First off, I wanted to thank the betas for their role in fixing the story - you certainly helped to iron out some of the mistakes I made! I know I asked other people to read it, but somehow either I made a mistake in DocX or there was an error in communication. In any case, please excuse me. This fic is about the Empire attacking Earth; I like to have a deep plot and geekery in terms of military equipment on all sides, so if you want a really lighthearted kiddyfic this is probably not for you (you can give it a try though!). Though George Lucas doesn't exist in the story, he certainly does in real life and he owns this universe. If you want to use my characters or story in any way, please ask. Lastly, if you do read the story, please leave a review! I really appreciate it!

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Tatooine

1 week ABY

Captain Peeko, member of Alliance Intelligence, looked at the man sitting on the opposite side of the table. He was obviously paranoid beyond belief, wide blue eyes darting from door to door and hand reaching for his blaster every time someone walked in or out. He had a fairly long black beard, messy black hair and wore an unspectacular combination of brown shirt and trousers. He did not want to be noticed, that much was obvious, perhaps too much so. He was also desperate for credits, as he had a price to pay for Jabba's protection. An ex-imperial lieutenant's savings were not enough, but a man with Imperial secrets who was willing to sell them wasn't poor long. Nor did he survive more than a few months with his new-found riches. It didn't matter to the clean-shaven rebel however, because he needed intel, and if that meant spending a bit of money to give a doomed guy some much-needed last-minute fun then so be it. And this guy seemed to know something big.

They were in a bar in Mos Eisley, where he had a tip-off that a Death Star survivor was willing to sell information to the rebels. Peeko had accepted to meet him more out of curiosity than anything else really, and he had enough friends in the bar to hold off a few stormtroopers if that's what it would come to. He had his trusty blaster holstered at his side. He was tall and powerfully built; not necessarily ideal for a spy, but it helped to be intimidating, especially since he was bald and people were always scared of that. He just didn't suit the image of someone who should not be noticed, especially because he wore a bright red jacket.

"I... I found something when looking... looking through the Old Republic archives," stammered the ex-imp. "I reported it two weeks ago and was immediately sent to Tarquin to explain my findings. It's that important."

No doubt the man would be overplaying his cards, but that was always the case. Desperate people tried to get everything they could out of what little they had, he understood that, but he had to seem disinterested to get them even more panicky. This did seem juicy though, even if he wouldn't give that fact away.

"Oh really?" He asked, raising his eyebrows slowly. "And why would that be?"

"Credits first, or you're getting nothing," said the imp, exasperatingly defiant.

Peeko then did what he had done countless times before in similar situations. He yawned, stretched his arms and got ready to leave. Slowly.

"I'm going to need more than that to justify spending the Alliance's sorely needed money," he said simultaneously. As always with deserters, the ancient bargaining trick worked perfectly.

"No! Don't leave!" the ex-Imp said jumping and grabbing Peeko's arm. "Okay, I found a planet that has been meticulously deleted from every other star map I have ever seen. And I mean pretty much every single one in circulation today, and I would wager that those I haven't seen don't have it either."

"Okay, so you found a lost planet. Well done, don't waste my time!" grumbled Peeko, his interest peaking inside, threatening as it always tried to to make him show his excitement.

"There's more! I overheard Admiral Theese talking to Palpatine himself. He's been tasked with assembling a small fleet to check it out. Something about it being the ideal planet for the humans who serve the Empire, and maybe even a weapon."

"Where is this planet?" asked Peeko.

"Credits."

Peeko knew better than to argue – this guy had just revealed something incredibly interesting and potentially dangerous. It had to be stopped before it happened. No, even better, it had to be used to the Alliance's advantage. He handed the hundred thousand credits over that had been agreed. The ex-imp would be alright for at least a decade with that money in terms of protection from Jabba the Hutt. But that just meant Jabba wouldn't kill him if he spent his time in the slug's palace, not that he would have a security guard or something. Empire assassins had been there, done their job and come out alive before – so long as Boba Fett wasn't present.

The ex-imp slid a small holopad over to Peeko who picked it up and looked at the Hyperspace coordinates that would get him to where this planet he could hopefully find first was. Nothing but a series of letters and numbers, and he noticed in the coding of it that it was nearer to the edge of the galaxy than he would have liked. Not that it mattered.

"You never met me," said Peeko to the ex-imp. The man replied with the same sentence, just pointing at himself, before leaving the bar in a bit of a rush. Peeko finished his drink and made his way to his ship.

Sergeant Manali was leaning on the Corellian YT-1250 light freighter they used when they were on missions. It only had boosted speed capabilities – anything else would have attracted too much attention, even if it did mean that shooting down TIE Fighters was harder than need be. He was a short, athletic man with short brown hair and stubble. He was considered good looking in that macho square-jaw sort of way, and he took full advantage of it whenever he could. He was a decent pilot, but most importantly he was gifted in anything that involved technology in any way at all. He had proven invaluable to Peeko far more times than the Captain liked to think, and they got on like a house on fire. That helped keep their teamwork up to par.

"And? Anything interesting?" asked Manali.

"You betcha. Quick, enter these Hyperspace coordinates and let's go."

Manali raised his eyebrows in confusion but said nothing, taking the holopad and rushing to his cockpit. When he entered the coordinates, the navigational computer barked a warning about the coordinates leading to uncharted territories, forcing him to confirm five times before it accepted his choice.

"Where are we going? Care to explain Sir?"

"I have absolutely no idea," said Peeko. "But wherever it is we're going, we've got to get there before the Empire does"

Manali shrugged, pressed a button and watched the stars turn into a mass of white lines before they melted into the blue void of Hyperspace.

***

Earth

December 1, 2009

Moritz Tanner, Zafir Milovic and Ahmed Kudun breathed a sigh of relief as they got to the top of the hill. They all had exactly the same gear on: big black boots, khaki uncamouflaged military uniforms with light green belts, red armbands with a white stripe through the middle on their left arms and a short cap with what looked like a red and white target in the middle of their foreheads. Their hands were first covered by woolly gloves and then mittens that allowed individual movement of the index finger. This was important, for it allowed them to use what was strapped to their backs despite the cold: each of them had a Sturmgewehr 77, known to most relatively young men of the world who had ever played a computer game as the bullpup Steyr AUG. It was an odd-looking rifle, made mostly of dark green plastic and black metal, with the magazine loaded behind the trigger rather than in front and a scope on the top that enabled greater accuracy over long distances. Completing their combat suits were two packs each containing two extra magazines of ammunition and a water-bottle, although these were now frozen. Zafir also carried their radio, because he had pulled the short straw that day. Not only was it an extra kilo, but it had a massive antenna that somehow always managed to be in the way. Finally, they all held currently switched-on torches that could easily be switched between white, green, red and blue light.

The three looked at what they could see of each other in the dark, forced a snigger and decided to take a smoke break, switching off their guiding torches. They could do that because they were mere Rekruten, privates who had been conscripted like almost every man in Austria has for six months of his life, and therefore had no power but also carried no responsibility. They were merely continuing Austria's practice of patrolling the border for people coming in illegally. Anyone without ID or a valid VISA was taken in, questioned and usually released all within the same day – because ninety percent of those they caught were tourists on a hike who hadn't realised they'd even crossed the border. However, some people really were trying to smuggle themselves in, so it was up to the recruits to do this for four and a half months as part of their national service. Most of them never even caught tourists.

They all sat on rocks on the side of the dirt road as they smoked their cigarettes, looking into the Hungarian valley ahead.

"Face it guys," said Zafir, pausing to blow out smoke. "We're never going to catch anyone. Who would be stupid enough to walk right into the waiting hands of some bored dudes with assault rifles? If they're coming through here they know about us, they know our patrol routes and approximate times. No one is that dim."

"You'd think so wouldn't you?" asked Ahmed. "And yet it happens all the time!"

Moritz groaned. They had the same conversation every day, and he just didn't feel like it today. They'd understand, everyone had their off days. He wondered what the hell he was doing here, in the middle of nowhere waiting for nothing to happen, just going on long walks every day through the freezing wind and snow. If they were really unlucky it rained when they were halfway through their patrol, soaking them through to the bone. They'd then cower in their tent, although at least that stayed dry and had a kind of oven that burned wooden pellets and got hot very fast.

Driving the unpleasantness from his mind, Moritz remembered basic training. The first two weeks had been the worst of his life: cutting his long, curly hair, getting shouted at every five minutes as they all failed yet another seemingly impossible task, gruelling fitness (holding press-ups was the worst thing ever!) and marching practice that went on for hours. Some memories made him laugh, for example that time he panicked when they got their guns the first time and couldn't remember how to hold it properly at attention. He held it downwards at the beginning, so Master Corporal Chermak had shouted at him to turn it around and look at his neighbours, which he did but he held the gun with the magazine facing his body, which was also wrong. Chermak had gotten into such a fit of rage that his fat face had reddened considerably and foam had appeared at the side of his mouth.

Gradually of course, they got better and he'd found that his comrades – at least the ones in his room – were all mostly good guys he could be friends with. Exactly the two he was with now had been his room-mates, the other three of the six-man room having dropped out for health reasons after a couple of weeks. No replacements ever arrived. Ahmed was a class act: of Turkish origin and only eighteen, he could always diffuse tense situations with a silly joke and generally helped keep people sane. Zafir on the other hand was half-Croatian and thirty-two. The reason for his late national service was that he'd avoided it when moving to the USA when he was sixteen. Now he was back, and after six months of happy life in Austria he got a letter inviting him for medical tests. Another six months later and he was with a load of kids playing armed boy-scouts.

The two others went quiet, which interrupted Moritz's reverie. Why had they shut up? He followed their gaze but saw nothing in the darkness. However, he did hear it. A vehicle of some sort was coming their way, without headlights on, and it seemed to be traveling in a low gear at high power.

"Heavy load, poor engine and definitely not one of our Pinzgauers," said Zafir. "Let's roll that rock into the road and move up thirsty meters. You know the drill."

They heaved the huge round lump of rock into the middle of the path, blocking it in case the vehicle tried to escape. Then, they half cocked their rifles, which meant they pulled the latch back and nudged it into a little wedge. This way accidental firing of the weapon was unlikely, but they would save a valuable second if things went awry. Ahmed ran forward and waited until he was sure the van was near. The moon suddenly lit up the area as a cloud moved, and suddenly they could see it: an old Ford Transit, it was crawling up the hill towards them. Ahmed waved his torch around in red light mode, and held his arm out in the "stop" sign. The van slowed to a halt, a loud groan coming from its brakes and chassis. Zafir went around the back of the van to see if they were being followed (an old smuggling tactic: the van pulls up, nothing inside when it is checked. Meanwhile, the ones being smuggled creep around the patrol and get back in afterwards.) as Ahmed asked for ID.

"Halt! Ausweiskontrolle!"

The two men in the front of the battered Ford looked at each other and shrugged. The driver quickly pulled out a card, as did the passenger. All seemed to be in order.

"Why are you driving without headlights? It's very dangerous," asked Ahmed. It was also very suspicious.

"We're driving up to the Brandstätter-farm, and this van loses power uphill when you turn them on," answered the driver.

They all knew the farm in question and this was certainly the way, so there didn't seem to be any need to keep them there longer. That is, until a loud banging could be heard from inside the van. Ahmed looked at the two men questioningly.

Moritz saw the whole thing in slow-motion and tried to warn Ahmed as he saw the pistol being brought up. Instead, the eighteen year-old turned to look at him as the driver fired point-blank into the side of his skull. Blood spattered out and Moritz dove out of the way. He looked around the corner, seeing that now the passenger had the weapon and the driver tried to start the car. The car stalled and Moritz cocked his weapon, breathed deeply twice and peeked around the corner of the rock he was using for cover. Training took over. No full-auto, always two rounds. He peeked around the corner, weapon already in position and peered through the scope and noticed that in their panic they had left the van's inside light on. He fired two shots off at the driver and hid behind the rock again. An intense cry of pain indicated that he had hit something as pistol rounds zipped by, going completely wide.

"Moritz, come on out It's clear!" shouted Zafir.

Moritz was trembling but looked around the corner. His friend was aiming his rifle at the two suspects who'd obviously completely forgotten about him. The passenger had grudgingly thrown his weapon away as the driver clutched his arm. The blond nineteen year-old made his way down, knowing before he arrived that Ahmed was dead.

"Let's get the guys outta the van," said Zafir. "Raus da!" He shouted at the men, opening the passenger's door and taking out the first new prisoner.

Moritz had to stop himself from vomiting as he stepped on a piece of his friend's brain on the way to the driver, whom he unceremoniously dragged out of the vehicle and kicked to the ground with a hit behind the knees.

"You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent and to a lawyer, as well as one call to a person of your choice," growled Zafir, raging. They bound the two using a rope that was in the front of the van, radioed in for back-up and an ambulance.

"Let's go check out the back," said Moritz, hoping it would distract him from the death of his good friend.

Zafir knew what Moritz was doing and nodded, indicating that he would stay there to guard over the two idiots. As the younger soldier walked to the rear doors, the older roughly bandaged the driver's bullet wound which caused the screams of agony he desired to come from that man. The other got a rifle-butt to the face for his troubles. There was no way he was getting away with no pain.

"Zaf dude, I think you're going to have to call for two Pinzgauers at least," said Moritz as he looked into the sea of black, terrified faces that had been trying to get into his country.

All of them were standing in the back, there had to be over a dozen people in there. He didn't make them get out because the cold would be unbearable to people in T-shirts. Instead, he just said:

"You'll be fine, I promise." in English and shut the doors again to report his findings over the Walkie-Talkie.

***

Coruscant

1 week ABY

"I trust the preparations are going according to plan, Admiral?" asked a dark, raspy voice from a blue hologram on a table. The figure sat on a bland throne, its face hooded as it spoke menacingly.

"Yes my Lord," came the answer. "The troop transports are undergoing final repairs and will be finished in around four weeks time. At that moment, the fleet will be ready for departure."

"Good. That will be all, unless there are any questions."

The tone seemed to indicate that the Emperor didn't want to answer any questions, but Theese decided he must. "There is but one, my Lord, and it is a pressing matter."

"What is it, Admiral?"

"Where is it that we are going?" asked the fat man at his desk, sweating profusely. He had a receding hairline and his cheeks wobbled when he spoke. He regularly had to dab a piece of cloth on his forehead to make sure his face didn't glisten too much.

"You will find out in due course, Admiral Theese, as I have told you before. I will only say this once more this time. Ask again and I shall have your tongue." answered an annoyed Darth Sidious, before his hologram disappeared from view, leaving nothing but a blue light shining into nothingness. Eventually it switched itself off too, whilst Theese pondered what he had just been told.

After all he had done for the Empire, after all he had sacrificed, the Emperor still treated him with disdain. He didn't understand it! Luckily, he would have a huge army to crush whichever planet it was they were invading this time. There would be no repeats of his failure to secure victory quickly enough like on Tatooine. This would be quick and decisive.

He pressed a button on his desk and moments later his personal assistant, Captain Kobarrn, was in the room standing at attention in his naval officer's uniform.

"The old fool gave me no more details of the assignment again. He insults me with ridiculously easy tasks, yet gives me no information on what we'll be facing. Invade one planet? Why do we need an invasion fleet?" said the Admiral, venting his frustration.

Whilst Theese was obscenely fat and had a flabby face, Captain Kobarrn was the exact opposite: he kept himself in good shape, was not one to moan and certainly did not call the Emperor an old fool. He was disciplined to the very core of his being – unlike his superior, who was known to enjoy the illegal company of girls who were far too young. When the day was right, he would report him to the authorities but for now he needed the man. He needed the fatso because he had contacts, and Kobarrn was keen on having these contacts too.

"Maybe it will be a great enemy, Sir," stated Kobarrn. "Surely it would not be an insult in this case?"

"You were always good at kissing ass, Kobarrn, and you still are. It's good having you around, I like you," said Theese lighting his Twi'lekk-shaped pipe. That pipe, thought Kobarrn, rage building inside himself, but he managed to control his emotions.

It is an insult to the Empire that such a man is in a position of such power, the captain realised outraged.

"Captain Kobarrn, if there's nothing else you can bugger off out of my office. Thank you."

Kobarrn bowed and left the room, fuming. He had ordered him to come in, once again the captain's time had been wasted. At least it was worth it, he figured, and he could always just report the admiral if things went too far. He had concrete proof of the man's guilt. Maybe he could use whatever assignment they were going on - after all it had to be of some importance, considering the direct involvement of the Emperor himself - to his advantage and further his career. It was highly likely that the admiral would disappoint in some way, so the man who would set things right would be seen in a very good light. Yes, he was going to make sure Theese had a hard time.

***

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