, this is history you realize, you could at least make the effort not to look like walking wounded."

Vryss looked startled before recognizing his superiors jovial tone.

"Oh, yes sir, well on a Majors pay, you don't expect me to be looking a billion credits."

Jarek was chuckling to himself, Vryss grinning broadly, as the two soldiers, divided by rank, but not by a common sense of foreboding, clambered up the slowly closing, hissing ramp.

[Telan Desaria]

Yaga was a bright star that could bask even its outermost satellite in a wealth of light. When six Hammer-class Light Cruisers of the 76th Interceptor Squadron appeared from hyperspace and broke apart like starburst, light shone on their sleek coats of azure paint and polished armor. Aft-incanted wings affixed amidship and holding firm two banks of sublight drive engines added to an overall image of demons lunging from the depths of hell. Reversion had put the sun to their backs, making visual targeting all but impossible.


Fire was drawn immediately as was the battle’s first blood. Everywhere space reigned in the place of planet or rock were small platforms bearing light laser cannon. Standing like sentinels before the gates of many hyperlanes were patches of deployed mines, one of which found a new home alongside the cruiser Lexington. Dozens of bright flashes lit her port quarter before her able captain could order her maneuver. Pylons snapped and hull plating cracked, violence incarnate in space.


Rocketing towards Yaga Minor, only atmosphere-wielding world in the system, came five Fire-class Light Frigates and ten smaller Tiger-class Monitors. Arrived was the 34th Light Dragoons who fell upon orbital platforms with a wrathful vengeance. Sparks shot from ship to shore creating a deadly rain of energy. Explosions plumed forth from previously ordered schematical design. Havoc was wrought without exception.


The cruisers were relived of eliminating smaller targets the frigates would dispatch and turned their attention to battle stations. Monitors moved about, slow but toothed, and swept aside armed freighters and fighters that dared to mount resistance. Turbolaser bolts emerged in a sea of small dart-like laser blasts to shake home the point of an Imperial Reckoning to the gunners at their posts.


Unannounced from the northern pole came four heavy cruisers, dubbed Dreadnaughts in their heyday and now floating fortresses worthy of praise but no kudos for speed. Mounting a hundred turbolasers each they were formidable foes but lacked smaller weapons to engage smaller craft.


To provide heavy support to the now out-gunned attackers were five Imperial V-class Star Destroyers and two Auroras – the 3rd Destroyer. At their center was the ship bearing the flag of the Fleet’s Supreme Commander, the SSD II Intimidator.

[Jarek T'chort]

Even as the laser tracer fire criss-crossed the sky, Imperial drop ships emerged like mynocks from a darkened cavern into the depths of space. The Sentinal - class shuttles pulled away from the Destroyers and transports that hid away firmly behind the Imperial screen of warships. Larger carriers ferried the heavy equipment, replusor tanks, heavy artillery, AT-AT walkers.

Angle winged TIE Defenders ran interference for the shuttles as the Excecutor class Flagship brought it's heavy turbolasers to bear upon the light platforms that jealously guarded the spacelanes. In flurries of light and flame, ships and platforms disintegrated under fearsome barrages that leapt from both sides weapons systems.

Screeching TIE's leapt through the fierce interchange of laser energy, their own linked fire paving a way for the following shuttles.

Seven divisions were encased in the hulls of the transports that made up the first wave, young men and women, soldiers, whose fate rested on the skill of the pilots who guided the shuttles through the intense battle.

[Telan Desaria]

The Imperial battleships had one purpose - to eliminate the energy shield that stopped transports and landing barges from taking the war itself to the Yagans front lawn. Cannonade after cannonade pounded on the invisible barrier, flashes of light washing over the bubble.


From their position over the northern pole the quartet of Dreadnaughts unleashed a hellstorm of fire down on the attackers. It was as if a wall of flame consumed three squadrons of TIEs forming up for an attack run. One Tiger-class Monitor was also caught in the defilade and was no longer visible through a hail of shattered hull fragments when the flames subsided.


Grand Admiral Desaria sat calmly on the bridge of his ship and issued orders for every contingency in the heat of an intense battle. Above Captain Voltaire who adeptly directed his batteries' fire was his Admiral on the flag bridge directing the fire of an entire flotilla.


Many an Imperial eye shut as exhaust from one hundred warheads brought forth a great nova. Twenty assault shuttles were quick to break formation when their charges were away when Yagan fighters approached. The shuttles did their duty regardless of their fate, however, as the high-yield projectils sailed true to their target.


Fire blossomed below the raging inferno as payloads exploded, shredding an entire section of deflector. A gap fifty kilometers wide had been forced in the shield.


Desaria turned his attention on the Dreadnaughts after informing Field Marshal Tchort he could commence his landings.

[Jarek T'chort]

The immense cannonade of the Imperial Fleet had ripped open the shield, sending land-bound Yagan technicians scrambling to get back up systems operational.

The first attack wave of shuttles roared as their thrusters were fired up and they entered the atmosphere, hulls glowing molten red as they forced their way through and into the skies of Yaga Minor.

The ships fell from the sky like avenging angels, ramps opening before the landing struts had even touched firm ground. Imperial Fleet troopers were the first out, diving to cover as light Yagan defense positions opened up upon the disembarking soldiers.

The setting was a valley that followed the course of the Jeru river, low hills surrounded the landed ships, where mortar positions rained projectiles down upon the Fleet troopers. TIE Bombers raked the hill tops as the poorly dug in Yagans tried to pull back away from the swooping terror of the TIE's.

Army Group A, composed of three divisions, landed on the valley basin, with the task of cutting the A-2 highway, which was the main communication line on the left continent of Yaga Minor.

Army Group B, four divisions, including the brunt of the armored forces, landed south of Compton city. There, among the rough tundra of the eastern continent, the Imperial first wave met serious resistance, in the form of an entire armored division, dug in and waiting.

Shuttles ferrying troops were shot out of the deep purple sky as AA batteries opened up. Even when disembarked, the attacking troopers found themselves subject to heavy blaster fire and probe attacks by enemy Repulsor vehicles. The bridgehead was held only through sturdy defense and often suicidal bravery, including a young private who waited in a ditch until a heavy replusor tank was right over him. Once the tank hovered over him, the Imperial soldier attached a hollow charge to the weak rear Armour of the AFV. His blood was mixed in with that of the crews as the tank exploded in a ball of flame.

Battle had truly been joined.

[Telan Desaria]

Captain Arix dove into an embankment as the whine of an incoming mortar round quitted itself in mid-air. The sound was the dreaded rocket-propelled mortar, the projectile increasing its velocity by ceasing free-fall. The round slammed home a dozen meters away, dirt and rock showering the ground Arix included.

Tall reeds of green-blue grass waved in the breeze, a faint sheen of grey clouds obscuirng sun and the battle above. A dirt road bisected a brief field between bluffs and the river - caught between as 3rd Battalion, 12th Imperial Fleet Assault Regiment. Donning camouflage smocks and black coalscuttle blasthelmets they stock out against in the valley.

Arix had little time to regard the view, though, his battalion commander's death thrusting unit command on him. He looked to his side where a coporal with a comm-unit mounted on his back hunkered behind a tree.

Damned ridge Arix muttered as the pattering sound of an old-model E-web rattled nearby. A squad of his fellows made a dash from a gulley for the same embankment but were cut down. The Yagans, he admitted, were in an excellent position: his entire battalion could be halted by a platoon of rapid-fire wielding fusiliers.

" Danis! Get over here!"

" Right," the corporal gumbled, hopping from mound of earth to another until he was next to Arix. He snatched the hand receiver and screamed to be overheard. " Hill 003 - they have fortified it! I can't move out forward or to the left. I've sent Beta and Canon companies right to flank the position, but have heard nothing back. Wedges have been driven between us and the Army's 14th Panzer Regiment. Attempts to linkup have failed. Fighter support required."

The voice of the brigade's combat-coordinator answered back. " Confirmed for Hill 003. 73rd Defender en route."

Arix sighed - no matter how much he personified the social rivalry between the Army and the Fleet's Assault Infantry, he could not fault their officers. Support, while lacking in many forces, was not when the Empire took to the field. In short order, twelve Defenders screamed through the clouds loosing withering barrage on the exposed hill-series. Foiliage burned and though no redoubts were visible, Arix knew they were consumed.

Watching as the Fighter Corps hotshots made for another pass, Arix tightened the grip on his blaster rifle and charged, the remaining two companies of the battalion along side...

[THX 1138]

Sergeant Imar dropped onto one knee, his armored leg hitting the ground with a dull thud. His rifle was up and ready, his filtered vision taking in all around him. Imar and his squad were taking cover in a large crater, already they had lost a quarter of their strength to a concealed light AA gun. Now, lying amongst dirt and rough bushes, the Imperial stormtroopers kept their heads down.

The 14th Storm brigade had been at the forefront of the attack, taking nearly 30% losses in the first half hour of battle. Sergeant Imars troopers were in a good position, they held a small hillock, where an abandoned Yagan E-Web afforded them with the way to cut down advancing Yagan infantry that pressed forward to help their fellows. Above, TIE Defenders whined overhead, laser cannons spitting emerald bolts at the entrenched Yagans.

Imar spoke calmly into his helmet Com as another platoon of Yagan infantry rushed his position.

"Watch your flank, concentrate fire the rear-most hostiles."

He snapped up his jet black blaster rifle and opened fire, empty energy cells spluttering out of the side of the weapon. The Yagan pressed forward, ignoring the firepower that was decimating their ranks. As they pressed closer, the Stormtroopers intensified their fire, there was no apprehension, they knew only utter loyalty, they had no fear, it had been purged.

[Teleran Balades]

Emerald beams shot out toward the orbital platform. The bright green blasts mixed with the red-gold blasts returning. The colors melted together, forming an almost elegant displaying in the blackness of space, only to tear itself apart, just as the gunstation did as the focused energy cut into it's thick hull. Turbolaser beams peirced the energy coils and overloaded the capaciters, causing the ovoid platform to erupt from within, showering globules of molten metal that flash froze as fast as they melted into space.

Five fire-class frigates cut through the debris, shields eating any object that touched them.

Command deck of the Fire-class Frigate Harrier

For a brief momment the rest of the battle could be seen as the frigates swooped around to hunt another target. Lieutenant Commander Balades caught a glimpse of the Intimidator and her support ships tearing into the enemy platforms more visciously than a Vorsnk ripping apart a fresh kill.

"Captain Trask, the rest of the fleet has the gunplatforms under controls. Get us a target that hasn't been engaged yet."

The imperial commander sat back, waiting for a reply. He quickly qlanced at the console at his right hand on the command chair. Battle statistics flowed up the screen almost too fast to comprehend. Years of training helped him catch the main details of the surface fighting. The Yagan ground forces seemed to be putting up quite a struggle.

Captain Evan Trask spoke up.

"Sir, the group of dreadnaughts is raising kain out there, they just cut apart two squadrons of fighters."

Tel grimaced the Fire-class frigates weren't a match for that much fire power, they would have been able to handle one, but not four. The commander made his decision.

"Bring us on heading with those dreadnaughts, stand by to launch the our TIEs"

[Tear]

The swirling colors of hyperspace suddenly receded, replaced by stretched needles of light that were snapped back to envelope the tiny advanced tie fighter. Immediately after reverting to real space red flashes of warning lights blazed across several screens, causing Tear to glance up…

There are no words from old or new to describe the magnitude of what mortal eyes captured. Brilliant displays of streaking lights accompanied by plumes of fire and explosions dotted the star blanketed backdrop. Creatures of death and destruction with hides of durasteel armor, bearing teeth of turbolazer turrets and sweeping massive claws of fighter squadrons into the awaiting enemy ships and defense platforms alike. The head of the beast was the SSD II Intimidator directing the body of the war machine. As Tear’s fighter began accelerating toward the clashing fleets he couldn’t help but be over whelmed by the sight. It was either the most beautiful display of fireworks or the most hellish chaotic storm ever witnessed since the battle at Brentaal, either way he was headed for its center.

The small unmarked advanced tie banked and curved around the massive Imperial star destroyers as they let loose shaking blasts of green light illuminated over the fighters stainless black hull. The fighter spiraled slowly as it passed the Destroyers tip toward the planet below.

Tear’s body was fiercely thrown into the side of his cockpit as simultaneous explosions sparked over his left wing causing the ship to twitch to the left slightly. Hissed through clenched teeth Tear glanced down at the scanning display that had tried to warn him of two Imperial defenders that were attempting to lock on. Other then the obvious problem these fighters were friendly’s defending one of the troop transports. An obvious problem when flying an unmarked fighter in an unforgiving storm of allies and enemies. The sleek black fighter rocked back and forth weaving a trail between drop ships and streaking blasts of turbo lazers that ran vertical into the planets shielding. Tears force infused reflexes were too much for the defenders as they gave up pursuit to swat more dangerous vultures that meant to harm their precious treasure.

His fighter began to plummet into yaga minor’s atmosphere the tips of his wings began spark as a warm orange glow began to wash down the fighter’s hull, showering the view port with sparks and light. The fighter, running strictly on sensors, continued to careen down through the clouds running parallel along a troop transport. Tear’s fingers flipped over a few panels making the change to atmospheric flight, his body suddenly feeling the slight pull of the planets gravity.

It was generally frowned at when pilots tinkered with inertial dampers because if calibrated you could end up a red smear against the hull. Some pilots though adjusted the dampers so they can feel a tiny fraction of true acceleration. Aiding a pilot’s intuitive physical sense of his fighter’s motion. The feeling was increased more so in atmospheric flight.

An abrupt flash filled Tear’s cockpit with a blinding light shaking him violently into the sides of the fighter, the impact of his helmet against the solid hull gave a sickening crack as it split. The flash faded slowly giving way to burning debris that screamed passed his from view ports trailing a tail of smoke that was spat from a ball of fire. Anti aircraft fire…one of the transports had just exploded, Tear’s thoughts raced to catch up in the present as he discarded the helmet unemotionally. Another flash, this one smaller and farther off exploded in the sky without warning accompanied by several more explosions dotting the sky like popcorn. Tear thrust forward on his controls sending his craft in a downward plunge. The fighter spiraled through the clouds accelerating even faster with the aid of both gravity and Tears foot on the pedal. A low hum quickly filled the cockpit, signifying Tear pushing the engines to their max.

The fighter came screaming down from the clouds followed by a snaking trail of smoke from its still burning hot hull. Tear’s faced grimaced slightly at the sight of ground rushing so quickly toward him, as he was arched back pulling the control sticks back with all his strength. He was suddenly send forward In a heap as the fighters bottom grazed against a high hill sending a shower of sizzling dirt into the air. Struggling desperately to keep control while flashes of blaster fire erupted from the ground toward him. A growl escaped clenched teeth as the fighter curved downward responding in full with linked quad laser cannon fire shredding into the hillside before pulling back up into the sky.

The sleek black fighter suddenly jumped in accordance of Tear punching in, sending the fighter into full velocity his previous position suddenly lit up in a series of short but brilliant AA fire. Tear piloted his fighter up into the clouds, shrouding against any visual surveillance or targeting. . Radar scans on the other hand would still be able to spot his craft but being unmarked they wouldn’t immediately fire, that is if they managed to lock onto his fighter at the speeds it was going. Tear brushed a hand over his head with a testing touch, bringing a bloodied hand down confirmed what the throbbing pain in his head was telling him. It would have to be dealt with after he made a landing, Tear though with an annoyed sigh as he set the course to Faerit City.

[Teleran Balades]

Ion exhaust spilling from the engines of the small phalanx of ships left a shimering, quickly dissipating wake behind as they quickly closed the gap between the bulky Yagan cruisers. The Frigates split, forming a looser group, making it harder to for the dreadnaughts to concentrate their fire. Singling out a heavy cruiser and using its mass as a shield from the other cruisers, the imperial ships dove into the fray. For a brief moment the name Defiance, stenciled in a foreboding blood red, was dicernable on the prow of the great ship

The dreadnaughts were slow to react, crews caught of guard by the swift and agressive attack. A small barrage of warheads soared out towards the massive ship, instantly followed by a stream of turbolaser and ion fire.

Yagan gunners brought the ships weapons to bear a split second before the first of the missles hit. Just as fire started blossoming on the dreadnaught's shields, a seemingly wall of energy rushed out at the frigates, completely dwarfing their attack.

The Harrier shudder from the impact, shields flickering for a moment as the engineering officer desperatly tried to shunt energy to the shields. The Raven hadn't fared as well, dark scores creased the once glistening hull and several decks were venting atmosphere.

[Telan Desaria]

Aboard the Dreadnaught Intractable
Yaga-loyal warship

" Captain, we have a small force of frigates that appears to be forming up for a run on our ventral-bow quarter."

The ship's commander turned in his chair to gaze at a nearby schematic of the battlefield. Indeed, his tactical operations officer was correct.

" Direct Venere and Adoration to concentrate all port fire on those vessels. Scatter them a bit."

Barely had his orders escaped his lips, the Captain was blinded by a bright flash: a single cannonade of proton torpedoes from a flanking Aurora-class Star Destroyer overwhelemed and incinerated the DRD Capable. He was down to three, and so was Yaga Minor.

But the battle was not over...

[Jarek T'chort]

Whilst the angle-prowed Star Destroyers and assorted suppourt ships were gaining the distinct upper hand over Yaga Minor, the ground battle was only just starting.

A whirrling dust scattered itself over the valleys of Yaga Minors' Eastern continent, dancing in majestic throes of indesicion above the battling forces that fought savagely beneath the greying skies.

From the viewpoint of the circling TIE's that swooped like Mynocks to scrap, it appeared that the ground was alive, moving, writhing, on fire. Tiny armoured figures combed forward, pouring energy bolts at their enemy, entrenched and readily returning fire. Like snails on spice, the dull colored shapes of repulsor tanks rolled forward, providing close fire suppourt for the masses of infantry. Alongside, an assortment of walkers strutted accross the fields of war, turrets concentrating cannon fire at pill boxes and advancing Yagan Infantry. Above this, the mighty AT-AT walkers romped forward, looking like immense metallic animals, their 'heads' lit up as twin laser cannons despatched Yagans like flies.

[Jarek T'chort]

An angled and sharp-featured face stared from beneath his battle helmet out of the rectangular view port before him. His cold eyes saw all before him, the tiny figures that fought in close combat, in trenches, in dugouts and in the ruin of war. Palls of smoke rose against the backdrop of the Golan heights, fortified mountains from which light artillery rained down into the battle. Gloved hands gripped the periscope that hung from the roof above him, a dull glow emitting from it. In front of him, white armored Imperial Army pilots guided the behemoth with precision, muted statements and figures issuing from them in filtered words, no emotion within their voices.

Marshal Tchort's imperious features may as well have been masked for all the feeling it displayed. He was a soldier, a man hardened by combat, as hardy and well versed in killing an enemy at close quarters as the troopers that waited behind him, in the hull of the walker for deployment.

He led from the front as he had promised Desaria, he believed firmly that even such an important figure as himself, must lead from the front, fighting and if necessary, dying, with the lowliest conscript or private.

Heavy blaster fire splattered against the All Terrain Armored Transports head compartment, bright crimson flashed on the tapristeel view port.

"Zero-decimal four-five."

The emotionless voice of the pilot echoed in Tchorts ears as the gunner targeted the hapless blaster battery that peppered fire at the advancing lead quartet of walkers. In a blinding flash of tracer fire, the battery was a smoldering ruin, its blackened shell grim testament to the potency of the veteran AT-AT. Without heavy support, lead elements if the 23rd Infantry Division scald the hill, despatching the defenders in short, sharp bursts of blaster fire.

"Situation?"

Tchort queried, his strong voice strained above the noise of the walkers motion systems.

"First defense line broken, third storm battalion has taken hill 354, Fleet regiment held down under heavy fire ."

Tchort nodded, his eyes never leaving the view port ahead of him.

"Detail Major Koenig to detach a panzer squad to relive the Fleet units. Heavy artillery is to begin bombardment of the Golan heights."

"Sir."

Below the walkers mighty armored legs the keen eyed 23rd Infantry, fresh off of Carida, topped the bluffs that had been the strong point of resistance. Below lay the fertile agricultural areas of the Dovin basin, a swathe of greens and browns that was the patchwork of fields.

Tchort, high in his engine of death, smiled as he saw the mighty Imperial war machine grind forward toward their first target, the city of Compton.

[Tear]

Four miles from Faerit City. Yagan Command Outpost-Check point 0.

“Sir, we have a contact bearing in from sector four on approach vector.” The voice of the man paused randomly through the sound of keys being tapped.

The grizzled features of a man in his sixty’s bearing a uniform that felt to him more like a second skin, turned to face the direction of the voice. The Colonel took a few steps before leaning next to the young ensign. His stern eyes poured over the information that flashed over various screens.

Ensigns fresh from the academy had a bad habit of jumping the gun or mistaking a flock of birds for an incoming missile. Since his time as commander of checkpoint 0 he had seen his fair share of “chirping missiles” and fatigue induced warships coming out of no where. Not this time though, there was indeed a contact bearing a tie fighter signature on an approach vector. Almost immediately the old mans expressions as he was reminded of an early report of an unmarked fighter blowing its way passed two check points, “Who’s flag is she carrying!?”

The ensign’s fingers quickly danced over the control panel before responding, “She has no markings sir.”

The old mans features twisted as orders were barked furiously to everyone in the command outpost, ordering them to lock onto an enemy fighter on approach from sector four when I range.

Cold barrel’s of massive AA turret’s groaned in unison while swiveling into position, growling to a sudden clunking stop, sitting silently waiting to unleash a fury of fire power into the sky.

[Tear]

Drums… War drums pounding deep relentless beats in the depths of Tear’s mind. The soft crackle of flames played shadow puppets against walls that had no ceiling or floor. The swaying flames seemed to be dancing in rhythm of the booming tribal drums. Growing excited the flames reared up roaring into an inferno the rained light into shadow kept depths, revealing a figure that waited there. The figures lips were stretched in a sickening smile as the flames danced in his hateful eyes…his hand began to reach out…

Tears eyes bolted open, in-hailing sharply, eyes darting over the cockpit that hummed with the sound of an engine accompanied by the random flash of console lights. A gloved hand began to tentatively feel through short blond hair searching out a wound. Sharp stinging responded when fingers grazed the tender area of the injury Tear had sustained during entry. He was no doctor but banging your head hard enough to draw blood was never a good thing. The meditation had helped heal most of the damage leaving just a superficial cut that was mending itself with miraculous alacrity. The cut wasn’t what was worrying Tear at the moment though, it was something he had seen while in meditation…

A soft flashing indicator LED suddenly sparked to life urgently, bringing Tear back to reality. A targeting scan warning, must be getting close to the city. Truthfully this was the third time it had happened. The yagan’s would briefly try to make contact, when no answer came they usually gave the word to open fire but by the time a command was given to fire the fighter would be out of range. He was lucky to have gotten away with it twice but this time they didn’t bother to make contact, looks like the word about him had been spread.

Beneath the soaring unmarked fighter bright flashes of light erupted over the landscape from the waiting anti aircraft turrets as made haste fiercely defend their airspace.

[Teleran Balades]

Members of the bridge crew cheered at the demise of the dreadnaught. Teleran almost had to shout to keep them focused.

"No celebrating until this operation is over, we still have three more to deal with."

Tel sighed exasperated; he couldn’t have his crew members acting like green fighter-jockeys. There was no room to make mistakes in the sovereignty, incompetence is harshly punished.

"Launch our TIE Devils, order the other captains to do the same."

Two squadrons of TIE Devils swarmed out of the hold of each of the frigates. The small droid-controlled fighters could weren't much of a threat to the Dreadnaughts, but could act as a distraction or by sacrificed for slight protection. They set to work as per their programming immediately. All 8 squadrons began hunting any enemy vessel within their sensor range. Bloodlessly, they incinerated Yagan fighters with such efficiency, that nothing escaped their clutches.

As well as the Loyal Imperial forces were faring, the Yagans weren't giving up ground lightly. Battery fire from the two dreadnaughts joined with the target the frigates were assaulting. The frigates and other ships wove in and out the hailstorm of fire, avoiding the majority of the blasts. Even so, the Frigates were generous sized targets. Tracer fire from a Yagan ship forced the already damaged
Raven directly into the path of a salvo from a turbolaser battery. Shields turned opaque, sparking at the strain, and finally failed. Almost instantly a second and third salvo ripped into her hull, tearing the ship apart.

Angrily, the imperial ships fell on their larger adversary. Green and blue beams poured into the massive ship's shields, slowly corroding the protective energy field.

[Jarek T'chort]

As midday drew in the fighting eased off, the bloodied Yagans falling back under heavy artillery support that kept the Imperial forces at bay - for a time.

The beachhead had been secured, almost 300,000 soldiers had been disembarked, relieving exhausted Fleet troopers, that had borne the brunt of the stubborn defense. Heavy transports set down, disgorging yet more troops and equipment, for the ever expanding frontline.

"The Yagan defenses south of Compton were bolstered by the Yagan XX Motorized Corps as we were setting down this morning."

The stern features of Brigadier General Weckes matched the sour expression he wore on his face. His greying hair was swept back over his head, his olive uniform was in perfect order, unlike that of the men he was addressing. He had come in with the third wave, he believed firmly in those men who held rank should be safeguarded, which was why he balked at Marshal Tchort's decision to attack with the first wave. Planning was one thing, risking your life going in with the first wave into completely hostile territory was suicidal.

"Orders now, Marshal?"

Weckes voice was laced with a nasty undertone that Tchort picked up on immediately, as did the other regimental officers gathered around the fold away table in the spacious captured command bunker. A Yagan standard still lay trampled along with assorted rations and equipment on the duracrete floor, testament to the hurry with which the Yagans had deserted this defensive position.

Tchort eyed the older man with a hidden contempt, the atmosphere in the bunker was tense, deathly silent. The other officers looked intently to both stone featured faces, the two mens eyes locked in a battle of wills.

"Brigadier General Weckes, I sense hostility, surely not."

Tchorts voice was deathly quiet, the question rehtorical.

"Of course not, sir, I was merely asking a question."

The old general could see he had stepped to far this time, his barbed critism had undone him.

"I see. General, I think its time you experienced combat. You are going to lead the 14th Fleet Infantry brigade on an assault on the Golan Heights."

Weckes visibly turned a shade paler, his hands tightened into fists and uncurled again. The officers gathered around were silent, only the miscellaneous sounds of activity outside the bunker was heard.

"Yes, Marshal."

Tchort smiled at Weckes, then his fellow officers, their faces neutral as best they could be. They knew as well as Tchort or Weckes the strong defenses of the Heights, the Yagan long range artillery had been dug in there, it was surrounded by a ring of pillboxes and trenches.

"I do not tolerate insubordination, I never have and never will, Weckes, you are a perennial coward. You criticize my leadership yet sit tight and snug behind your desk, well now you can enjoy the finer points of close combat. I expect results General, if you fail you will be demoted and attached to supply and logistics, perhaps they need a new runner or driver."

Weckes was fuming, his eyes filled with hate, his knuckles bone white.

"Now, back to the matter at hand, the advance on Compton."

Tchort held his stare with Weckes for a moment longer, then his eyes dropped and studied the large map before him.

[THX 1138]

The smell of atomised carbon penetrated even through the delicate air filters that lined Sergeant Imars helmet.

His thermo glove lined hand swept the dusty ground at his feet. He let the dirt he had gathered run through his fingers, it cascaded and fell to earth, seemingly rumbling as it hit the ground. Imar glanced about him, his squad were covered in dirt, bone white armour dirtied so it was practically camoflaged. His visored eyes took in the hive of activity around him, running figures, the occasional explosion from the long range enemy artillery that pounded to earth, throwing up earth and anything else it caught a mile high into the air.

The bunker ahead was covered in a wide camo net, a narrow slit wraped itself around the duracrete, allowing the occupants to view their surroundings.

A heavy Panzer straddled the thin roadway that wound past the bunker, its twin laser cannons aimed at the bunker. Imar and his men lay on the floor behind the cover of the AV, across from them lay the wounded, four stormtroopers who had been caught out by the well camoflaged bunker.

The tank raised its barrels and let loose a fearsome stream of energy at the bunker, ripping off the camo net that had been strewn over it. The troopers crouched behind the tank watched the bunkers duracreye disentegrate and fall away, revealing the soldier behind their now ruined ramparts. A barrage of fire from the Stormtroopers felled them swiftly, the bunker was now a flaming shell.

Imar spoke up.

"We are through the first line!"

The men stood up, rifles ready, armour filthy, but every inch the fearsome soldiers that reputation made them out to be.

The assault on the Golan Heights has begun in earnest.

[Telan Desaria]

The Golan Heights sat just north of Compton itself, a distressing feature to any attacker. Looming above a thin but impressive chain of bluffs running the circumferance of its enclosed metropolis, a regiment of guards had withstood one thousand attacks on it in the pages of legend.


Given its history - or more likely mythological standing - the Heigths offered the quintessential bastion to stall or wholly halt an assault. That was the purpose it then served under orders of General der Infanterie Maximillian Wavell, 4th Yaga Army.


Wavell's words still rung true in the ears of Lieutenant General Lirriet as his panzer rumbled forward under a hail of artillery fire: " Attack as you never have, or fail you never should." The emotion the elder commander poured into his words bore his concern in every gesture and phrase, indeed he did not want to see his home-city reduced to rubble.


Snatched from his defensive-preparations in the north, Lirriet and two of his Corp's three divisions marched cautiously on. From the lowliest squad coporal to the corps commander himself, everyman in the 4th Army knew his life was forfeit. Onward they strode to pay a price in blood on a bill their attacker had sent. Compton was not only the major city on the Western Continent, it was hub to a flow of refugees whose numbers exceeded a billion. To protect these fleeing masses seeking solace on a lifeline and river two hundred thousand men pledged their lives.


Night having fallen, Lirriet looked forward with vile anticipation to his leading walkers four kilometers away. Flashes from missiles gave away their location to the naked eye but the vehciles themselves guarded their cloak of silence with fanaticism.


The Imperials had left their flank from the Masaurian Lakes north dangerously undermanned for an attack on the Heights - and it was toward that thin grey line Lirriet pondered. Oh their commanding Marshal had placed reserves nearby, but a careless junior commander had pushed them back for the night...

[Telan Desaria]

Aurora B-class Star Destroyer Peremptory
Above Yaga Minor


After the Battle in Space...


Yaga , as centerpiece to a blockading armada, had become the sun to which the Imperial computers adjusted their clocks. It had taken some getting used to the first shift-change, but Imperial crews had taken so many planets the lag was bearable and noticed less with every addition to the roster of the vanquished.

Remembering many a passed action, Lieutenant Jarvis Lorrie yawned perceptibly as his gunnery-liaision stormed towards him.

" What Winey?"

" Don't call me that."

The watch commander yawned again and smiled - he did so enjoy rattling the cage of his Academy-friend.

" I've got a communique from some ground-pounders for some fire support but the scanner's aren't showing any movement. Orders?"

Lorrie shut his smile down and became all-business. " Give them the fire - it can't hurt anything unless you aim wrong."

[Telan Desaria]

Lieutenant General Lirriet heard the report through his headset and did not like being the user of an untried weapon. Granted, if it was successful, he and his countrymen had a chance to save their home. If not, then an entire Corps north of the Lakes and another three brigades making the main attack south of it wedged between water and hills would perish.


" Destroyer moving into defilade position. Ready X16s."


Lirriet made the conscious decision to remain standing through his cupola as he had during every battle. Dangerous and frowned upon, there was not a mechanized officer who gave an order without doing it. In this case, the cloak of night had fallen too swiftly to give the commander any view his sensors could not: he had chosen to take death with his boots vertical.


Crossing himself three times in an ancient Orthodox custom, Lieutenant General Lirriet looked into the sky. Indeed, a hail of neon was streaming down as if in slow motion. Tens of thousands of soldiers were gazing up at that very moment and preying to every god imaginable for luck and ease.


Before the bolts could strike home and incinerate an entire corps' worth of Yagan equipment, a dozen odd-looking repulsor tanks belched forth streams of red. The bulbous contraptions rocked in recoil but poured forth small missiles in every direction above. A hundred meters above the ground they exploded ina firesome display, piercing ear drums and drawing a considerable amount of blood.


Lirriet clamped the side of his helmet in pain but looked up expectantly nonetheless. From where the missiles danced on tongues of red there flitted small streams of grey reflecting a pale and dim moon-light. A veritable rainbow hung barely above the heads of men, greens mixed with reds, whites with orange.


There was little to be aware of other than that very green that bore down with a terrifying force. Then the bolts disturbed the calm sea of relfective shards - and dissipated.


It was an amazing affect, ionized and energized bolts of lethal plasma shattered at the subatmoic level, its energy dispersed above and below. Broad swathes were cut in the earth below, men and machine torn from life to be replaced with lifelessness.


" Frell! By the Gods!!!""


Lirriet was dumbfounded as he looked above, the rain of terror stopped miraculously. Miracles lay in that occassion in the hands of capable engineers tinkering with microrelfective surfacing as a means of armor. While hundreds lay dead and vehicles sat smoking, the majority of those marked for obliteration lived to fight again. The strips flittered down to the earth, the General watching many a man and woman scampering atop one another to save and treasure.


The attack could resume - and it had to: the Yagans had vengeance to sow...

[Jarek T'chort]

"Wow."

The words of one young dark haired Captain standing with Marshal Tchort captured pefectly the stunned disbelief of the gathered Imperial officers.

"Wow indeed."

Tchorts face was a scowl, eyes narrowed into the darkened night through his green tinted macrobinoculars.

No breeze or wind blew across their position just south of the heights. Tchort was just behind the 60th Guards division as it halted in its steps and swiveled on its axis of advance to face the threat that had defied the raw firepower of the Imperial Navy's gunners. The Yagan Corps was now re-grouping, sweeping up toward the flank of the Imperial advance. Tchort looked straight at his operations officer beside him.

"I want heavy bore artillery on their heads now, pull back the 150th Infantry reserve, allow the Yagans to reach - "

Tchort snatched the folded map from another subordinate who stood with him and jutted a finger at a pass that the Corps would have to pass through, it meant giving up a small village which held a crossroads, but a few reserve divisions could not hold an entire Corps. On the pass, however, they would.

" - here. The Yagans will know this, so I want the 25th Engineer company to form up on the bluffs and set up heavy fire positions. Now!"

A chorus of "Yessirs" filled the chill night air as Tchort made his gamble.

[Telan Desaria]

There was much confusion above Yaga Minor, what was supposed to be a withering barrage of turbolasers falling harmlessly on unsuspecting enemies. Officers of the Navy found themselves berated by superiors bearing many times more questions than answers.

Hundreds of kilometers beyond vacuum and space stood the soldiers of the Imperial Army, men too busy with the situation to worry the hows of what had transpiried: their concern was what to do about it. As a matter of course, such absurd and unheard of action had drawn the attention of the highest-ranking officer on Yaga Minor.

Field Marshal Tchort was a man of great dignity, but more importantly he was an officer of prompt action given over to gradual victory before useless sacrifice. The men who knew his style were unconcerned with his order of a disciplined withdrawal, while those that weren't found themselves made to work regardless by the veterans themselves.

General Lirriet bounded atop an earthen bunker situated at a strongpoint along the Imperial line. His armored units had torn through the redoubts only to find scurrying Imperials behind it - a sign they took as a positive omen. Two or three companies had been taken in the rout, but their retreat had been more organized than pell-mell.

That thought occupied the General as he surveyed teams of engineers laboriously turning defenses facing east to west. A mental map whirred to life in the General's mind's eye, the Forris Valley funneling his advance to a crawl before the open plains north-west of Compton could be exploited. A village sat ahead of the valley, his leading scout-walkers entering without opposition.

" Coporal!" Lirriet called, snapping his fingers at the diminutive non-com serving as his communications officer.

Transmitter in hand, the commander gave new orders to his men.

" Advance armor - halt in Village " he glanced at a map hanging in selefance at his side " 246. Supporting grenadiers to take point on advance. Fusiliers to follow. Armor advance in support and reserve. Prepare and defend against ambush. Sun won't rise for ten hours."

[Jarek T'chort]

The Imperial reserves, mostly made up of the recruits picked up on Carida, had escaped the jaws of the Yagan advance mostly intact, a testament to the skill of the company commanders and the discipline of the individual soldier.

From his vantage point overlooking a flickering holo map that was situated in his sturdy command bunker, Marshal Tchort's eyes flickered over the dots of light that represented units and positions. His mind was on overdrive, his face drawn and intense.

"So, they've stopped. They won't be drawn in. Very well, Vryss?"

Major Vryss, arm out of sling now, lifted his squarish head from his console.

"Marshal?"

"I want a mobile formation formed at once, detach units from the reserves detailed to attack the heights if needs be but I want them on the double."

"At once sir."

Vryss and his staff set to work at once, detailing orders and directives to the designated commanders.

Tchort had another gamble to play, but he would not reveal his hand yet.

[Telan Desaria]

Lirriet wondered who commanded whatever forces were arrayed before him. Reconaissance and surveillance could paint only so much of a picture, but the unexpected success of the Yagan advance had left any such picture dangerously short of pastels.

The II Corps Commander stood off on a wall of the valley, rocky outcroppings and long-ago forged mounds of earth prodividng an excellent view of his plodding infantry. Indeed, with the village at his back, Lirriet had four battalions of armor with engines reved waiting impatiently to run wild. The General know, however, that infantry would be the key at that phase.

Squinting to pierce haze and night, Lirriet looked towards his men. The uniforms of the panzergrenadiers were camoulfaged through and through, guns painted brown and green to blend ever more. Slowly they crept on as the valley widened, explosive-armed fusiliers following in short order.

The first shots came as a weary sergeant stumbled on a stern faced Imperial sentry. Neon and red clashed against sparse trees and waving grass. Explosions rank about when Yagan elements came across hastily dug-in infantry of an Imperial Guard's company, grenades flying free subject only to gravity.

Lirriet overheard a company commander leading the now-running advance call for artillery support: an Imperial position or staging area had been reached as the valley faded to plains. Then he had no choice.

" Panzers - forward!"

[Jarek T'chort]

"How long Vyss?"

The growl of Tchorts voice sliced through the buzz of conversation and hum of computers.

"To assemble any sizeable force we'll need at least half an hour."

Tchort slammed a fist upon the holo table in front of him, causing the image to flare and settle once more.

"Very well, throw in any and all reserve groups in the area of the Yagan advance, they must be halted."

He watched as the Yagan mobile Infantry reached a forward staging area, engineering vehicles caught in the open were blown away by the advancing Infantry and Panzers, yet the Guards were putting up a firm resistance.

Then, came a sound that made all the combatants heads look upwards. Long range heavy bore artillery, released from Kruppx I9 Cannons, tore through the lightening skies, smashing down onto the plains before the pass, onto the advancing armour and infantry. It was a technique Tchort had pioneered on Hilari and subsequently added to all Artillery training programs, to co-ordinate fire so it could be concentrated in a confined area, almost ontop of friendly positions.

The barrage streaked in, plasma and shells falling to earth with shrill whines.

[Telan Desaria]

There was a great tremor in the earth as large bore shells slammed into the ground. Fountains of dirt fell among yelling infantry, shards of rock slammed down amid a rain of fragmented metal. Men and women alike so long as they wore the double eagle emblem of Yaga Minor were shredded like cheese at market.

The fusiliers marched ever forward seemingly pushing the grenadiers on, but nary a soldier wavered. Unlike the Imperials they were fighting for their homes.

There was only one way to escape the devastation of the barrage, with scores of men and entire companies thrashed aside, and that was to move - forward. Knowingly, the commanders on the ground pushed their boys on with both words and pistol.

Armor began to push on with the infantry but were not spared their fate. Walkers low sporting one man flipped in the air, disemboweled. Heavy panzers and repulsor tanks armor was shattered, their turrets flung aside with blast and concussion.

Some did pass, however, but more did not. It was then that the order of a charge was given:

Those units engaged were to throw themseleves as the Imperials...

Those staging and behind began looking for a way around the murderous valley. Even as Yaga batteries opened up in counter-fire, Lirriet hung his head.

[Telan Desaria]

Aboard the Imperial Flagship

Grand Admiral Desaria mused over the scene before him: the Yagans had been routed, one Dreadnaught and many small craft disappearing into the depths of hyperspace. Debris lay scattered in orbit, metal and flesh drifting lazily until chewed up by time and atmosphere.

With the action of combat concluded, time remained to analyze battle's occurance. The execution thereof required diligence, and those that had displayed it deserved recognition.

" Captain Voltaire."

The aged commander of the flagship turned to his Admiral and rendered a rigid attention. " Sir?"

" My compliments to the assumed-commander of the Frigate...Irriscept. Bring him aboard and before me."

Voltaire nodded and summoned the officer as ordered. He did not know the man in question but the roster flashed green on query: Teleran Belades

[Jarek T'chort]

From trenches, foxholes and dug outs cut roughly into the rock of the pass, Imperial troopers experienced their first taste of close combat. The counter fire if the Yagans splattered against the loose rock that made up the pass, or into the forms of soldiers who manned their positions.

The look on many a young green rookie's face was that of terror. The Yagans did not turn about despite the increasing fire that leveled whole platoons as they approached the pass over coverless ground. The pass itself was approximately one mile wide, it sloped gently up to a certain height, then straightened up. On these slopes the Imperials delivered their withering hail of fire upon the Yagans.

Even despite this, the Yagan infantry, suppourted by what was left of their panzer and walker suppourt, routed the Gaurds who they had ran into, clearing the trenches that formed the outer ring of Imperial defenses in a bloody swathe of often hand to hand combat. The guards were decimated, yet inccured heavy losses on the Yagan infantry that charged the dug in Imperial troopers head on.

The Yagans crawled onwards, pressing toward the waiting - and firing - Imperial soldiers that looked down on them from the relative safety of their foxholes.

[Teleran Balades]

Commander Balades stared out of the viewport on the small Lambda-class shuttle, leaving the battle scarred frigate behind. The battle had gone well, he had only lost one frigate with mild damgage to the rest, an amazing feat after charging a quartet of dreadnaughts. In the ended the remnant forces had fled the battle, leaving those on the ground to fend for theselves, a distasteful and incompetent act.

Soon after moping up disabled ships debris that littered the region, some pieces slowly being pulled in by the planets grivity, Telran was summoned to the Intimdator. He didn't quite know what to expect, except that he was wanted there ASAP.

As the tiny ship descended into the docking bay, Tel marvelled at the size of the SSD. The eight-kilometer ship seemed to swallow the shuttle. He recalled the time when he was still with the missguided rebels, desperatly hoping that he would never have to face one of these behemoths in combat. Thinking of that almost unnerved that battle-hardened commander, but what had he to worry, he had already proven his loyalty to the Imperial Sovereignty.

Upon exiting the shuttle, a lietenant directed him to where he needed to be. Tel stood looking at a durasteel door decorated with the imperial crest. A slight whoosh could be heard as the door admitted him. A well furnished office greeted him, a handcarved desk made of an exquiste wood was placed near the back wall. Tel could see the faint tracing of another door on the wall.

Commander Balades calmly stepped into the ffice and stood at attention, waiting to be acknowleged.

[Telan Desaria]

Aboard the Intimidator

" Commander Belades."

The summons came from behind the officer, who promptly turned to be greeted by a sharply-dressed 3rd Lieutenant. There was a broad red stripe along his trouser, the scarlet of the General Staff. A pair of spotless-white lanyards hung from his left shoulder, partially covering his two-over-two rank plaque. Hair combed and face iron he was the quintessential recruitment-poster image of an Imperial officer.

Belades was not given the chance to even acknowledge his name, the brusque junior liaison escorting his superior to the bridge, high above the Super Star Destroyer's hull.

There, though Belades was blissfully unaware, waited Grand Admiral-Baron Telan Desaria.

Yaga below...

Lieutenant General Lirriet felt his chest expand within the confines of his armor as he watched the sight ahead of him: between a half-dozen flipped repulsortanks sat the blown-aside wake of the seventh that had made a trip without incident up a rocky and awesomely steep ravene.

The feat itself was not so awesome, that is to say, not for a light hovercraft. Propelled on a cushion of air, the seventy-tonne form of a heavy panzer was something more difficult to control on a 64 degree incline.

That one craft made the dash amid cries silented by a roar of artillery and presented itself on the left 'top' of the valley. Shortly after, one more, then two, rumbled into view to whatever observers dared move from carefully concealed positions to gaze on a thought-quiet and unassailable position.

Infantrymen came next, rushing about from rock to tree, concealed by grass and reed waving to and fro, wind pushed by explosion and fire. Next came fusiliers sporting pieces of mortars they quickly assembled a way down the 'range.' Lirriet was among them, on foot and armed, and glad for at least a spark of hope....

[Jarek T'chort]

The Imperials that held the pass had decimated the Yagans, what would have routed other armies merely seemed to slow up the Yagan advance a little before it stuttered onwards.

The young Imperial Infantry held their ground, as the artillery ceased fire, wary of hitting friendly troops. As the Yagans pressed upwards to their flank, the troops manning the positions on the ravine suddenly came under a barrage of motar fire, that fell with shrill whines, smashing with great violence into the brittle rock. The Imperial soldiers hefted weapons about, eager faces scouring the foliage beside them for the new threat....

Marshal Tchorts Command Bunker

Unaware yet if the Yagan sweep around the ravine, the staff officers inside the bunker were for now, at least, preoccupied with the steady advance up the Golan Heights, though it was indeed costly in men and material.

"Major Vryss, has Battlegroup Kehle assembled yet?"

"Yes sir, they are ready to move out."

Tchort nodded and watched the glowing holo-map before him, the radiant light casting deep shadows on his face and uniform.

"Order them to move out."

A few miles away from the ravine Battlegroup Kehle, consisting of two divisions worth of repulsor tanks and mobile infantry, along with the various suppourt vehicles and LAV's reved up engines and repulsors hummed to life. The armored group shuffled toward the dancing lights of battle before them.

[Telan Desaria]

Golan Heights, north of Compton City

Colonel Rodgriss was very honored to look from one end of his command - the 34th Infantry Regiment - to the other. Arrayed on the forward slope of the entrenched Yagans were thousands of bodies laying smoldering in the night sky. Were it not for the power of marcobinoculars amplifying what little light flickered, he would not have been able to distinguish chared flesh from fire-scared earth.

The Imperial assaults had ceased for the night, Rodgriss staying awake to partake in the flat calm. Now and again batteries of projectile howitzers gave night a voice as they thundered away the strains of a deadly symphony. Such cacophony had deadened its fear, four days of constant assault passed with great stress. An ear perked, the Colonel listened only to vaired explosions as the overture faded: hollow sounds emanated with misses, multiple blasts in quick succession the herald of hits on target.

To his left, a sweep of his macrobinoculars revealed repeating blasters hidden in outcroppings of stone enshrouded by foliage - a very effective camouflage. Only with a second look could Rodgriss distinguish between a captured field-gun and the large felled tree-trunks around it.

To the right was the smashed remains of an Imperial Walker destroyed while mounting the slope. Around sat many blackened chunks of metal in which soldiers had found effective refuge. Among them was a heavy lascom - the 200mm-bore laser cannon ever-so effective in slicing through the heaviest of armor.

Confident, Rodgriss turned around and fell asleep surrounded by staff officers and guards high above a blood-splattered field.

Northern Spike - Feignt Assault

Lirriet watched with intense calm his several repulsor tanks speeding passed dug-in Imperials slaughtering brave Yagans in a fatal ravine. It was with great joy when the valley opened and the ravine's tops molded with a field of swaying reeds and he ordered the opening of fire in the rear area of the enemy's defense. Outnumbered, his onyl asset was the elemnt of suprise.

[Teleran Balades]

Balades followed the brusque lieutenant, not sure of what to make of him. His attitude was not unexpected, but the fact that he was leading him to a different part of the ship was. The commander followed the man unheisitantly, eventually being led to one of the main turbolifts. He stepped in as silently as the officer leading him, wondering where their destination was.

The swift turbolifts quickly conveyed them to the upper levels of the ship. Teleran was surprised to see the vast bridge viewports as the doors hmmed open. He could see down into the individual terminals and staions on either side of the main command walkway. He quickly followed the Lieutenant as already brisk pace increased in speed. Even the it seemed an impossible feat, the juinor officer was walking straighter and more purposefully than in the lower level.

[Tear]

Fingers of electricity felt their way around the quaking cockpit causing sparks and fires to explode outward from various control panels and console screens. A streaming tail of smoke billowed from the damaged advanced tie fighter as he barreled its way to earth from AA illuminated skies. Tear struggled through gritted teeth to keep his grip on the shuddering control sticks while piloting his craft to a small lake a few kilometers from the Capitol City of Yaga minor. Explosions disrupted the thick black smoke that spewed from the burning craft as Anti aircraft gunners attempted to make a direct hit on the fighter before it crash landed. Instinctively Tear inhaled deeply releasing the controls while burying his head his arms at the sight of water rushing toward him, bracing for the inevitable impact.

Gloved hands unclasped and slid back from Tears head, raising it to survey the damage. Steady drips of water poured from above inciting random sparks to explode outward in a shower of gold. Nimble fingers worked over various straps and clips as Tear pulled himself out of the seat, reaching back to grab and pull a out small black case that had been strapped to the back of the seat. A quick slam of a fist to a control panel caused a sealed hatch to burst outwards a resounding splash was followed from the hatch’s top coming back down. Tear grunted slightly as he tossed the box out the same hole before turning back to the communications console. Fingers tapped feverishly over dim lit buttons that were beginning to fade out. A small array slid smoothly from the Tie fighters upper hull, spreading into a dish like array charging with a hum before a tight laser beam shot upwards to the Imperial fleet in orbit.

In short the message relayed Yaga military positions in detail. Reconnaissance showed roughly the exact positions of most Artillery and Anti-Aircraft outposts in the direction from the landing site toward Faerit City. All the areas that his tie flew over were scanned for future reference. In all honesty troops and armored positions scanned would have been moved during the course of the entire battle but it the message would act as a blue print for future advances into that area.

After making sure the message had been sent and received Tear punched in a few final commands to the craft that have dutifully carried him to his destination and delivered him alive. Even though not alive, he appreciated the fighter as a pilot. The fighter’s engines began a dull hum that if you listened close enough, was rising higher. Reaching up to take hold of the opening Tear hefted himself up and out of the cockpit sliding down the hull into the water with little more then a ripple to show for.

Long pieces of sea grass bent to the side as Tear filtered through to the shore. Catching his breath Tear glanced back to the craft, the hum of the engines was loud enough that vibrations caused the water to ripple and splash about the sinking fighter. The engines had also allowed the search party, sent from the outpost that had shot him down, to zero in on the downed fighters position. Force enhanced vision flashed over Tear’s eyes as he watched silently, concealed in the long blades of lake grass, as the Yagan forces approached the craft weapons drawn.

“Goodbye…” Tear whispered silently a smile pulling at the corner of his lips when the realization of his enemies fate was sealed.

The humming of the engines climaxed for moment before dying to complete silence…the sky suddenly lit up in a brilliant flash of light as a loud boom and the roaring sound of flame echoed over the area. The explosion sent a shock wave of water out from the fighter as smoking pieces of debris and flame sparkled through the sky before landing with a splash, sizzling as it sunk down through the water. That had to be at least twelve men Tear thought to himself cheerfully while unclipping the box’s cover, opening it, revealing his equipment.

A few moments later padded soles fell silently over Yaga minors soil…equipment was fitted and strapped tightly to Tear’s stealthy body as he slipped into the shadows of Faerit City.

[Jarek T'chort]

The Yagan panzers smashed into the rear areas with a flurry of rapid fire from their cannons. They drove forward, keeping up supressive fire on the trenches and ripping apart the tents and assorted vehicles behind the lines with ease. Those Imperials caught in the open were cut down by the anti infantry weapons in the hulls and on the copolas of the repulsor tanks. Behind the Yagan panzers came the infantry, clearing out Imperial infantry disorientated by the panzers cutting into their rear areas. Yagans stood atop dug outs and mowed down the Imperials in a hail of baster fire.

Yet even as the camoflauged Yagan force was slicing through the Imperial rear, a steady humming arose toward the south east. Along the highway that ran past the ravine poured in half of Battlegroup Kehle. Panzergrenadiers in armored repulsor carriers daubed in matt colors over the standard Imperial grey and heavy Repulsor tanks, their cannons charged and elevated, ground toward Lirriet's forces. The heavy tanks rolled forward with a bloodlust, scoring several hits before the enemy panzers even realised the tanks had appeared. The Infantry were right behind the tanks, blasting away at the Yagan infantry, exposed in the open like their enemies had been but moments ago.

Battlegroup Kehle ran straight into the flank of the Yagan attack, the superior numbers of the Imperials sorely telling against the battle hardened Yagans.

Even as the right flank of Battlegroup Kehle charged at the enemy the left fank, which was roughy 70% of the force, swept along the highway, ignoring the battle around the ravine. They swerved, the tanks, LAV's, AT-PT's and troop carriers repulsors humming with great intensity like an enourmous swarm of flies. The right flank wheeled about swiftly and ground to a halt on the bluffs overlooking the valley below.

[Jarek T'chort]

The Yagan thrust was halted abruptly in its advance by the sudden attack of Battlegroup Kehle. The reed-topped hill was lit up as the two forces battled away, red, greens and violets illuminating the solemn skies above the two armies.

Yagan fusillers turned into de facto tank killers, many times rushing toward the Imperial armour and ignoring the withering anti-infantry fire, demolished the repulsor tanks with suicide tactics. The Yagans jumped into foxholes and trenches, boots often landing on the corpses of the former occupants. There they met the somewhat reckless charge by the Imperials.

Colonel Garjer leaned forward in his modified Chariot LAV command vehicle, his face a mixture of contempt and anger.

"All troops disembark at once, charge them now!"

His barked orders reberverated into the headsets of the panzer crews and the Imperial Panzergrenadiers. The soldiers piled out of the transports, some of which already on fire from the accurate and deadly shooting of the Yagan troops.

The Yagan infantry in turn now held the ravine, they held the belief in victory close to their hearts, they fought to keep their homes and their land. They had the motivation that no amount of Garjers increasingly wild yelling could arouse in the Imperial soldiers.

Colonel Garjer slumped into his seat, his hair rustling against the durasteel roof of the Chariot LAV. His face a hot red color as he watched his panzers being demolished in front of him. He had disregarded the standard mobile warfare rules, favouring a swift rush of heavy tanks with little Infantry suppourt.

"Fall back, fall back."

The words came out in an irritated growl that made his command staff look up from under coal scuttle helmets at him. His eyes fell to his chest as he spoke again.

"Pull back now, all troops fall back."

The comm officer relayed the orders, the remaining troops and vehicles pulling back under intense Yagan pressure.

Behind them on the grassy hill the wrecks of tanks and walkers lay burning next to the bodies of Imperial and Yagan alike.

[Telan Desaria]

The ravine was cleared, the valley quiet, and the area beyond chaotic in a display of running men and withdrawing armor. The night sky gave silent reception to men in blacks and grey slipping away into darkness.

That cloak of black was pierced not by light but sound as a thousand men and women gave a hearty yell to victory. Lieutenant General Lirriet took part, swinging his helmet round before placing back on his head. While his men turned trenches and removed the weapons of the fallen, commanders rallied their troops into defensive positions and staging stance. Their plight, though deadly and intense, was local and no more than a skirmish.

" Command, come in."

" Good job!" replied a familiar voice that Lirriet immediately recognized as his Chief of Staff, enjoying his post in the rear. He was efficient and brave, no man able to question his ability or the medals on his chest. Soldiers of every rank recognized his talent and never doubted the appropriateness of his position.

" What's the status of task Force 76?"

There was a pause on the end of the Corp's senior administrator, Lirriet seeing in his mind's eye his good friend shuffling about reports and communiques. " They're still clawing at the Imps' inner works. Whoever they've got in charge gave explicit orders for defense and is pretty good at 'is job. I'd estimate, though, given progress already, another five or so hours before we penetrate their lines. Several or so later we can send in the exploitation teams."

The Corps commander could not hold back a grin - it was always funny to listen to the man on the opposite end give interesting names to the units he dispatched.

Lirrient ended the conversation and gave a moment of silence to those poor, brave devils slugging out every centimeter thirty kilometers to the south. Re-donning his helmet, he wished them the best and turned south himself to begin turning the Imperial line - he hoped to annihilate it cleanly, driving to the edge of the lake itself.

At least with the valley no longer a killing ground, his armor and reserves could move up and give battle before flipping in a futile climb. The memory of thirty-nine wrecked yet un-engaged respulor tanks and a dozen small AT-STs pained greatly when his command panzer, fresh and refueled, rumbled beside him...

[Jarek T'chort]

Marshal Tchort's Command Bunker

Seven officers stood to firm attention, two with slings and one on crutches. They all still wore the light field armor, helmets tucked under their right arms. Each bore the rank of Colonel to General.

General Kehle himself stood leftmost of the assembled officers. He wore his battle armour, yet his Medal of Valour twinkled above his olive-grey collar. His eyes took in the scene about him. The duracrete bunker was of sturdy construction, built to withstand a direct hit from a Kruppx heavy howitzer. A ring of lamps ran along each wall, illuminating the scene in which he stood. In the spacious bunker, control consoles had been set up, they lined the walls too, with various consoles set up in rows, with attendant techs controling the furious battle that was taking place to the south as they waited.

Colonel Garjer shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his face was still twisted into a scowl, eyes darting to the various activity around him.

The bulky metal door swung open with a screech of unoiled hinges. In stepped a young officer with the rank bar that indicated he was a major.

"This way sirs."

He led the way out of the bunker, feet tapping against duracrete as he led them down a flight of steps and into an ante-chamber. In the smaller room they came to a halt. The room was bare save for stacked munitions boxes along one fifteen meter thick wall.

"Gentlemen."

A low toned voice sounded from behind them. As they turned, they snapped to attention. Before them stood the impressive shape of Marshal Tchort, his black toned uniform, indicitive of his position within the Storm Corps. Two silver epilulates lined his shoulders which matched the Imperial Cross topped with rubies and swords that glimmered underneath the nape of his neck. At his side was a Blas-Tech D-57 blaster.

The officers attention was immediately drawn to the blaster that rested in the grip of the Marshal.

"General Kehle, explain to me why there are Yagan troops inside our lines, why your counter attack against a weaker force failed miserably?"

Kehle nodded at the Marshals questions, his black hair falling limply across his forehead. He answered slowly and deliberately.

"My forward elements, engaged the enemy around the ravine with the intent of routing them and continuing on to the small stettlement that lay north of the position."

Kehle looked down at the floor as he spoke now, his voice monotone.

"Upon reaching the ravine, we encountered the Yagan thrust which the forward elements engaged. The right flank proceeded to a flanking poistion with the intent to sweep behind the Yagans. However, due to the heavy losses sustained by the left flank the right flank withdrew as they came under fire and the left flank fell back."

Tchort nodded once and stood in front of Kehle, his face mere inches from the General.

"Why is the loss of almost half the combat strength of the Battlegroup not your fault General?"

"I followed my orders sir, I attacked as planned, but once the armour of the left flank had been destroyed the attack faltered. Sir."

"So what was worng with the attack of the left flank?"

Tchorts face was a snarl by now, lip curled above gritted teeth.

"The forward elements attacked without suppourt and charged without my orders."

"Ah, now we come to the crux of the matter! Who, General Kehle, commanded that advance element?"

"Colonel Garjer, sir. "

Garjers face fell, his arrogant composure now one of anger. He opened his mouth to speak.

The single sound of a blaster shot echoed through the command bunker.

The limp body of Colonel Garjer fell to the bunker floor with a dull thud. A small trickle of blood ran from the open wound in his chest.

"Now, gentlemen. Colonel Garjer is the - was the - type of officer I despise. Brash, over-confident and smug in his command. Well now, I want you men to take this as a lesson. Failure due to your circumstances I understand, I have been in your position remember. Failure due to the ineptitude of a commanding officer is not forgivable."

The officers swallowed almost in unison at his words, eyes drawn to Tchorts now calm face.

"I want Battlegroup Kehle re-formed in the next three hours. You are to form up and stand by for my orders."

"Sir!" The voices rang out.

Tchort turned up the stairs but as he walked out of sight, his voice filtered down to them.

"Do not fail me again, do not fail the Empire."

[Tear]

A dark silhouette dropped from the shadows of a nearby skyscrapers roof, falling through the air to land on a balcony below with nothing but the hissing sound of air being pushed out from burdened lungs. The dark form sunk back flat against duracreet wall, peeking out through the stained glass doors of a busy Chancellors office.

Far too long, Tear thought to himself while soft blue eyes checked the doorway for security measures. Not only had he had to slip around the heightened security of a worlds central command, at war no less, but he also had to deal with the lines of troops parading the streets below and above in various vehicles. Although, a brief call with a patrol speeder that some how had an unfortunate incident and ended up careening into a residential building ending in a large explosion with the help of a thermal detonator that had been tossed into the vehicle pre-impact, did provide a nice distraction.

A slight squirt of sparks popped into the air as Tear disarmed a silent alarm that had been installed on the door incase it was opened from the outside. Kneeling low hands strained against squeaky door handles that lead to a soft click, opening the door just enough to let himself slip in before closing it quietly behind.

Tear body moved with deadly purpose closing the distance through the empty room to the tall-backed chair of the Chancellors. Standing straight he glanced down at the aged man, back hunched over with his mouth in the air, a bottle lay on its side the steady drip of its contents padding into the pool of liquor already formed in the carpet. A smirk played over Tears lips while taking a seat opposite of the snoring chancellor, giving a quick glance toward the door’s operating panel manipulating it with the force the panel gave a quick beep before flashing red, confirming it was locked.

Stretching back over the chair Tear kicked up his heels onto the desk while removing a small data pad that held an image file. The image was taken from a brief detour at the Chancellor Poreon’s residence before making his way to the Yagan central command. It was an image of the Chancellor’s family, tears running down the cheeks of his daughter with his wife’s face pressed cheek to cheek, both bound to the other. The data pad flew from Tear’s fingertips to land with a clatter on the finely furnished desk causing the aged man to jump awake blurting an inaudible word.

“Good morning Chancellor Poreon. I trust you slept well?” Before the man was able to speak a blaster was pulled from its holster which was leveled instantly at Poreon’s forehead. “Now before you ask, because I’m sure it’s the first thing you will. My name is Tear I’m with the Imperial’s who are invading your world.” Tear sat up slightly wiping some of the liquid from the table with a single finger before bringing to his lips. “Quite strong isn’t it?” Tear asked rhetorically, noticing a horrified expression crawling over the aged man’s face. “You have a very beautiful home by the way Mr. Poreon and your family is equally as lovely. The few men protecting your family could use some lessons in manners though.”

The ghostly white face of the Chancellor stared intently at the image of his family while his mouth stuttered to form words, “W…w-what do you want?”

“One or two very easy and simple things Chancellor. The first being, I want the names and locations of your highest-ranking military leaders and advisors in or out of the combat zone. After that I want you to call a meeting of all your advisors, military or otherwise. This includes your intelligence branch.” Tear paused for a moment while he sat up sliding his blaster back into his holster while removing a chrome sphere around the size of his palm, rolling it across the table into the shaking hands of the Chancellor.

The sphere was a remote controlled sonic charge. Tears weapon of choice for explosives. This one was a micro charge a mere fraction of the size of the usual charges that were used in space. When detonated the charge causes an implosion that sucks in all matter around it, even sound. It creates a mini black hole but because it cant remain stabilized for anything more then a few milli-seconds it explodes sending a large, and very destrutive shockwave ensues.

“I want you to slide that into your pocket, concealed within your very extravagent clothing, when you attend the meeting you arranged. If you do all this for me…” Tear reached over and tapped a button on the data pad enlarging the image to show the explosives set up in front of his family. “Your family will not be harmed and they will be able to go free and live their lives in peace. I may even ship them away to the safest places in the Empire and away from this war. But you must do what I ask Chancellor Poreon.” Tear watched in silence as the man stared down at the sphere within his quaking hands. “Do we have a deal?”

[Jarek T'chort]

As a hazy morning fell on the Golan Heights the wrecks of vehicles that littered the terrain still billowed smoke upwards into tangled plumes.

The 98th Imperial Panzer Division, with its attendant Infantry suppourt, including the 1st Bastion Infantry, had used the cover of darkness to pull out, abandoning their positions and blowing the string of temporary fortifications that had protected them from the Yagan artillery. On orders direct from Marshal Tchort, Imperial Pioneers had thrown up positions some three miles back into the beachhead, along the line Juvel River.

Panzers and walkers rumbled past their entrenched comrades, to all intents and purposes it looked as if the Sovereignty troops were in a full, yet orderly, retreat.

A sizeable gap had been torn in the Imperial lines, which the enemy were quick to capitolise, or rather would have been, had not the swift withdrawal had been a fair tactical move, yet a logistical nightmare. Supply convoys still stretched back toward their former positions while the Battlegroup Hoffer fought a rear guard action.

Battlegroup Hoffer contained elements of five divisions, two armored. Their AT-ST walkers were perfectly suited to local counterattacks, their swift advances often cutting off the spearheads of the Yagan advance.

Now it was a matter of time before the Imperial ace was to be played, yet time was not on the Empire's side.

[Telan Desaria]

A typical day began to dawn over Faerit City.

On the streets below, vendors unfurled colourful flags as shopkeepers extended awnings. Tiris, Yagan godess of enterprise, was shaking off the blanket of night and fluttering her eyes to awaken wise and refreshed. It was indeed difficult to tell that a war had all of the Yagan home system set firmly in its grasp.

Traffic to and fro business and company grew steadily as the sun crept higher and higher from its horizon-edged cradle. Between rushing bodies fell shards of reflective surface shot into the sky from flak batteries above. The presence of anti-aerial guns, missile batteries, and communications drones had faded to nuance as commuters arrived on tram and truck, their barrels looming high above the street from the edge of corporate towers going now unnoticed.

Rush hour came on with its typical force but was interrupted by an atypical force.

From the Department of Propaganda came boys carrying leaflets as well as datadiscs. Their voices raised itself above the din to become the new leader in noise pollution that morning.

" Brave Counter-attack drives Imperials back on both flanks of the Greatest Lake."

" Servus, Tyra, Seeladan all liberated!!!"

News of a great thurst into the heart of the Imperial presence on Yaga Minor drove many nto exhaltation, others into prayer, and more still into spontaneous acts of generosity. Victorys seemed at hand as name after name of liberated village rang out. Generals were interviewed as they led their forces onward, officers and men alike speaking to rushing holocams.

Things were looking up indeed....

[Jarek T'chort]

At 1pm Yagan time, a massive barrage lit up the dawn skies, a mighty thunder that pounded to earth in an unrelenting bomabardment. In a mere half hour, many of the villages reclaimed by the Yagans overnight ceased to exist as anything resembling settlements. The ground shook with the concussion of the projectiles and plasma, thrown high into the greying skies, before falling down and smashing anything unlucky to be underneath.

Across the broad frontline, the entrenched Imperial regulars watched with baited breath. Then, at the southern end of the frontline, the counter-offensive began. Over forty AT-AT walkers led an advance of over 20,000 men and machines. The Repulsor tanks darted through the mighty walkers legs, cannons blazing away at the shocked enemy forces south of the Great Lake.

Rank upon rank of Imperial Stormtroopers in mottled, camoflaged armour led the battle on foot, E-12A blaster rifles held to their sides as their armor-shod boots tramped over the dusty ground. Behind them marched the regulars, the Landsers, the workhorses of the Imperial Army.

This irresistable force ground on toward Compton, sweeeping aside the comparitively weak Yagan defenses. Even as Marshal Tchort learnt of the re-capture of Tyra, the 7th Walker group, commanded by General Abrams, had reached the outskirts of the sprawling city of Compton.

Yagan troops from the 72nd Task force were routed before the city in a fast paced battle that sent them fleeing into the skyscraper filled city. Once inside, they mounted their defenses. Ramparts had been thrown up, small pockets of troops ready to hold out indefinately. They waited for the Imperial juggernaught to enter the city with baited breath, the long rang artillery already crushing into the surrounding buildings, shattering glass and duracrete as a child would snap a twig.

[Telan Desaria]

Faerit City, Yaga Minor

Chancellor Poreon had eyes the size of shock-balls, a man seated opposite his desk and asking him to committ suicide. It was, though, the only alternative to this man, this animal's, destroying of his family.

Ever the shrewd politician, Porean struck upon an idea. The longer he could stall the Imperial operative, the better chance he had of his own guards arriving and saving his life.

" What guarantee do I have they'll be safe if I do this?"

[Tear]

"What guarantee do I have they'll be safe if I do this?" The aged mans voice spoke up with a surprised steady tone to it.

To the few that knew him it was clear, Tear didn’t have deep reservoir of patience when dealing with others, and it didn’t take much to send him into an enraged state of mind. “Guarantee?” Tear snarled in question, “Nothing but my word Chancellor Poreon and that is the only Guarantee you will need. Now start preparations to gather the members of command in this building. You have…” His voice trailing off slightly as he tapped the data pad again bringing up a count down display of ten minutes and counting. “Ten minutes to gather all members into a meeting room or your family will die.” Tear stood up and walked toward the balcony doors before turning his head to look over his right shoulder. “Oh and Chancellor…don’t try anything. It will only result in the death of your family and many Yaga innocents.” He gave the man a childish wink before opening both stained glass balcony doors in an elaborate matter. “Oh!” Tear held up a single finger as thought came to mind. “Silly me I nearly forgot. Here take this…” Tear passed a small com link toward Poreon. “It’s on so I can hear your every word and if I stop hearing anything your family is dead. When the preparations are set and you are in the meeting room filled with your peers and aides, click the button on the side once. Know once you have done this your family will be safe and will live in safety because of your noble sacrifice.” Tear waved a playful good bye to the man. “I’ll be listening.” Stepping back to disappear into the shadows, Tear vanished from sight. Leaving a man cradling a chrome sphere and a com link in one hand and the picture of his beloved family strapped to explosives in the other.

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial Flagship SSD II Intimidator

" Commander Belades, Grand Admiral."

The bridge of the Imperial flagship was abuzz with activity, dozens of officers rushing to a fro carrying orders and dispatches to every command level imaginable. Standing guard were large-chested soldiers in Fleet-guard black, Army officers coordinating bombardment missions in khaki, and Naval officers in the ubiquitous green-grey. To a man who had never been aboard an Executor-class warship, the scene was intimidating.

The General Staff adjutant clicked his heels and departed, disappearing into the ordered chaos. Commander Teleran Belades stood rigidly before the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy, alone in a sea of peers.

Grand Admiral Desaria swiveled his chair aft, presenting himself to the lower-ranking man. One glance down was followed by a glance up.

" Commander - during the battle you executed a rather daring charge against a superior foe. In doing so, you sacrificed your advantage in range to gain one in surprise. You assumed the initiative without clearence or order from above. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

[Telan Desaria]

Faerit City, Yaga Minor

Chancellor Porean watched the Imperial depart sat up. His robes were soaked through with sweat. Nervous and shaken, he angrily punched a console built into his desk.

" Assemble my advisors. Now!!!"

In the Passageway...

Agent Tear made a quick getaway in the mass of officers and men racing in every direction through the command center. A war was being waged and he was at that war's very heart. It doubtless many thoughts as he imagined the hell he could cause, the ability to move freely amongst his enemy very appealing to any Intelligence operative.

He turned towards an exitway where he found himself unexpectedly grabbed by the collar and thurst against a pillar, hidden just slightly from hundreds of of soldiers armed with pistol and blade.

A man in the uniform of a Lieutenant General held a blaster pistol under the Agent's chin.

" Don't look so surprised, Agent. You're good - I admit that. But you have to learn never to discount the internal squabbles of your foe, for they may be used to your advantage. I have the Chancellor's office under holo-surveillance."

The man offered up a smile and replaced the pistol in his holster.

" Don't think I'm here to stop you. Actually, I wanted to thank you for doing my work for me. As I said, you're good. I think we'll meet again."

The command officer turned to walk away but stopped before passing through double-glass doors at the end of the lobby.

" Please give my regards to Admiral Desaria. Tell him I've left a good many presents for him here. Tell him General Travess sends his regards."

With that, he was gone...

[Tear]

“General Trevess…” The words came boiling up from Tears throat to be spat in a hateful hiss. His face was furious, plain for everyone to see. The force raged over Tear’s body like storm waves crashing and erupting over beach rocks. He wanted to reach out and crush the man from inside then toss his body around like a stuffed plaything.

Do it Tear…it’ll feel so good to show that man how underestimating he was. Imagine the pitiful look on his face when your hand is the one that crushes his heart from within.

Tears exhaled calmly with the realization that he was quickly losing control. The familiar voice had echoed its way up from the depths of Tears mind one again. With everything that had gone on, he had nearly forgot about Ta’sath. An evil to dark to ever escape from shadow into the light of reality but to be imprisoned deep down within Tear mind. His other personality, lurking in the shadows of Tears mind, waiting for the right moment to break free and make his terror tangible.

Blue eyes darted over the room of Yagan personal making their way through the corridors. The general, Tear thought, might have this entire installation under surveillance. Chewing a bottom lip lightly in thought as Tear made his way out of the building in a casual manner, glancing both ways down the street before crossing into a alleyway.

A smile tugged the corners of Tears lips while his finger reached under his left wrist to tap a hidden button. He glanced down casually turning over his right hand like one would to check their watch for the time. A green light glowed dimly, glinting off Tears eyes before concealed the light beneath a covering.

True, Tear could have killed the General right there in the corridor but he would have been dead shortly there after by a building full of Yagan security. So what was the other choice? Kill the General when he is exposed and defenseless… When the general had turned around to walk away Tear had slipped two micro transmitters to him. Using the force to guide the two bugs, one to his heel and the other to the bottom of the man’s tunic. The micro transmitters were near invisible to the naked eye covered in a sticky coating that melted into whatever fabric they came in contact with, small nano transponders would then relay their position to a monitor.

“I’m sure you’ll be giving the Grand Admiral your regards very soon.” Tear whispered to himself while he made his way away from Yagan Central command.

[Teleran Balades]

Balades ignored the hustle and bustle of the bridge, focusing on his stearn leader. He could feel the inquisitive looks that several of the brider officers threw at him, curious at what a Commander was doing in the Grand Admiral's presence.

The Commander tensed involluntarily, hoping that his actions hadn't punishment, as most officers did when greeted in this fashion be a superior.

"Grand Admiral, the Dreadnaught's guns are designed for long-distance between capital ships. They have no point defense systems to make room for heavier weaponry, relying on fighters to protect them from smaller vessels. I ordered the attack because the smaller frigates and the support squadrons could take advantage of this weakness."

He thought he could have come up with something better, but nervousness was begining to eat away at him.

[Telan Desaria]

" Very well."

The Grand Admiral gave his statement in only a pair of words, an eerie air of silence descending between them - as silent as the bridge of the Imperial flagship could be.

Desaria's face was featureless, giving the standing officer no intimation of what thoughts crossed his mind. Commander Belades was doubtless wondering, but had no stimuli to aid him on his quest for answers. Was he to be reprimanded? Demoted? Imprisoned???

No one knew - - save Grand Admiral Desaria.

" Commander, like any good leader, I recognize my on shortcomings before I can be blinded by them. I lack the omnipotent ability to direct all actions on the field of battle. That is why I rely heavily on able-bodied subordinates. You are now one of them. Return to your ship and collect your belongings. The seizure of the initative once gained on a frigate must be exploited on a battleship.

" Four Aurora III-class Star Destroyers will be completed at Corellia within the week. They will be the core of the new 4th Response Squadron. Proceed to Corellia and assume command of one of the Destroyers, and then the squadron. The ships are new and the crews will be as well. Both factors hav been the test of true officers for centuries, and now that test awaits you. Dismissed, Line Captain."

[Teleran Balades]

"Thank you, Sir"

Balades snapped a crisp salute, turned on his heal and walked to the turbo lift. As the speedy lift whisked him down to the lower decks, Teleran mulled over the Grand Admiral's words. He was glad that he had finally been promoted, it told him that the sovereignty did indeed beleive in his loyalty to the cause. A full response sqaudron to be placed under his command was unexpected, but no unappreciated.

At the docking bay he board the shuttle, and headed back toward the Harrier, to pack his belongings for the trip to Corellia.

[Tear]

Tear exhaled smoothly in a controlled fashion, watching the plume of breath float up in front of him in the chilled morning air. “Times a wasting my dear chancellor” Tear mumbled to himself from the family room of Chancellor Poreon, his family shivering in fear, bound to a bomb that slowly ticked away.

Yaga Minor Central Command, Meeting Chambers of Chancellor Poreon.

“What is so urgent that your aids rustle me from my bed at home to be rushed to this place!” The man still clad in his pajamas, shouted angrily across a large conference table. The table was specifically build to seat eight-teen people that helped run Yaga minor and all the planets in the system. Most of the high ranking generals were at the front, leaving only government officials and intelligence personal to fill the remaining twelve seats.

Chancellor Poreon rose from his feet in a solemn manner, giving the communicator the agent had given him previously a single tap, before laying it on the table. “I’m so sorry. He threatened my family…” The man’s voice trembled as tears dripped leisurely down his cheeks, his knees growing weak he fell back into his chair. The faces around the table were dotted with confused, yet worried looks.

The expression from the man in the pajamas, went from anger to quickly fall into a state of confused terror as he realized what was about to happen. Each one person’s thoughts were as unique and conflicting as they had been every other day and assembly, they could never agree on anything. Where one mans thoughts were to stand and beat the Chancellor with every bit of anger and hatred he could muster, for condemning his life in such a way, another persons thoughts where of his family, another was of acceptance that the Chancellor didn’t have a choice.

The chancellor continued to mumble apologies as he reached into his pocket and rolled a smooth silver sphere over the conference table. The eyes of everyone in the room tracked the orb until their retinas where incinerated in a blinding flash. Their bodies disintegrating shortly after, as a massive explosion ripped its way through the central command building. Searing flame tore its way down halls and through walls until the pressure grew too much and in an instant it erupted outward. The central command building exploded, in a deafening blast sending a crushing shock wave of flame and debris out to its neighbors sending them crumbling to the ground.

A few miles away… in the Chancellors home.

Poreon’s home shook violently as if an earthquake was gripping the planets core in a violent temper tantrum. Shelves and glass shattered and cracked as the ground settled beneath the three occupants of the house. “Well that’s that.” Tear said with a sense of satisfaction while walking into the bedroom where the Chancellors family lay bound and strapped to a bomb. “Take heart in the fact that your father did a very brave thing for his people and for you. He sacrificed not only himself but the many leaders of your glorious planet.” A grin curled over Tear’s lips as he sat next to the couple. “So that he may save his beautiful wife and cute little daughter.” The gags in the mouths were soaked with tears as a continuous stream rolled down their cheeks. “Oh don’t be a couple of babies…it’ll all be over soon.” Tear stood up taking the small box that was the ignition switch in his hand and to the terrified expression on both women he walked out the front door, leaving them bound and strapped to a bomb.

Stepping onto the streets he saw various groups of people huddled around holo projectors viewing with silent horror what had just happened in the heart of their city. Tear strolled down the sidewalks on a path out of the city, catching the site of security and military units screaming down the road toward the central command area. The sirens faded off into the distance, leaving just the hushed murmurs of concerned civilians. The hushed whispers soon changed into screams however, as a loud boom roared out from, what was chancellor Poreons lavish condo, a billow of flame spewing out from the side of the building, a hail of shattered and melted glass falling like rain onto the crowds below.

The figure that walked casually down the sidewalk continued until it disappeared all together. He had come to serve the empire and he had full filled his mission. The rest was in the hands of the mighty Imperial army.

[Jarek T'chort]

Even as the X Imperial army Corps seemed poised to swoop into Compton, as the blue streaks of plasma artillery fell crushingly into the streets and homes of the city, the Imperials wheeled around the city, exchanging fire with the entrenched defenders, but al the while moving westwards until they had bypassed the city entirely, the mobile forces of the Empire encircled the city quickly, dashing the hopes of the defenders of any possible break out.

As evening fell, a dark curtain was drawn over the land, yet darkness did not hinder the Imperial advance. Within four hours, against scattered resistance, General Abrams lead divisions straddled the central highway that cut between the Paelleon mountains, the road leading eventually leading to Monte Circello and the coast.

Lead elements of the 7th Panzer Division had, by late evening, launched an assault on the lightly defended town of Lemet, where a mixed bag of Yagan troops put up a feirce resistance, desperately trying to stem the inexorable Imperial offensive.