I don't own Star Wars, George Lucas does. Any other characters in this story are the property of Twentieth Century Fox film company, and the original story belongs to Jim and John Thomas. I'm not making a cent off of this, just thought you fans would like a good throw-down, beat-up story

Outer Rim, the week before the destruction of the Death Star II at Endor

The infinite blackness was punctuated by a billion stars, the galaxy shines between the two gas-giants of Jestefad and Lefrani, to rest on volcanic planet of Mustafar. Slowly an object falls through the orange breathable atmosphere over a lush smoking forest, backlit by the setting sun Priate.

Over the shores of Berken's Flow, through a collage of shimmering heat waves, a dark other-worldly object drops into view, floating as if suspended by the rising heat of the blackened forest. Continuing to creep closer the approaching object resolves into a large troop-carrying MAAT/i, it's engines strobing in the fading sunlight. Drawing closer, the sound of of it's powerful ion engines, whining in the heavy air, becomes dominant, overpowering.

Guided by colored smoke and landing lights, the MAAT/i looms hard into view, pitching forward and settling to the ground, kicking up a maelstrom of dust and cooled magma.

2200, Command Post

An officer wearing an Imperial Army uniform watches through the large open windows the MAAT/i as it continues to approach. Before the skids have even touched down he sees the first of the men, dressed in fatigues and body gloves, but carry full combat gear, alight gracefully from the transport, double-timing in close order to one side. The orders shouted by one man lost in the whine of the MAAT/i

The Army officer turns away from the window, to a figure, hidden in the shadows. "He's here."

He turns back, lowering a corulag bamboo shade, obscuring the window.

On adjoining pads, two other MAAT/i are visible; in the background can be seen several duracrete and thatch-work buildings, a secret command post disguised as a coastal lava-mining village. The post is a flurry of activity, Imperial advisers shouting directions to dozens of Northern Mustafarian troopers who stand by to assist the landing MAAT/i and to load equipment into the other transports.

Inside the MAAT/i, one man remains, stretched out against the bulkhead, as if asleep. He stirs, sits up, lighting up a cigarra. With fatigue showing in his motion, he leans forward, descending to the ground. A landspeeder pulls to a stop, the man swinging casually into the front seat, tossing his gear into the rear. With a lurch the landspeeder heads out towards the command post. In the doorway two men solemnly watch as the ground transport approaches. Reaching the command post the man alights from the landspeeder, heading towards the two men.

Into the pool of light cast by the fixture above the door steps Major CA-4878, the team leader, 38, and intelligent and intense man. He informally salutes General H.L. Patricks, 55, hardened, close-cropping graying hair, his nameplate and rank squares identifying him as a member of an elite imperial commando unit in the Imperial Army. He clasps 4878 warmly on the shoulder. "You're looking well, CA."

"It's been a long time, General." They walk up the stairs, entering the palapa, leaving the other man on guard. Upstairs are two large duracrete floored rooms, thatched walls and roof. Behind a partially drawn curtain in the kitchen, a naked light bulb hung from the rafters illuminates a bank of orbital holopics, field sub-space radio equipment, holomaps, and a foodsynth. Otherwise the rooms are primitive and stand out in stark contrast to this high-tech invasion, as Patricks and 4878 enter the room.

"We've got a real problem here, Something right up your alley." Patricks informs him. They cross to the center of the room to a holoprojection of a large topographical map of the central Mustafarian highland smoking forest. Patricks leans over the table, circling a set of coordinates and a mark on the open map. "Eighteen hours ago I was informed that one of our MAAT/i, transporting three chancellery cabinet members from this charming little planet, was shot down..." points to the circled area, "...the pilots commoed from the ground that they were all alive. Their position was fixed by the transponder beacon onboard the MAAT/i." points. "Here."

CA-4878 studies the map. He looks up at Patricks. "That's over the border. General."

Patricks dead serious now, "That's the problem, apparently they strayed off course. We're certain they've been captured by the rebels."

4878 looks up, puffing lightly on the cigarra. "What have you got in mind, General?"

"We figure we've got less than twenty-four hours to catch up with them. After that there's not much hope. We want a rescue operation mounted tonight. That doesn't give you much time."

Another puff of the cigarra. "What else is new? When do we leave?"

Patricks looks at his chrono. "You lift off in three hours. There's one other thing."

"What's that, General?"

"Someone else will be going with you."

4878 stubs out his cigarra in an ashtray. "You know we don't work with outsiders, General."

A voice from behind him speaks, "Who said anything about outsiders, CA?"

CA-4878 turns, seeing the outline of a figure standing in the doorway of the commo room, holding a holopad. Wearing pressed ISB fatigues, Dante, mid-thirties, his bearing and grooming indicate he's been away from the business of soldiering for sometime. His quick intelligent eyes reveal his current profession. "Last time we danced, it was Lieutenant, CA."

A grin breaks out across 4878's face. "Dante, you son of a mynock." The two men step forward and simultaneous swing from the hip as if to land a punch, but their hands slap together in a gesture of friendship, their forearms bulging, testing each other's strength.

"How have you been, CA?" Dante asks warmly. They continue the contest, 4878 has the edge, forcing Dante's arm slowly downward.

"You've been pushing to many icons, Dante. Had enough?"

Dante grins, "No way, old buddy."

"You never did know when to quit." They look into each other's faces, each remembering something from the past. A moment's hesitation and they quit the contest. They laugh, Dante slapping 4878 on the shoulder.

"That piece of work you guys pulled off at the Coronet City embassy last week was really something. Blew the entry points on three floors and neutralized the rebel opposition in eight seconds flat. Beautiful."

"Like the old days, Dante."

"Also heard you passed on that little job in the Corporate Sector Authority."

4878 looks at Dante, quietly considering him. "Wasn't my style, we're a rescue unit, not assassins." smiles, "This must be good. Big shot from the ISB, leaves his desk to come back to the bush. What's so important?"

"The cabinet members are very important to the Emperor's scope of operations in this part of the Outer Rim. They're about to get squeezed. We can't let that happen. I needed someone who could get the job done, quick and quiet... no screw-ups. I needed the best. The best. So, I pulled a few strings at the Army HQ on Imperial Center....and here we are."

"Go on" 4878 stares at him.

Dante goes to the holomap. "The set-up is simple, CA. One day job. We pick up their trail at the MAAT/i, run em down, grab the hostages and bounce back across the border before anyone knows we were there. You've done it a hundred times. Nothing out of the ordinary.

CA-4878 considers this. "It's nothing we can't handle alone."

Patricks breaks in. "I'm afraid those are your orders, Major. Once you reach your objective, Dante will evaluate the situation and take charge."

4878 looks from Patricks to Dante. He still doesn't like it.

"Not to worry, CA. I haven't lost my edge. They've got a head start on us in some real tough country, otherwise, believe me, it's a blue milk run."

Patrick speaks, "Gentlemen, we're losing time." to 4878, "You'd better get your men ready, good luck, Major."

0100, Two Assault MAAT/i,

Bursting over the top of a ridge between two volcanoes, raising up in a silhouette they perform a radical left bank turn and descend rapidly into an adjoining valley, racing over the forest at treetop level. As the MAAT/i perform dizzying, high-speed maneuvers through the winding canyon, the pilot's voices can be heard through their external speakers, coordinating their operations.

"Redbird Two, Two. Bearing south, three, five, zero, one o'clock on the saddle ridge. Over."

"Roger, roger, Blue Leader. Three, five, zero, on your move. Over." The MAAT/i rise in perfect coordination over another ridge and bank sharply into the next valley, leveling out as they go.

In the rear of the craft, illuminated by the eerie red glow of night lights, are seven troopers, dressed in Jungletrooper camouflage, stormtrooper armor, and black body gloves. They wear no identity badges or insignias. The men are checking their blasters, making last minute adjustments to their gear. The compartment reverberates with the noise of the whining engines and the roar of the air from the open doors.

BL-2673, weapons and ordinance specialist, a frightening bull of a man, a 240 pound killer, removes from his leg pouch a thick plug of tobacco. He looks across at:

MA-7839, a huge bear of a man, black, holding a DLT-20A blaster rifle. 2673 holds out the tobacco to MA who refuses with a gentle shake of the head, a knowing smile, he knows what's coming. Holding the plug between his teeth BL-2673 yanks free from his shoulder scabbard a wicked, ten inch combat vibro-blade. Placing the razor sharp blade next to his lips, he slices through the plug as if it were butter. He chews thoughtfully.

Seated by the open doorway is RZ-0619, a slight, angular man, an east Imperial Center, streetwise trooper. Adding a final piece of camouflage tape to his pack harness, he looks up and smiles, faking a throw and bulleting the tape to:

HK-2267, the Commotrooper and medic, Corellian, street-tough, reading a holozine, as if he were a rush hour commuter. He snags the tape with an instinctual snap of the wrist, continuing to read for a moment before looking up, grinning at RZ-0619, his boyish eager face belying the rugged professional beneath. He turns his gaze to the man next to him:

BZ-2946, the Tatooine Scout, a sandpeople hunter, proud, stoic, a man of quiet strength and simplicity, carefully replacing the firing mechanism of his imperial repeating rifle, working its action several times. He looks up with a smile at HK-2267.

HK-2267 shouts at him over the roar, "Hey, BZ, how many Imperial Marines does it take to eat a squirrel?" BZ-2946 looks back, shaking his head, uncomprehending. "Two. One to eat it and one to watch for landspeeders." HK-2267 laughs heartily at his joke.

Clearing another ridge, the pair of MAAT/i plunge into a steep descent, turning quickly into a deep-walled canyon, the force of the turn accentuated by the changing pitch of the whining ion engines in the air.

The stormtroopers, suspended in restraining harnesses from the bulkheads, lean forward, nearly upside down in response to the radical maneuver, handling the situation with ease. 2673 holds out the tobacco to 0619, who swats at the offending object as if it were alive. RZ-0619 shouts, "Get that stinkin' thing out of my face, BL!"

Grinning BL-2673 offers the plug to each trooper, each one refusing; they've done it a thousand times. It's an old gag, but they obviously care for the man in a big way. "...bunched of slack-jawed Givens around here..." holds up the plug, "...this stuff will put hair on your chest, guaranteed..." chewing, "...make you a Sith-damned sexual Rancor... just like me." This brings a chorus of hoots and shouts from the others. The MAAT/i makes another radical turn.

CA-4878 and Dante, seated near the cockpit, communicate through the HUDs in their buckets, also linked to the pilot. They consult a small holomap by red glowrod. Dante points at the holopad. "Our rendezvous points and sub-space freqs are indicated and fixed. Orbital contact on four hour intervals"

"What's our back-up on this?" 4878 asks.

Dante grins, "No such thing, old buddy. It's a one-way ticket. Once we cross that border, we're on our own."

"This gets better by the minute."

The pilot and co-pilot, a pair of clones left over from the war, are surrounded by an array of dimly lit gauges and switches. Before the co-pilot is a sub-space radar screen and an infra-red display terminal on which the two MAAT/i appear as heat sources. The first pilot is overheard, ",,,roger Bird Two, Two. Reconfirm insertion at Trill, Cresh, Dorn one, zero niner on the grid at zero, two, two, mark four by zero. Over."

"Two, Two, leader. Roger, roger your insert co-ord. Over."

"Leader to Bird Two, Two. I bear two minutes to landing zone." The pilot threw a switch on the panel before him. A blue light appears on the forward bulkhead. CA-4878 is speaking over a radio commo. The co-pilot turns and hands him a holopad. 4878 reads, notes his approval and hands it back.

The MAAT/i flares up into position over the smoking forest and hovers, as the support MAAT/i holds in a protective position above.

Dante seems comfortable with the stormtroopers, showing RZ-0619 a battered cigarra lighter from the famed Clone Commando unit from the war. But his ingratiating demeanor is not impressing MA-7839, who regards Dante with the cold suspicion reserved for an outsider. MA looks up at BL-2673, his eyes narrowing.

2673's massive jaw rolls as he masticates the chew. He pauses, eyes moving downward, spotting his target. He hocks a thick, vile stream of tobacco juice directly between Dante's legs and onto the floor, a gelatinous skein lacing across the toe of one white plastoid boot. Dante looks up, his face goes cold and menacing.

"Trooper, that's a real bad habit you've got." Dante turns back to RZ-0619, ignoring 7839 and 2673, who continues to stare at him. MA-7839 looks across at BL-2673, wide grins breaking across their huge faces. Cradled in BL-2673's arms, as if it were part of his body, is a large, canvas-covered bundle. BL-2673 looks down at his bundle, almost affectionately.

The pilot's voice breaks in over CA-4878's commo. "LZ comin' up in 30 seconds. Stand by the rappel lines."

Looking up, 4878 gives the hand signal to the nearest stormtrooper who nods and in return, passes the signal down the line. RZ-0619 and BL-2673 pick up heavy, metal conical devices, attached to canvas bags filled with rope. From the open doors the rappelling lines hurtle into space, crashing into the double canopy of the burnt trees and to the forest floor below.

The Blue light changes to green. 4878 nods. The rappelling devices snap into place. Power-gloved hands grab onto the rope. Combat boots move into position.

Dante shouts at CA-4878, "You don't know how much I missed this, CA! Once you get this in your blood, you never get it out!"

"You never were all that smart...let's go!" 4878 signals. Stormtroopers leap from the MAAT/i. The troopers crash through the trees and are swallowed up by the darkness below. The MAAT/i depart, whining their way into the night.

0700, Smoking Forest

A light hot rain shower passes through the trees. The sky clears, revealing a charred and exotic foliage. Birds are beginning to sing but otherwise, all is silent. The dense growth seems impenetrable, but from a wall of solid undergrowth, a hand appears and signals in a downward motion.

As if by the Force's will, the assault team materializes, quietly, cautiously. CA-4878 makes another gesture and the team moves forward in perfect harmony in point-lock step, taking their cues from RZ-0619, the point man. 4878, highly focused and alert to every sound and movement, follows 0619, as if organically connected.

Descending the steep volcano slope, the team encounters an even denser growth of forest, at times moving by instinct, as they are often visually separated. At one point CA-4878 checks his electro-compass of his bucket's HUD, flashing some hand signals to RZ-0619, indicating a new direction. RZ-0619 nods and moves on. 4878 signaling to the rest of the stormtroopers.

BL-2673, in a defensive position, sweeps the forest slowly with his E-11b blaster . He steps back and turns, checking, revealing behind him the wreckage of an Imperial Army MAAT/i, hanging upside down, twenty feet above the ground, entangled vines in the heavy canopy, badly damaged, wings bent, it's engine section blown away.

A grappling hook is hurled from the ground, clattering into the cargo hold, hooking the edge of the airframe. RZ-0619 moves cautiously, searching for trip wires, using his vibro-blade to check the edges of the seats and door frames. Grimly he glances at the two bodies slumped over the controls and then exits, snapping into and rappelling down the rope to the ground. He joins CA-4878 standing on the forest floor. They look up watching as Dante through the cockpit, searching through pouches and compartments. CA-4878 turns his back to the MAAT/i.

RZ-0619 speaks, "The pilots have each got one blaster round in the head. And whoever hit it stripped the fark out of it." 4878 studies the clearing, eyes always moving, wary. He turns back, looking at the MAAT/i.

"Took 'em out with a heat seeker."

"There's something else. Major..." 0619 continued.

"Mmmnnn...?"

"I don't think this was any ordinary army taxi..." 4878 looks at him quizzically. "...looks more like a surveillance bird to me."

Dante rappels down the line and approaches. "Have you picked up their trail yet?"

4878 taps RZ-0619 on the shoulder and he moves away. CA-4878 turns to Dante, "BZ's on it." indicates the MAAT/i, "Heat seeker. Pretty sophisticated for half-assed rebel mountain boys."

"They're getting better equipped every day."

BZ-2946 approached from the forest canopy. "Major, looks like there were ten, maybe twelve rebels. Looks like they took some prisoners from the transport." points, "Then a different set of track, over there."

"What do you mean?" 4878 asked puzzledly.

"Six others, Imperial issue jungle boots. They came in from the north, then followed the rebels."

4878 turns to Dante. "Mean anything to you?"

"Probably another rebel patrol. They operate in here all the time."

CA-4878 is obviously concerned about this. He turns to BZ, "Get ahead, see what you can find." to RZ-0619, "Slow and easy." to Dante, "We don't want any accidents." BZ-2946 takes up the trail, disappearing into the forest. RZ-0619 signals, the team moves out.

As BZ-2946 reconnoiters, RZ-0619 looks back and gives a sign, CA-4878 nods and rappels down a cliff. As he joins 0619, there seem to be lavaflies everywhere. "What's he got?"

RZ-0619 answers quietly, "Same business, rebels hauling two guys from the MAAT/i...followed by troopers with Imperial equipment..." RZ-0619 seems concerned by this. 4878 signals him to move on.

Before he follows, 4878 looks around, "There's something dodgy about this." he whispers. Over his head a lavafly sits on a limb.

As the assault team passes below, a lavafly lands on what appears to be the charred bark of a tree. It fans it's wings and flies on. The impression of the lavafly remains in perfect relief, as if imprinted on the bark. The image fades, revealing for an instant a grid work of tiny scales on the bark. The bark moves! Changing colors, like a chameleon, revealing for an instant the form of something alive as it flows into the leaves, once again becoming indistinguishable from the surrounding foliage.

Two eyes, faintly flowing yellow, appear in the foliage. They blink, disappearing, and then become visible again. Seen through heat-seeking vision, studying the team's careful, silent movements as they pass by. The sounds of the forest are also altered and enhanced with an electric, static-like quality. The observer scans over the stormtroopers...and then focuses on CA-4878 as he crouches down, signaling forward and rear with a circular motion. He refers to an object in his hand, studying it carefully.

Using a holomap in lining out a course with his HUD's electrocompass. The other team members appear, silently, clustering around him. Using hand signals, CA-4878 indicates the course change.

The creature watches closely as 4878 continues with his hand signals, instructing his team.

The hillside of a steep valley, dark and foreboding. BZ-2946 passes by and halts, removing his vibro-blade. With his other glove he pulls down from overhead a thick vine, severing it. A thin stream of water emerges, which he removes his helmet, and drinks.

Suddenly he stops, letting the water drip to the ground. He quietly releases the vine and brings his imperial repeater rifle to bear, listening intently. Something seems wrong. He brings his eyes upward and stares, hard into the treeline of the opposing hillside. As his eyes strain to penetrate the dense, intertwined canopy, he is engulfed by the rising sounds of the forest, a cacophony of buzzing and clicking, amplified in the sweltering heat of the Mustafarian day. Unable to locate a source to account for his anxiety, he relaxes, moving on, resuming the track.

BZ-2946 examines the ground as he moves, growing confused and puzzled by what he sees before him. He stops, scrutinizing the forest, probing the world around him with his keen senses. Hearing a faint rustling sound he looks up, seeing a curtain of deep purplish moss several feet away. He takes a cautious step forward, extending his blaster. He reaches forward with his free hand, touching the moss.

Behind the curtain a slight shifting of dark forms occurs. He pauses and then with a sudden movement, sweeps the moss aside..

A black explosion of fluttering wings as carrion-eating leathery birds rush past BZ-2946's body.

2946's face seizes into a mask of horror, his expression descending into a state of complete primitive shock, his polarized lenses in his bucket stare transfixed, inches away from the leering death-grin of a Mustafarian face, upside down, completely stripped of skin.

Reeling, his body numbed by the sight before him, he stumbles backwards and stops. Vines threaded through their Achilles tendons, the bodies of two human stormtroopers and a Northern Mustafarian scout, skinned and gutted, hang suspended in the thick, suffocating air, buzzing with insects.

BZ-2946 turns away as RZ-0619 quietly enters the clearing, CA-4878 directly behind him. RZ-0619 stares at the bodies, now seen to be in the first stage of deterioration, strips of flesh torn away by the birds and other scavengers. In an almost childlike manner, he performs and ancient anti-sith hex gesture. "By the Emperor..." he whispers.

4878 moves into the clearing, kneeling beside a bloody pile of clothing and entrails. He examines the clothing and then rises, holding a imperial code cylinder on a broken chain. He reads the tag, his face growing hardened and bitter as he stares down at the rank squares on the clothing, recognizing one of the corpses.

"JS-9640, Captain, Imperial Army..." 4878's eyes move from the bloody cylinder to the bodies, coldly, "MA, Cut them down." MA-7839 moves forward, withdrawing his vibro-blade, the blade flashes, cutting the vine as the first body thuds to the ground. He bends over, picking up other code cylinders and rank squares.

4878 turns to Dante. "I knew this trooper. Imperial Commando 501st, out of Vader's Fist. What the hell were they doing in here? You got any answers for this, Dante?"

Stunned Dante responds, "Emperor's eyes...this is inhuman." to 4878, "I wasn't told of any operations in this area. They shouldn't have been here."

"Well somebody sent them." 4878 growls angrily, and walks off. MA-7839 steps out of the clearing, sheathing his vibro-blade with a violent gesture, passing RZ-0619.

RZ-0619 is seething, "Must have run into the rebels...Farking animals."

MA-7839 moves alongside BL-2673, "Ain't no way for a stormtrooper to die." looks at BL-2673, "Time to let 'ol 'painless' out of the bag." Grimly, BL-2673 rips apart the closures of the canvas bundle slung across his shoulder, revealing a truly awesome blaster, a six-barreled mini- E-Web adapted for field combat.

BZ-2946 kneels at the side of the original trail examining the ground. He rises, holding a spent power cartridge. CA-4878 approaches, kneeling beside him. "What happened here, 2946?"

BZ-2946 looks at him, puzzled. "Strange, Major. There was a blaster fight. Shooting in all directions."

"I can't believe JS-9640 walked into an ambush."

"I don't believe he did, Sir. I couldn't find a single track. Just doesn't make sense."

"What about the rest of JS-9640's troopers?"

2946 shakes his head, "No sign. They never left here, Major." pausing, "It's like they just disappeared."

4878 ponders for a moment. Then to BZ-2946, "Stick with the rebel trail," to the rest of the team, "Let's get it over with. We move. Five meter spread. No sound. Nothing."

BL-2673 feeds the tibanna magazine of belted-shells into the blaster, cocking it. He looks up at MA-7839, his eyes cold, his face taut with anger. "Payback time." 2673 hefts the mini- E-Web to his hip as 7839 draws back slightly on the breech bolt of the DLT-20A, letting it snap. They move on, BZ-2946 pausing to look at the forest before disappearing into the smoking foliage.

The observer carefully watches this exchange from high in the treetop canopy, then watches as 4878 turns and leaves the clearing, cautiously moving into the forest.