Before the Dark Times; Before the Empire
Foreword
Hey guys, I just wanted to tell you a little about me before you read this story. Writing has been a passion of mine, but for the past few years I have stopped doing it in my spare time and now the only writing I do with any enthusiasm are the creative writing assignments I get from school. I have only just got back into the swing of things and this is my first shot at it; it is also my first Star Wars fanfic and the first thing I have uploaded to this site. I'm no doubt a little rusty. It has probably crossed your mind that all of those reasons are justifications for going 'easy' on my in the reviews... Well, you're wrong. Be as harsh as you believe is necessary. Progress is never ushered in with a soft voice.
Prologue
One year before the Battle of Yavin. The Galactic Core, Vesemy System, Dyund.
Just outside of Ankough. Eighteen rotations after arrival.
Lieutenant Morden fixed his gaze upon the hologram before him. On a small projector was a crackling, blue representation of Kenobi Outpost and its four operational bases. The rebels were situated as far north in the Ank Forest as Morden had dared go. The base furthest away from the outpost was Base Windu; it was a mere three-hundred metres from the forest edge and three-hundred and fifty metres from the entrance of Ankough which was a town set in an almost flawless spherical basin; it was home to some of the most influential people of the Galactic Empire, and, of course, a garrison of the Emperor's finest. Morden and his platoon of rebel troopers had been covertly transported to Dyund, the third planet in the Vesemy system, by a contingent of the Corellian Sector Fleet to deal with the garrison of men and secure a high profile Imperial official.
Twelve soldiers and two Bothans lived and worked in Kenobi Outpost while four groups of six operated their respective base. Morden commanded thirty-five men in total as he worked alongside his Bothan allies. The camp was composed of several small tents which could house three men and their equipment; two tents serving as makeshift armouries and the War Room which was the largest of all the tents and placed in the centre, next to the campfire. The Bothans, he thought to himself, were probably outside eating around the campfire along with a majority of the troopers. Before he could consider joining them, his solitude was disturbed. A lone trooper stood in the entrance to the War Room and Morden met his stare. He nodded in acknowledgement.
"Sir," the trooper spoke, "Base Windu has failed to report in."
Morden let out a soft sigh. "How overdue are they?"
"Around twenty minutes, sir."
"Very well, trooper." The forty-year old man stood, "grab a comrade and the Bothans and we'll go see what the issue is."
Privates Robbie Warren and Giri Rampal stood to attention outside their tent facing Morden and the Bothans. Morden could tell they were young and they could tell he was old. "How old are you, troopers?"
"Eighteen, sir," came Warren's reply.
"Nineteen," was Rampal's.
"I didn't realise we were recruiting toddlers now," chuckled the veteran warrior. As he examined the young soldiers in front of him he noticed that Warren and Rampal were opposites. Warren was pale while Rampal was ebony. Warren had a large nose, cropped up dark brown hair and tight lips which belied a brilliant smile while Rampal had a small nose, closely shaven black hair and rather fat lips that always seemed to remain sealed. Morden's jet black hair was greying at the temples and his face had become wrinkled and, to them at least, ancient; he checked his judgement of the two boys knowing that appearances could be deceptive. The three rebels slapped fresh power cells into their DH-17 rifles while the Bothans followed suit with their pistols. The aged Lieutenant proceeded to lead his small squad out of the outpost and through the foliage and shrubbery toward Base Windu, hoping to find the six troopers who manned it alive.
Nobody spoke on the short journey there and the only sound was that of boots crunching leaves and twigs underfoot. They all knew that finding these men dead would be unlikely but they didn't allow themselves to dismiss it. They all wore camouflaged fatigues and short boots to avoid being spotted by any Imperial Scout patrols. A noise was heard up ahead and Morden halted the rebel scout party. Warren used this moment of respite and removed his cap to run a hand through his cropped up brown hair and mop his sweat stricken brow. He stole a glance at Rampal; he was looking directly ahead and didn't seem to blink. The two Bothans, one of which looked canine and the other equine, chose not to don caps but they still clothed themselves with identical fatigues. Morden raised his fists and everyone's blasters copied the motion and levelled to aim forward. Staying low, they moved forward to the base until they reached it. It was a vague semicircle of logs with a leaf-covered net canopy. The logs were splinted and it was obvious that they had been subjected to blunt strikes and the mud in the area was disturbed and showed signs of struggle. The radio the men posted at the base should have used to report in was smashed and around the base lay the corpses of six troopers.
"How did this happen?" whispered Warren.
The canine Bothan approached the nearest corpse and examined the wounds on his neck and chest. "He's been stabbed, he concluded."
"Shit," swore Morden, "it must have been the Imperials."
The sound of a twig snapping alerted all of the rebels to the presence of Imperial scouts a few metres away. Three of them had standard-issue E-11 blasters trained on the rebels, while the fourth stood with his arms crossed. "You five are coming with me," the foremost stormtrooper scout demanded.
"You're out-gunned," growled the rebel lieutenant.
"If you fire your blasters your men will hear and come to aid you... Simultaneously my men will hear and come and aid us. You should reconsider who is really out-gunned here." He chuckled. "Come on, are you five worth the lives of thirty-one," he looked at the corpses, "sorry, twenty-nine men?"
Morden stared at the foremost scout for long seconds that seemed like minutes. "Lower your weapons. We go peacefully," he ordered. Hesitantly, the rebels lowered placed their blaster weapons on the ground. One of the scouts carried out a search to check nothing was being concealed and upon the all clear they were taken out of the forest. "My men will realise I'm gone," Morden said defiantly. "They will come and get me..."