1
"Too late!" Jost Gherant yelled, only milliseconds before the rogue A-wing ripped into the bridge.
An eerie silence fell upon the bridge as the disabled, sparking shell of Green Leader's ship exploded through the viewport of the Executor. A massive blast of flame rolled viciously through the bridge, before a deafening blast of shattering transparisteel and metal followed it. Crewmen ducked from their controls, trying futilely to block themselves from the overwhelming heat. Klaxons screamed angrily at the crew. An ear-splitting screech joined in as the oxygen quickly drained from the bridge. The protective durasteel plating was slower than the air's rapid pace and it began to pull the struggling crew towards the open maw of space. The cloud of flame billowed further out, enveloping everything in its path. Time slowed to a crawl. Cries of pain and fear were drowned out in the roar of the explosion.
Firmus Piett dove for cover, landing just beside the crew pit with a thud he could only feel in the roaring explosion. A tsunami of flame rolled over his head, the painful heat clinging to his skin and uniform. Another explosion bloomed from the rear wall, leaving an empty, charred maw in its place.
The air howled around him deafeningly, the air pressure of the bridge lowering with each second. He could feel the pull of the air around him, roaring past his ears. Grabbing for his body, it attempted to tear him away and throw him violently into the cosmos. But that wasn't all. There were flames. The consoles around him were crushed by the A-wing's destructive path, and walls of fire leapt from their crippled frames. The crewmen pits were filled with smoke and fire, the rows of men lost behind the curling orange talons. The remaining walls of the bridge were jagged. Metal beams hung down limply in the spaces left behind.
He managed to shove himself to his feet and instinctively glanced around, searching for Jost while attempting to step forward. To his surprise, Jost was already ahead. He clung to the jagged edges of the wall, using it to guide him against the savage vacuum of space. He was making his way towards a single steel door. Even more surprising was the single crewman already at the door. Despite his charred skin, despite his glaring wounds, he had survived as well. Firmus scanned the room quickly before realizing why the crewman was standing there.
The escape pod.
Lord Vader had placed it in the schematics, despite advice against it. It was illogical that such a feat of engineering as the Executor would require it. Yet, here they were. Firmus recognized they had seconds before the vicious flames overtook them. That was, if the air pressure did not succeed first. The klaxons were already blaring, clashing with each other as the Executor continued to crumble. He only had one option. One option between life and death. Adrenaline burst into his veins, his singed skin suddenly pulsing with energy. Ignoring the roar of air around him, he pushed forward. The crewman noticed him and started waving frantically, his other hand desperately clutching a console, fighting the current of air.
Jost gasped for air, the sound echoing sickeningly, before Firmus realised that he too, was unable to breathe. He sputtered, his mind recalling for a quick second those that Lord Vader had executed. A shudder rolled through him, before he snapped back to reality.
Another klaxon chimed in as Firmus tried to break through the wall of escaping air. This one, the vacuum shield. It would only last mere seconds, he knew. It was not built to contain such a massive breach. But those seconds could mean the difference between life and certain death. The Admiral gulped down air, ignoring the fumes and heat as they scorched his throat. The vacuum around them slowed as the alarm blared again. The shields were going up.
Using every sinew in his battered body, he charged forward.
He caught something out of the corner of his eye, a crewman...crewwoman…at one of the consoles, flames nearly enveloping her. Orange lapped against her skin. Her teeth were clenched, her eyes nearly vacant. The flames danced in her glassy irises. They mimicked corusca gems, her pupils glistening with the tendrils of gold. She locked eyes with him, nodding, before the blaze surrounded her. A shriek escaped from the walls of fire, and he briefly shut his eyes. He knew she had overridden the shields. They weren't supposed to activate in such a critical event, he wasn't even sure that they would hold against the gaping wound into space. She had possibly saved their lives with her actions. Without the shield, they would be destined for the cold, cruel void around them. With them, if they held, they had a chance of survival. Firmus thanked her silently before his eyes darted back to his destination.
Though the air surged past, he could smell the thick smoke, the heavy bitterness of chemicals and burning flesh. Accosted by the stench and gusts of wind, his eyes watered. He blinked twice, rapidly.
Jost had already made it to the door. With the sudden release of pressure from the slowing air, he tumbled into the airlock. The crewman held the doors, continuing to wave the Admiral forward. Firmus reached them within several strides, his body beginning to scream in agony as he got to the doors. Once inside, he doubled over, slamming his hands into the airlock console. His lungs emptied with a whoosh. Another breath quickly followed, his heart starved for precious oxygen. His face contorted as vibroblades stabbed into his throat and lungs.
"Thanos!" Firmus called, trying to summon the crewman into the airlock. It took him a split moment to realize he was calling his name, not his surname. The crewman no doubt barely recognized it after months aboard. "Altair!""
His eyes slid right to look at the doorway. From his position, he could see the orange glow of flames as they inevitably roared closer. Most of the bridge had been ripped from its bearings; sparking wires arced in between licks of the vicious inferno. The rear wall of the bridge was nothing more than a gaping wound with embers flooding into it. No doubt the A-wing had pummeled through, even further into the Executor's command bridge. The whistle of escaping air began to grow even louder, accompanied once more by an alarm. The last shields were failing. In less than seconds there would be nothing left between them and space. In seconds, they would be subjected to its unforgiving emptiness.
The air was rushing even faster into the abyss of space now. It screamed past his ears and he clamped onto the console in front of him, bracing for the vacuum. A panting voice came from behind the Admiral. He could barely hear the footsteps of the crewman as he approached. Firmus could hear the grimace in his words.
"Admiral…Sir...it's Altair...I'm here sir, close the airlock. Fast."
Firmus turned a single knob before hitting a flashing orange button. The walls around them began to creak and the durasteel door behind him slammed shut, the last hiss of oxygen hurtling out towards the cosmos. With a deafening crack, the escape pod door seal popped and Jost shoved the door open. A smaller crack echoed flatly in the room. Jost let out a low moan as his arm fell limply to his side.
Altair stood back, allowing them both to get inside. Firmus dove in, ignoring the stabs of pain that threatened to take his breath away. Jost followed. He moved much more gingerly, wincing with the slightest move. Both of them settled in benches near the control panel. The pod was far from spacious, with only a few benches, cabinets, and a small control station within. The emergency power was activated as well. Only two lights glowed and the air filters were at minimum power, resulting in a dim and stale atmosphere.
A resounding blast shook the pod just as the crewman entered. Aftershocks rocked them before the pull of gravity yanked them towards one side of the small ship. Firmus clutched the bench around him, his legs nearly dangling as they began to angle downwards. Within the pod, a proximity alarm began to blare. The Admiral knew they were in the gravity well of the Death Star now. The impact would kill them all, if the Executor did not simply disintigrate first. Sweat fell from his brow, his hands shook with the fully encompassing pain. The crewman swung the door shut, yelling as his scorched skin contacted the metal. Firmus leaned towards the interior console and clung to it. He then jammed his code cylinder into its opening, before frantically flicking on the anti-gravity boosters and forcing his palm into the launch button.
The pod trembled violently for a moment. Finally, it filled with an unusual whirring before its propulsion engines finally kicked in. It roared like a nexu before jerking forward. The trio was shoved to their seats as the pod forced its way out of the Death Star's artificial gravity. Firmus closed his eyes. The sudden pressure made his head pound and his chest burn with excruciating pain. Thanos and Jost both lie across the benches, their breathing labored. He knew they were most likely even more wounded than he was. With each sharp breath, he hoped that they hadn't been too late. The Death Star's gravity was powerful, designed to trap small ships. The escape pod was barely even a small ship, built with only the bare necessities and only ordinary engines. They continued to shake as the pod fought against the pull of gravity, forcing its way up towards the stars.
Firmus gazed out the smaller viewport, towards the shrinking Death Star and Executor. In mere seconds, the once grand ship of Lord Vader crumpled to the dystopian surface of the space station. Flames licked out greedily before being extinguished from the lack of oxygen. With a final fireball forcing its way outward from the wreck, the Executor folded upon itself and exploded forcefully into insignificant bits of space debris.
The small pod floated further, now through the debris that remained of the Executor. The fractured remains created an arrhythmic cadence as they hit the small ship's exterior. Firmus leaned his head back against the cool steel wall, counting the seconds as they ticked by painfully. Shadows chased at the edges of his vision as he fought to stay conscious.
He opened his eyes only as the pod began to slow. Looking out one mediocre viewport, he saw that they had begun to approach another Star Destroyer. Its grey hull cut through space and intermittent blasts of red and green danced around it.
He reached tentatively to the control panel, before catching a glimpse of his arm. It was covered in melted fabric, spots of blackened skin in between the large patches of olive green. His stomach lurched. Despite his many years in the Empire, he had never seen something as disturbing as his own flesh ravaged by flames. Trying to gain his bearings, ignoring the searing pain and nausea, he reached for the comm system to put out a distress call. His throat ached as he spoke the words. Each breath shot pain through him. The flame had scorched his lungs. The landing on the deck had crushed his ribs. The image of his arm was burnt behind his eyelids and he fought the nausea it brought, breathing slowly. Using his other hand, Firmus flicked a switch. The comm lit up, a soothing beep indicating that the channel was open. His hoarse voice flooded the cramped escape pod.
"Imperial Fleet, this is...Admiral Piett…with Gherant...and Altair...", he gasped, "requesting... immediate...assistance, sending tracking...and...ID signals now."
With one last switch, he transmitted the data to any of the hundreds of Imperial ships surrounding them. A breath stuck in his chest, the pain dizzying. The dim light in the pod pulsed in his eyes with every beat of his strained heart. He took a moment to compose himself, hoping to resend the message. A transmission broke through before he could even catch his breath again. He fell back against the durasteel wall, relief mixing with the vertigo. The man's voice was cool, collected, yet tinged with disbelief.
"This is Rear Admiral Obelon of the ISD Eminence. We have your location and are nearby. If you can, deactivate the remaining thrusters. We will have you safe aboard soon, sir."
"Send…a medical team with as well," he breathed, his voice raw from the searing heat. Force, were they lucky. Two out of tens of thousands.
"Acknowledged," the reply came quickly, with an unusual urgency.
Firmus extended one arm to the other side of the control panel, wincing as he turned the dial until the thrusters stopped. The pod stopped shuddering and went quiet. Only the breath sounds of his comrades and the gentle hum of the life support systems remained. The lights flickered, for a moment only the glow of the stars lit the small room. Jost shifted and Firmus looked toward him. His face was nothing less than drenched in blood, his uniform saturated as well. An ashen color slowly crept into his cheeks as more blood dripped down. Thanos was sitting up and pressing a shred of fabric to Jost's temple, but it did very little to suppress the hemorrhaging. Their harsh breathing filled the confined space with a discordant symphony.
Firmus clutched his ribs as another violent stab of pain shot through him. He heaved, grasping his chest even more tightly as his stomach's painful spasms took his breath. It was then he realized that he too was bleeding. His chest was damp, his hand now dyed a dull scarlet. A bead of crimson rolled from his mouth as he exhaled warily, glancing out the viewport. He cautiously wiped it away, anticipating his arm and aching ribs to protest.
The ISD seemed enormous now, dwarfing the pod they were in. They were close, and rapidly getting closer. Firmus could make out the forms of ships darting around the Star Destroyer, sending out blasts of green in exchange of the volleys of red.
The comm system crackled to life again. A younger voice spilled through the speaker this time.
"Admiral..Sir, this is the ISD Eminence. You are nearly within range of our tractor beam. Prepare for docking."
He was obviously inexperienced. Nervous. But in that moment none of the men cared. The Eminence was their savior. The pod lurched once more as it caught in the tractor beam and began to ascend towards the hangar. Firmus let his head roll back and closed his eyes, focusing on the increasing vibration. He counted the seconds. Each shudder was stronger than the last, and with each second the tractor beam brought them closer to the Eminence.
His breaths ached, his throat narrowed, and every inch of him roared with pain. But they were safe. Far away from the flames, from the blaring klaxons, from the destruction. Almost delirious with pain, Firmus mouthed the word.
Safe.