Chapter 1 (Gilad Pellaeon—Location: Endor System)

Lieutenant Gilad Pellaeon looked in shock out the viewport. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. The most powerful force in the galaxy—the Imperial Navy—had trapped a motley Rebel fleet over this forsaken backwater of a world—and lost. Somehow, the Rebel forces had managed to take advantage of a situation which had only hours earlier been solidly in Imperial hands.

Even as he stared aimlessly at the scene unfolding before him, he had a hard time believing what he was seeing. Executor, Darth Vader's personal battleship and the flagship of the Navy, was now a charred hulk still smoldering, looking for all the galaxy as though it were a cancerous tumor on the surface of the Death Star, its cadre of promising young officers—the next generation of the Empire's military leadership—destroyed with it. Around him, dozens of Imperial Star Destroyers lay in ruins, countless lesser vessels strewn about beside them, slowly moving them on courses that over the millennia would scatter them amongst the stars.

"Lieutenant."

How could the Empire have lost, and by so much?

"Lieutenant."

With some effort, Pellaeon drew himself back from his brooding and to his business. He still had work to do. The battle was technically still raging, though only the densest of the Empire's newest and greenest recruits would believe it was still winnable. An Imperial defeat—the first on this scale—was a foregone conclusion.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Move the Justice's Dagger to sector aurek, herf, twelve, and call up a higher resolution image of what's going on over there on the Death Star," the Captain said, pointing out the viewport to a place on the massive battle station.

"Right away, sir."

Pellaeon ordered the pilot to navigate the Star Destroyer to the appropriate sector, and called up the zoomed, higher resolution imaging his Captain had requested onto the main viewport.

Looking down at his control panel, he almost missed seeing a small number of Rebel starfighters dive into the bowels of the Death Star, as though they were parasitic, blood-sucking insects about to engorge themselves on some large beast.

"Lieutenant, order all of the Dagger's remaining fighter squadrons to chase down those Rebel fighters. It is imperative that they be stopped," his commanding officer suddenly snapped. "Then...then draw the Dagger away from the Death Star."

Pellaeon was about to question the Captain's orders, even as he reached for the intercom to communicate the orders to the Dagger's squadron leaders, when the reasoning suddenly struck him. His face grew pale as the blood rushed from his head.

Those fighters were going to blow up the Death Star. The fighters, so small and seemingly puny, could destroy the Death Star's exposed reactor core, and thus obliterate the battle station itself. Something so paltry was about to eliminate the very symbol of Imperial invincibility.

On some level, Pellaeon wondered whether this was symbolic of the final outcome of the Rebellion's war against the Empire.

Meanwhile, Pellaeon fulfilled his duties, ordering the squadrons after the Rebel starfighters, and instructing the pilot to turn the Dagger away from the Death Star.

As the ship was driving for cold, empty space away from the battle station, the Death Star—whose image was still being cam-fed to the primary viewport—exploded.

As fast as the Star Destroyer was, it wasn't fast enough. The explosive wave of compressed energy hit the Dagger with such force that it bucked as though it were a wild animal being tamed. Pellaeon was tossed into the air, and then tossed to the deck. Hard.

As he lifted himself onto his hands and knees, he felt blood dribble down from his nose to drip off his chin. Shakily standing up, he started to assess the situation and prepare for the Captain's next orders.

It turned out that that was unnecessary. The Captain was sprawled on the deck, his neck twisted at an inhuman angle. Pellaeon rushed to his side, and pressed two of his fingers to the commanding officer's neck to check for his pulse. He found the Captain was dead.

Unnerved even more, Pellaeon struggled for some composure as his straightened himself up. Looking around him at the bridge crew, some of whom he had served with for almost a decade, he said, "Captain Rawkins is dead, I'm in command of the Justice's Dagger now."

For a moment, there was silence on the bridge, then one crew member drew herself up into some semblance of a parade-ground stance and gave a sharp salute.

"Captain Pellaeon, awaiting your orders, sir."

Drawing themselves back to the present, the rest of the crew soon followed suit with saluting their new Captain.

Pellaeon looked at each of his bridge crewmen. It was something that he thought a Captain would do. Then he gave his first command as Captain.

"Check on the rest of the crew and give me a full status report."

"The Dagger's lost two of its secondary engines and its portside primary. Operating at twenty percent power. All shields down. Major hull breaches in sectors Mern five, Osk five, Krill eleven, and Isk two. Twenty turbolaser batteries still partially functional. Five ion cannon batteries." a young ensign clipped out, reading the diagnostics from his terminal.

Pellaeon let out an almost inaudible hiss of breath. It was as he had expected. The Dagger had only made it out of the Death Star's destructive explosion by the skin of its teeth. Furthermore, they were in no condition to continue this fight.

"Have Captain Rawkins' body brought to the medical bay, and after that...after that order a retreat for the Inbiti system," Pellaeon choked out.

Yes, they had lost the battle. Hopefully, they had not lost the war.