Star Wars: Tides of War

by Andrew J. Low

Just over two and a half decades after the Battle of Yavin, the New Republic faces a new threat, a race of pain-worshipping, alien conquerors called the Yuuzhan Vong. And two young, eager Corellian friends join the fight to help protect the innocent and stem the tide of the Vong flood across the galaxy. So far the good guys have been losing this war, but not for much longer.

1. Chapter 1

STAR WARS

Tides of War

By Andrew J. Low

This book is dedicated to Joe Cabatit (Marv) and Jesse L. Holt (Zee). Without your monumental

encouragement and veritable wellspring of creative inspiration, this project may well have never been started,

let alone finally completed. My undying thanks to you, my brothers. May the Force be with you, always.

Dramatis Personae

Dwight "Marv" Hartigan; detective, Corellian Security Force, 26 yrs. (human male from Corellia)

Lowan Colaf; Jedi Master and CorSec Special Adviser, 22 yrs. (human male from Corellia)

Zevan L'oht; Jedi Ace, 21 yrs. (human male from Coruscant)

Ens. Yuri Tagawa; pilot, New Republic Navy, 19 yrs. (human female from Abregado Rae)

Zenna Krae; Peace Brigade cell leader, 34 yrs. (human female from Abraxas)

Dakk Shai; Yuuzhan Vong Commander (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Chapter 1.

26.5 ABY

Marv.

It was a skrag to get this far, stang it! Glaring at the massive Yuuzhan Vong taskforce that was slowly filling the forward viewport of this blasted Imperial shuttle I was flying for some durned reason, I racked my brain as to what the kriff to do next. 'Cuz I had seen some crazy things in my day, believe me. But an entire armada of rocky, asteroid-like Vong warships? All covered from nose to tail in spiky, black cannon emplacements? That was even a lil' much for this guy to take in all at once.

I mean, yeah. This war against the Vong had been going on for almost two years now. Long story short. These slant-headed, tattooed, scar-covered freaks came barging into our galaxy thinking they had every right to claim system after system for their own in service to their dung-sucking excuse for gods. And so far, they've been powerful enough to do just that, with little to no resistance from our almost laughably unprepared, New Republic Military. So yeah, I've heard all the horror stories of their weirdly-living biotechnology and huge, unstoppable warrior forces. But they invaded from out beyond the Outer Rim, so Coreward folks like me hadn't yet had the pleasure of fighting these twisted, pain-worshipping gundarks head on. But seeing the ridiculously large, enemy force in front of me now, I was honestly glad we hadn't.

Y'know, it's kinda funny. Just three weeks ago, my life had been a lot simpler. I was just a detective, albeit an exceptional one, employed by the Corellian Security Force, or CorSec, for short. Yep, that's right. I was among the elite men and women whose mere mention struck fear into the heart of every two-bit criminal throughout the Core Worlds.

Of course, my day-to-day life wasn't all glitz, glory, and adventure, but thru six and a half years of service, good ol' Marv had seen more than his fair share of action. Drugbusts, murder investigations, hostage situations, smuggler chases spanning entire star systems, you name it, I'd done it and survived, by the skin of my teeth at times, but still. I used to joke around with my fellow officers, stuff like, "Hey man, if you didn't end up in a bacta tank after the fact, then it wasn't dangerous enough, now was it?" But I guess it's easy to get a little cocky, especially after a few weekend dips brought you back from the dead. Then again, I'm Marv. 'S what I do.

Anyway, everything was more or less normal. Then one day my buddy, Lowan Colaf, Jedi Knight and CorSec Special Advisor, called me into the office to ask a favor. Now mind you, I don't do favors. But the kid had been my partner for going on two years, and he sounded really desperate on the holomessage he left me. So I decided to go into HQ and hear him out first, before I inevitably turned him down. 'Cuz he'd earned that much, at least.

Turns out, the New Rep. brass were hosting a festival for the people of Coronet City, my planet's capital. Apparently, it was one of several events going on across the galaxy over the next few weeks. Some snot-nosed politician's plan to boost civilian morale despite the ongoing, and so far losing, war with the Vong, I guess. And my buddy, Lowan, had been put in charge of security for the day by none other than ol' fish-head himself, Admiral Ackbar. Talk about having no room for error. Sheesh.

So yeah, the New Rep. Senate were bringing in their own team to babysit the masses. But my buddy wanted me to be there, too, just in case anything 'exciting' went down. I guess like most Jedi he 'had a bad feeling about this,' whatever that's supposed to mean. Still, I was reluctant to go along with it, even after he promised me it would be nothing more than another boring, cakewalk job, which let's be real, those things rarely are.

But I agreed to help the kid out anyway when he said he'd owe me one in exchange for it down the line. I mean, come on. It never hurts to have a Jedi on deck to back you up if you need it. Not that I have before 'cuz I'm Marv, the down 'n dirty, one-man army. I get the job done. May not be pretty when the dust finally settles, but I get it done. Period.

So anyway, the festival. It was just another cool, Corellian spring afternoon. They had food, drinks, vendor booths, a live band, carnies, the whole shebang. And smack dab in the middle of it was little ol' me. The celebration rolled on pretty smoothly. And I'll admit, the band was great, the food was good 'n greasy, and they even had a guest speaker planned to say a few words to the crowd. Adm. Wes Janson, everyone's fifth favorite Corellian after Han Solo, Wedge Antilles, Corran Horn, and me, Dwight 'Marv' Hartigan. Shut up, it's my story, so that's how I'm gonna tell it. Alright?

Yeah, so Adm. Janson. Good guy, so I'd heard. Rebellion pilot, war hero, all-around jokester. I bet he'd had been up half the night before preparing one hell of a speech. But we'd never know for sure. 'Cuz that's when things got ugly, kids.

Just as the admiral approached the podium to address the gathered masses, a Yuuzhan Vong war cry erupted from somewhere within the crowd. CorSec training kicking in instantly, I reacted. I scanned the sea of people and assorted aliens for a few seconds until finally, I spotted him. A Vong assassin not more than twenty meters from the mainstage where Janson stood. A large, hooded cloak lay crumpled on the ground behind him which I guess would explain why nobody seemed to notice him before then. He was a big, mean-looking chakaar. Tattoos all up and down his arms and massive, bare chest. Festering scars and piercings covering his big, ugly mug. But I could take him down. Maybe.

Before the admiral could react the assassin hurled a razorbug straight at his head. Luckily, at that exact same moment, Lowan leapt onto the stage and tackled Janson to the floor. Good thing, too. 'Cuz had he done it just a split-second later, the nasty lil' creature would've sliced the older man's head clean off his shoulders. The next second, my buddy was up, lightsaber blazing, positioning himself between the attacker and his intended target with a determined, passionless stare.

Uh-oh, I've seen that look before. You don't mess with a guy looking at you like that. But apparently, nobody had clued in the assassin about it. 'Cuz the big, ugly, scar-faced barve just hopped onto the stage, calmly unravelling the amphistaff that had been coiled around his forearm and setting himself for the epic, macho, Vong honor duel that was sure to follow next.

I watched this whole sequence unfold right in front of my eyes like an action/adventure holovid in slow motion. But I couldn't do a thing about it. 'Cuz right then, I had my own problems. The Senate's personal guards had turned out to be none other than members of the Peace Brigade, a loose organization of pirates, thieves, and other scum all dedicated to working for the Yuuzhan Vong in the hopes of saving their own stinking hides in the process. Spineless cowards, all of ya. You'll get no sympathy from me. The Brigadiers all pulled out blasters and started firing into the crowd, sending the masses into an instant panic and consequently, providing a handy, lil' distraction for their scar-faced buddy over there.

Without a second thought, I pulled out my Rebellion-Era Blas-Tech A280 high-powered Longblaster, a marked upgrade from the CorSec standard CDEF rifle, and scrambled towards the nearest corner of the stage. Higher ground was my most immediate concern as it would give me a crucial advantage over those cowardly barves. Not that I'd normally need it, mind you, but when you got civvies in the mix, and I did, you need every edge you could get to end things as quickly and safely as possible. And seeing as my buddy had his hands full at the moment with the Vong assassin, it was looking like I'd have to handle this one myself. Mano a Marv.

Aiming carefully and squeezing the trigger, I started laying down burst after burst of crimson, super-heated energy. Honestly, I wasn't really shooting to kill so much as trying to draw their fire away from the crowd and give those poor people at least half a chance to get out of here alive. But when the di'kute started shooting back, well, all bets were off.

One of them bought it quick and painless when I picked him off at thirty meters right between the eyes. The other four proved just as easy as the first. I'm not a crack-shot or anything, but those countless hours at the CorSec shooting range weren't exactly wasted neither. I dealt with them each in turn, leisurely sighting along the barrel and almost casually pulling the trigger. Hehehe, that's alright, boys. This old man can always use the target practice.

Suddenly, I heard Lowan yell out in pain behind me. I turned back to him quickly. He was clutching his newly-wounded, right arm. But then he just took a deep, calming breath, switched his lightsaber to his left hand, and put on his brave face once again. Whew! Okay, kid's gonna be fine.

I turned back to the crowd and scanned it again for anymore foolish Brigadiers to put out of their misery. Then I noticed a few of them getting into a landspeeder at the far edge of the festival grounds. Sithspawn! They're getting away!

I hopped off the stage and pushed thru the crowd as fast as I could, all the while keeping one eye focused on those fleeing, cowardly sons of gundarks. Luckily, the jumbled mass of terrified, confused civvies had cleared out a lot since the shooting had finally ceased. The Brigadiers tore off down the street just as I made it to the outer edge of the crowd. So, with no time to waste, I bashed thru the window of the closest, parked speeder with the butt of my rifle. Then I hotwired the blasted thing and sped off after them. I mean, yeah. It probably would've been a whole lot smarter to call for back-up before charging after them, all alone, like a crazy person with a hero complex, or a death wish, or maybe both. But there was no time, stang it!

So I followed them thru the ever-winding, city streets of "the Big C." We twisted and turned, dodging speeder-traffic constantly and coming mere centimeters from a messy, painful, hi-speed collision death more than a few times, only to swerve and avoid it at the last millisecond. I gotta hand it to ya, old man. That's some durn-fine driving. Now, quit patting yourself on the back and get moving!

I finally caught up to the barvy scum after about ten, adrenaline-charged minutes. They set down outside a seedy, little cantina which the remaining Brigadiers hurriedly entered. Located right in the festering heart of Blue Sector, or as the locals called it, "the Pit," it boasted a dimly flickering, neon sign above the entrance that read "Karok's Bar & Grill." I'd heard of the place. Sounded real classy, I'll tell ya.

I parked my commandeered speeder in an alley a couple blocks away. Can't risk warning their friends that I followed 'em home, y'know? Then this whole crazy situation would only go from bad to worse, and I really didn't need that kind of a headache to fall in my lap this morning until I at least had another deathstick and a steaming hot cup of some abnormally strong caf. So, hoping for the best but expecting the worst, I casually strolled into the cantina. Okay, Marv. Just be cool.

As I suspected, Karok's was a real friendly place, with a thick layer of grime and filled to the brim with the usual crowd of unsavory, lowlife types. I snooped around for a good few minutes or so before I discovered the secret passage hidden behind a stall in the men's 'fresher. Figuring it most likely led to an underground base of some sort, I carefully squeezed in and crept down the old, synth-wood staircase beyond it. I should have noticed the security holocam hidden in the shadows at the top of the stairs, but I missed it. Consequently, they knew I was coming and boy, were they prepared.

Note to self: When storming a Peace Brigade hideout in the future, be sure to think up a plan, or any sort of rudimentary strategy for that matter, before blindly charging in like a crazed Gamorrean. As soon as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I was greeted by half a dozen blaster barrels, all with shifty-eyed, trigger-happy Brigadiers behind them. They had me cornered, sure. But you know what, you slimy, worthless hut'unne? I'm MARV!

Without a second's hesitation, I whipped out my pretty ladies, my trusty twin BlasTech DL-22 blaster pistols. Then I blasted two of the no-good outlaws right in their scruffy, barvy faces. Another fired back at me, but he missed. So I dove in between his friends and rolled to a knee, now facing them from behind. I shot two more in the back before they could turn around. Then I pivoted around to take cover behind one's still falling corpse. The remaining two were understandably freaking out. I mean, I had just wasted four of their buddies in just as many seconds.

But, not one to feel sorry for those who were trying to kill me, I just took advantage of their panicked hesitation. First, I kicked the closest guy's legs out from under him as I blasted his friend in the kneecap. Then I shot them both in the head from point-blank range as they were trying their best to stand.

When the fight was over, nothing could be heard in the room except for my own labored breathing. For some reason, I've never gotten over that bad case of Kel Dorian Bronchitis I had when I was nine standard years old. It comes and goes, but it almost always reared its ugly head after a bout of good, old-fashioned, knock-down, drag-out violence. But eh, it'll pass. I got up like a man and kept on walking.

I had to deal with a few more guys here and there, but nothing dangerous or exciting enough to holomessage home about. Eventually, I made my way around to an old, rickety bank of turbolifts in the southeast corner which, by the looks of them, hadn't seen use since the days of the Old Republic. Obviously, the turbolifts were a trap, but I mean, come on. What other choice did I have but to step in and hope for the best, right? Big mistake. Barely half a second after the rusty doors creaked shut, I heard a sultry, gloating female voice crackle over the ancient comm speaker.

"Ooooh, my poor lil' bolt-brained do-gooder. You guys never learn, do you? Just charge on in to save the day without the least bit of forethought to the painful, deadly consequences. It's so sad that you won't live long enough for us to meet face to face. Hehehehe, but I do hope you enjoy the ride."

Next thing I knew, I was rocketing straight to the bottom of the shaft some five levels down. The lift car hit bottom with a loud, hollow "CLANG", and I have to admit, I was amazed I lived through it at all. Huh, thank the Force for rusty shaft cables, I guess. When the dust finally settled in the now bent, twisted remains of the lift car, ol' Marv here was a little roughed up, and more than a little pished off, but I was, more or less, okay. Hells, given the circumstances, things could've been a lot worse.

The turbolift doors creaked slowly open then, leading me right into, you guessed it, an ambush, compliments of a lone Vong warrior, amphistaff at the ready and wearing what I had heard was the customary, black vonduun crabshell armor. Humph, am I supposed to be scared or something? I shook my head and drew my pretty ladies once again, fully intending to unload them on this poor, unlucky creature standing before me.

CLICK! You gotta be kiddin' me. A bonafide Rodese-standoff and my guns just picked the perfect time to jam. The warrior grinned a lipless smile, eyeing me like a hungry predator, waiting to strike. No other choice left, I tossed the pistols aside and drew my ol' trusty pair of vibroblades. Cursing under my breath, I absently adjusted my lucky beanie. Then I muttered a half-hearted prayer to the Force, flicked on the 'blades, and dove in swinging.

To tell the truth, I'm not sure if "brave" accurately describes my actions right then, though "stupid" sure comes to mind. I mean, here I was, barely 1.75 meters and 73 kilos soaking wet going toe-to-toe with a two-meter tall, scar-covered monster who by all accounts, could be best described as a 130-kilo wall of raging, angry muscle. Now, anyone in their right mind would stay as far away from an enemy like that as possible. But I knew something he didn't. I'm a Corellian, and that means I could give a frick about the odds. So come on, you two-toed, swamp-sucker! Let's play!

And play we did. The Vong whirled his amphistaff around with lightning speed and deadly precision, though I wasn't about to back down. No, I held my ground, blocking every strike the alien launched at me on my humming blades. He was unbelievably powerful, and every blow threatened to knock me off my feet even more than the last. But I stayed up somehow and kept on fighting.

I refused to be intimidated by this snarling beast. So I clung steadfast to that grim resolve that had kept me mere centimeters from death more than a few times in the past. He didn't know who he was dealing with here. I am Marv, and no ugly, scar-faced alien was gonna take me for a victim, stang it!

With a sudden surge of adrenaline, I batted his staff to the side and buried my blade to the hilt in a weak spot in the armor, right under his armpit. I could hear it buzzing inside him, churning his guts into hot, entrail stew. But he didn't scream. No, not a groan, wince, or wheeze. He just slowly lowered his head, gazing deep into his killer's eyes, a look of almost divine ecstasy spreading across that nasty, self-mutilated face.

We stood just there, him and me, locked in that eerie, quasi-intimate stare for what seemed like hours, though really it couldn't have been more than a few seconds at the most. Then he nodded just as slowly, a sort of unspoken respect passing between us, from one warrior to another. He knew he'd been bested. And though a part of him couldn't believe it, pain doesn't lie, now does it?

The warrior started coughing blood, thick and black, which flowed freely down his chin in an ever-building stream. Then the life drained from his eyes, and he slid off my humming blade, collapsing into a crumpled heap at my feet. I reflected in that moment on the grim reality of war and what it did to those brave enough to keep on fighting it day in and day out. Sacrifice, isn't even the half of it, folks. This job takes a lifetime of dedication that most people in this galaxy can't even begin to understand. But I'm not looking for any "thank you's" here. No, I don't do it for them. I do it for me. Because it has to be done, and somebody's gotta be there to do it.

And sure, the faceless Peace Brigade leader got away in the end, and the New Republic Senate denied all knowledge of any ties to the Vong-friendly, terrorist faction. But maybe, just maybe, I made a difference to somebody, somewhere that day, and that was good enough for me, stang it. In a galaxy where the threat of total alien invasion affects the life of even the most common citizen, at the end of the day I could say that I did my part to keep those filthy scarheads from winning this grisly war. And if I kept on doing that every day, it was worth it. The more of them I took out, the less there were to try to enslave us all. Just gotta keep fighting, Marv. Gotta keep fighting.